Page 61 of Delay of Game
What a piece of shit I was.
How was your day?
My finger hovered over the text before I erased it. Lame. Dumb.
A door slammed on the other end of the hallway, and I pocketed my phone. Diego and the other captains met in the hallway.
“Where the hell is Vogt?” Or, more accurately, how the hell had Trent Vogt avoided this meeting while I’d rearranged my night.
Diego shrugged. “Couldn’t make it. But then again, the offense has three co-captains, so we let him skip. We need defense representation and you’re our only option.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that when you decided you didn’t want to share the responsibility with anyone,” Noa laughed.
“Well, that was back when being ‘captain’ just meant getting a patch on my jersey. Not when the fucking wheels were falling off the team and I had to do something about it,” I grumbled.
“No worries.” Noa clapped my back. “Maybe you’ll learn to share by next season.”
“Probably not,” I admitted. “So, do I actually have to say anything when we go in here?”
“Let me handle it,” Diego grinned. “I’m bringing you in as a show of force.”
Cole Lakeland crossed his arms. “I’m still not convinced we shouldn’t let Coach Simmons fall on his face over this stunt. Did you see Donovan kicking today? It’s not pretty. Let the third-string play Miami.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’d like to get a Super Bowl ring before I retire.”
“And you don’t have many seasons left,” Lakeland laughed. “Fine. No Team Chaos this season. I’m disappointed, but then again, Luke might quit if he gets benched.”
“God forbid we lose the least engaged field goal kicker in the NFL.” I rolled my eyes. But Lakeland had a point. Some seasons were won on the backs of kickers, and none were better thanLuke. Even if he’d rather be doing anything else besides playing football.
“We just need Coach Simmons to understand that while we respect his decisions as coach, as captains, this decision is causing a lot of conflict,” Noa said, his voice low and calm.
“So, you’re talking too?” I asked.
Noa grinned. “I’m not going home late because I sat around while Diego ran his mouth. Let’s get this over with.”
Noa and Diego led the charge into Coach Simmons’ office while I hung back with Lakeland. Diego knocked on the door and received a curt, “Come in,” before walking inside the office.
Coach Simmons’ office wasn’t exactly set up for a crowd. Noa and Diego log jammed the rest of us, standing at the door while they waited for an invitation to take a seat. And even then, Coach Simmons only had two chairs, leaving three of us standing around awkwardly.
“What can I do for you all tonight?” he asked, as if four team captains regularly waltzed into his office after hours.
I had to give it to Nate Simmons. He didn’t scare.
“Hey, Coach,” Diego began. “We need to talk about practice.”
Coach Simmons raked a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, that didn’t accomplish what I wanted.”
“You mean you didn’t want us all at each other’s throats?” I asked, regretting my tone when Noa turned to glare at me.
“Nope,” Coach Simmons groaned. “Not even a little. I thought it’d incentivize players to try a little harder.”
“Oh, people were trying harder,” Lakeland laughed.
“Trying hard to kill each other,” I muttered.
“Got it.” Coach Simmons set a hand on the desk. “I hear your concerns, and I’ll take them under consideration.”
His tone had all the emotion of an audiobook narrator reading a self-help guide. Robotic and pat.
