Page 10 of Fragile

Chapter four

Miles

Long shadows cross thefield as we line up for another play. This game’s intense, but we’re up by fifteen, so we’ve got this. My heart thrums in my chest, a relentless rhythm matching the pulse of the game.

A flurry of burgundy and white catches my eye, and I immediately smile, zoning in on Quinn and the rest of her cheerleading squad. With the other Dawson on my left, the buzz from the crowd growing more electric, there is nothing better than the clock counting down on another W with both of my best friends here by my side.

Seb’s eyes are focused, his stance determined. He gives me a quick nod, and I know exactly what he's thinking. It's go time. As the play begins to progress, I explode off the line of scrimmage, slicing through the defense like a knife through butter. My route is crisp, my cuts sharp, as I read the field and adjust on the fly. I don’t need to look back to know that Seb's pass is spiraling toward me, a perfect arc slicing through the air, and as I reachout, my fingertips tingle with anticipation, because I know he’s delivered for me.

The ball finds its mark, landing snugly in my hand as I turn up field, a burst of speed carrying me past faceless players. The noise of the crowd fades into the background, replaced by the pounding of my own blood in my ears.

Now, it's just me, the ball, and the end zone.

I race toward the goal line, and I can feel the weight of the defense closing in, their footsteps thundering behind me like the march of an approaching army. Gritting my teeth, I dig deep for that extra ounce of strength, that last burst of speed.

And then, in a heartbeat, it's over. I cross the threshold, the yells of chanting people explode around me as I raise the ball high in triumph. My teammates are there in an instant, with Hudson jumping and wrapping his legs around my waist, and Seb slapping me on the back, hands flying out to touch me as we celebrate together.

This high right here, being on the field, is a damn good feeling. Especially when plays like that happen.

The win is ours, our record unbeaten, just how my dad would like it. Last year, we might’ve taken that bowl trophy home, but it wasn’t a pretty game by any means. Well, that’s what my dad tells me, but a win is a win, right? Yet even that isn’t good enough for Mark Cooper. Nothing is, really.

The locker room is buzzing. Everyone pours in, grinning like crazy, slapping hands and shouting. The place smells like sweat and hard work, but no one cares. Music's blasting, and a couple of guys are already dancing in their jerseys. There’s this chaotic mix of laughter, cheers, and the clatter of cleats on the floor. Someone pops a water bottle, spraying it like its champagne.

“That pass was one for the books, QB. I think you need to insure that arm of yours already,” Hudson says, stripping out of his gear and throwing his jersey into the team wash hamper.

“Like Daddy Dawson hasn’t already got a policy drafted up,” I joke as I run a towel over the back of my neck.

Seb laughs and takes off his cleats. “He probably has already got something in place knowing him. But that was a team effort; there’s no way I carried us out there.”

“True, Miles ran like his ass was on fire.”

“Fuckin’ felt like it too.”

We all file into the showers. “Keep this up and we might be the only division one school to make it to the playoffs with no losses,” Hudson shouts from his cubicle.

“You did not just jinx us like that. We still have nine games left in the regular season!” Seb yells back.

That familiar niggle of fear worms its way into my stomach, my mind instantly going to the inner pocket of my gym bag, the pot of Tylenol where four white round tablets are hiding. Ones that helped my game tonight and others in the past. Four more games if I don’t double dose, that’s all I have until I’ll need more. The small voice inside my head tries to say I don’t need them, to forget about them, just do your best. But it’s drowned out by a louder one, one that suspiciously sounds like my dad, saying I’m not good enough without them. That voice always wins.

No one but me and Levi knows about the something extra, and no one will.

Ten minutes later, we’re walking out in our suits, a school policy I don’t hate because I look good in a suit. Seb immediately finds his girlfriend and scoops her into his arms as Hudson and I walk past them. Jay, our social media rep and photographer for the school sports teams, stands ahead, his signature thick-rimmed glasses on his face and camera hanging around his neck. Lifting it up, he snaps pictures of us all as we leave. Hudson plays it up for the camera—the guy doesn’t know how to be serious, I swear. My eyes roll, smiling as I pass Jay. “You coming to The Lakeside after you’ve taken your mugshots?”

He laughs, still snapping pictures as the rest of the players file out. “Yeah, man. I’ll meet you all there.”

Turning the final corner out of the locker room hallway, I see our coach and my dad just ahead. They’re speaking in hushed tones, their heads tilted close together, and dread lines my stomach instantly. It’s fine. Coach will, without a doubt, be happy with me, especially after that catch, but he can’t predict my dad’s temperamental moods.

Approaching them, I hold my breath, the high of winning wavering slightly. “Miles, you’re here. Good.” He gives one final nod to coach, and whatever conversation between them is done.

“Great game, Cooper. That catch was some of the best I’ve seen you do. Keep it up and you’ll take us to another championship.” Coach shoots me a genuine smile, and I feel the tension in my chest melt away. Pride swells inside me, and I can't help but smile back.

“Thanks, Coach.”

His hand lands on my shoulder with a squeeze before he walks back to his office.

“He’s right,” my dad says, which grabs my attention again. “Tonight was some of your best.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

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