Page 8 of Fair Catch
A few of the other coaches nodded in agreement, their arms folded over their chests as they took in their old players and assessed the ones new to the team.
“We’ve been gaining momentum for years now, and last year, the nation took notice of how far we’ve come. We’re not the team they thought they knew — not anymore.” He paused. “That being said, we lost a lot of talent in our senior class last season.”
“Let’s go Jags!” someone yelled, and a few other players hollered out their support for their old running back, Lou Stevensen, who was selected in the first round of the draft.
Coach cracked the tiniest smile, but it vanished quickly. “Talent,” he continued. “That now needs to be filled.”
Silence fell over the group once more.
“I know some of you are hungry, ready for your chance to play after riding the bench for part or all of last season. But I will also tell you, this is our strongest recruiting class we’ve had yet. So, let me make one thing clear.” He held up a finger. “No one here has a job except for me. This is a competition, and nothing is promised.”
I watched as smile after smile slipped off players’ faces, nerves evident in their stature. Even Holden Moore, who was without a doubt a shoe in for QB1, looked humbled by the statement.
But one glance at Riley, at the way her eyebrow arched and the corner of her lips tilted, I knew she and I were in agreement.
We would not be on that bench come September.
“Alright,” Coach said, clapping his hands. “Let’s get to work.”
Zeke
Sweat dripped in my eyes, that cool breeze we’d felt earlier in the morning nowhere to be found as we wrapped up the first practice of camp. We had about an hour to eat lunch and report for positional meetings, and I stood in the end zone, hands hanging on my hips as I stared at Coach Sanders who couldn’t have cared less that I was in absolute beast mode all day.
Every kick was secured effortlessly, run down the field with speed and stamina that could rival an NFL player. My burning muscles couldn’t stop me from blowing out every drill they threw at us, and I’d always be the first one jogging back and lining up for more. I was explosive, smart, and conscious of any little thing that could possibly land me a penalty.
I couldn’t have been more on.
And Coach Sanders couldn’t have been less interested.
Riley looked just as beat as I was as she slipped off her helmet, her hair waterfalling down her back when she did. She cursed, oblivious to how her shaking out her hair made a dozen guys sneakily scratch their necks so they could watch her, before bending to retrieve her hair tie. That thick hair was pulled up and tight in the next instant, and then she must have felt me watching her, because her eyes snapped to mine.
The greens and golds mixed in those hazel eyes, which narrowed at the sight of me staring at her. I smirked for good measure, making them squeeze into mere slits as she approached me.
“You look winded, Collins,” she said with mock concern. “Better take a nap before meetings.”
“Says the one with the red face,” I shot back.
Her bravado slipped only a moment before she tucked her helmet into her side, nodding down the field. “Coach didn’t seem impressed with what he saw today.”
I was surprised by her talking to me as opposed to glaring at me and telling me to fuck off for only a moment before I saw it.
She wanted to storm away from me just as much as she needed me to comfort her.
I didn’t even know if she realized it, but all the signs were there — the bob of her throat, the jittery way her fingers moved, how she shifted her weight from one hip to the other. No one else would notice.
But I did.
I used to be that person for her, me and Gavin both, and though she hated me now — and for good reason — I was the only person she knew on the team.
“He’d be crazy not to be,” I said. “He just doesn’t want to show it, doesn’t want anyone to rest easy tonight.”
She swallowed, nodding.
“Hey,” I added, noting the worry she was trying to hide. Her brows bent together, and I reached out, squeezing her shoulders. “It’s all good.”
Again, she nodded, not able to look at me.
And I couldn’t resist.
“I’ll still love you when you’re redshirted.”
Her eyes snapped to mine then, the Riley I’d come to know back in full force as she scoffed, shrugging me off. “If anyone will be riding that bench this season, it’ll be you and that 2.0 grade point average.”
I ignored the sting of her comment, face expressionless like it didn’t faze me at all. “Don’t be salty because I made your kicks look better than you did today.”
