Page 87 of Golden Rule

West

Day one of training camp is always nothing but meetings. Day two, more instruction. Then, there’s day three.

Today.

The day the coaches do everything in their power to kick our asses.

“Nice job out there, QB.”

I open my eyes as hot water from the shower runs down my face. Glancing back over my shoulder, it’s Nash who nods at me.

“Thanks, man.”

“Don’t thank me. You fucking killed out there.”

Getting praise from the team has taken some getting used to, but it’s become a regular thing since going head-to-head with Reed on the sleds.

“At this rate, we’re gonna have one hell of a year,” Nash adds, and the rest of the team don’t hesitate to go in on him.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Perfect. Way to fucking jinx us.”

All the guys’ responses sound something like this, and a laugh slips out as I run the bar of soap beneath my arms.

“We’re superstitious now?” Nash shoots back, and he should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

“Yes!” and “Fuckyes!” are the team’s collective responses, and I couldn’t agree more. I’ve known guys who refuse to wash their jockstraps for weeks because they honestly believed it would ruin their team’s hot streak.

“Whatever,” Nash grumbles, and I turn toward the tile again, continuing to wash. With my face away from the rest of the team, I let the faint smile slip, giving way to the pained expression I’ve been holding out since about half a hour into stepping onto the practice field today. My shoulder is completely done, and it’s fucking with my head.

How the fuck am I supposed to get through a game,a season,and I already feel like a damn freight train careened into me? I’m numb, lost in my head as the guys carry on conversation behind me. I finish washing, rinse my hair and body, then shut off the water. On the way to my locker, I pass by Reed. His glare means he must’ve heard Nash’s praise, and he’s being a pussy about it. When he slams his locker and storms past, that’s confirmation. I’m pretty sure no one else notices he’s in his feelings but me as he exits the locker room.

But I’ve got bigger problems than a team member’s fragile emotions.

At the thought of it, I grip my shoulder and work it a bit. It’s hot to the touch, getting more sore as the seconds tick past. In my head, I hear my brothers giving me shit about it, asking when I’m going to get it checked out again, but I’m curious where anyone thinks that fits into my life at the moment.

Especially with Pandora’s nosey ass.

If Coach Wells gets wind that something’s not right with me, that the shoulder is still giving me trouble, who the hell knows how he’d react. Besides, during recovery, the docs advice was to manage my pain and focus on strengthening it. I’m doing all the strength training I can fit in right now, which means it may be time to focus on the other aspect.

Pain management.

“I can see it now,” Chase says, and I glance over my shoulder at him just as he faces his locker and drops his towel. “This season’s about to be insane. It already feels like we’re meshing with you guys’ play style, and it’s only going to get better the more we practice and play together.”

His reference,you three,is what alerts me to Dane and Sterling joining us—Dane, toweling his hair dry; Sterling, wiping excess water from his face.

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Sterling laughs.

“I vote we keep the good vibes flowing and go grab drinks,” Jett suggests, but Chase is already groaning.

“Wish I could, but I’ve gotta get back to Bianca.”

I recall finally having the mystery of who Bianca is being solved, but I still don’t know the rest of the story there. Not other than it seeming like he’s raising her on his own. Then again, I could have all the details wrong, but I’m not about to pull at that thread.

“Next time then,” Jett says, then slams his locker before propping a foot on the bench to tie his shoes. “Guess I’ll go drink by myself, like a fucking man.”

The guys laugh, then he salutes us on his way out of the locker room.

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