Page 5 of The Illicit Play
Fuck, this race makes me feel like I’m five years old, but during the offseason, the coaches like to mix it up and give us drills that are lighter and more fun. It definitely brings out our competitive sides, and I force myself to join in, clapping and encouraging Carson as he sprints back toward us, slapping Zander’s hand when he crosses the line.
We watch our quarterback compete against Fleischer, Carson yelling extra loudly.
“Don’t you fucking let him beat you, Zan Man!”
I snicker and shake my head, watching my captain dominate. He deserves to play pro ball. He belongs on that field, and I’m so fucking proud of him. He had the best time at the Scouting Combine, and things are looking good for him. He’s not sure who he’ll get drafted to, but he’ll definitely be picked up by someone.
Just the way Wily should have been.
Shit, it’s such a tragedy what happened to him.
Can’t believe it.
The guy’s still set on making it, but it’s gonna be a long, hard road to recover from the injury and get himself back into playing condition. Coach Jones says it’s never too late, but I can’t tell if he’s just using words like that to comfort Wily or whether he actually means it.
Our head coach seems pretty determined to help Wily get there.
And I believe it.
If anyone’s gonna go the extra mile for his players, it’s Coach Jones. Wily’s in good hands. He’s counting on Wily getting drafted with an injury. He’s pretty sure it will happen. Sometimes teams take injured players with big potential, so it’s not out of the question. That’s what Coach keeps saying, anyway. Wily won’t be a top pick anymore, but he’ll still be in the running.
“We just gotta have faith.”Coach’s mantra rings in my head.
We’ll all do everything we can to support the guy.
Shit, I hope it comes together.
I know from experience that life doesn’t always turn out the way you want, even if you map it out in painstaking detail. I don’t mean to do it. My brain’s just wired that way. I like to plot, plan, picture my future.
After my parents’ divorce, I became obsessed with scheduling my life. I thought if I had a plan, set my goals and fought hard to achieve them, then I could control everything.
And it worked.
It fucking worked great.
I got into the school I wanted with a full scholarship. I’ve been playing running back for the team I wanted. I scored myself a gorgeous girlfriend who was everything I wanted.
My life was set.
Until she dumped me. I didn’t even see it coming, although I probably should have. We’d been bickering a little more than usual before she slapped me with the breakup talk. I thought we’d just hit a rough patch but would work our way through it.
But nope.
She was done.
And I was shattered.
My plans were unraveling around me, and that thread got pulled a little harder last week when I saw her making out with Finn Macalister. Everybody calls the badass basketball player Mac for short, but I don’t give a flying fuck what his name is.
His hands were all over my girl.
His tongue was in her mouth.
And I wanted to tear his fingers off… smash his face into the concrete.
How dare he touch her!
How dare he?my brain scoffs, mocking me for my stupidity.
