Page 5 of Flame After the Fumble

“Better now than later.”

“You’ll find someone else.”

The boys continue to pacify me with the same lines I’ve been fed by everyone around me since it happened. My breathing becomes quicker and what’s left of my tear-coated vision blurs around the edges. That’s the last thing I remember.

4

Hartley

If I could shoot the feeling of summer training camp in my veins, I would. The residue of freshly-mowed grass living permanently on my ankles. The rough leather football when it hits my gloves for a catch. The sweat dripping down my overgrown hair. And most importantly, the tired groans of teammates who didn’t take conditioning seriously. Sucks for them. The first few weeks of camp have gone smoothly. In college football, you need to make a name for yourself. You have to find a niche for scouts and coaches to notice your existence. Besides the fact that I’m the most skilled receiver on the field, I’m also the loudest. If you fumble the ball, you’ll hear it from me. If you slack on a tackle, I’ll question why you’re being so lazy. And if I beat you out on a route, best believe you’ll hear me in your ear the whole way back to the line. My mouth sets me apart, but it also earns me laps. Give and take. ADHD has kicked my butt in academics, but in football, I use it to kick drive my work ethic. It’s a gift.

With the loud screech of Coach’s whistle, we huddle up before being dismissed to the locker room. I jog up behind the broodyrunning back who cringes at my existence. We came in together as freshman, and I’m determined to either become his best friend or get under his skin so much that he can’t ignore me. As much as his attitude is in the gutter, he makes up for it on the field. The dude’s a beast, and I wouldn’t mind getting extra reps in with him.

“Study the playbook last night, Shane?” I slap my hand down on his shoulder with a crazy smile on my face. Most guys are bone tired and on the verge of puking after a grueling practice like this, but it fuels me.

“Sure did,” he grunts out as he shakes my hand off his shoulder.

“Geniuses like me don’t need to do all that.” I wink as we pass into the cool locker room.

“Idiots like you will find yourself off the team in a year.”

I’m so distracted by the monster tattoo crawling up his arm that the insult doesn’t register. “Dude! That tat is sick. Where’d you get it?” I poke the tribal swirl that snakes up and down his arm. I don’t have any, but I want one.

“Huh?” he asks as he, once again, jolts his arm out of reach with a disgusted look.

“Your tattoo. I want one. Let’s go.”

“Something is seriously off with you, Knox.”

“Not the first nor the last time I’ll hear that. So, do you want to go with me to lose my tattoo virginity?” Mock sweetness laces my tone. I’m nothing if not relentless and annoying to a fault.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to spend more time with you than I have to.”

I clutch my chest, feigning offense. “I’m starting to get the impression that I annoy you.”

“Bingo.”

“If you don’t, I won’t let you forget. I’ll bring it up every single day until we’re seniors. Then, after we graduate, I’ll move closer and bring it up more.”

He grunts. “If I go, will you shut up and leave me alone for the rest of the week?” Ryan Shane rushes ahead of me to his assigned locker and rips it open in annoyance.

“Sure, but I have a feeling we’re going to be friends by the end of the season.” I strip down and grab my towel for the showers. “So you might as well accept it now.”

“I don’t do friends.”

“We’ll see about that.”

After showering and changing, Ryan reluctantly drives us both to the tattoo shop downtown. I’m wired with excitement as the adrenaline of doing this pulses through my skin.

I reach for the volume to turn the sound on the radio up, but Ryan swats my hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure about that? It looks like it hurts.”

---