And then there was Alex. I had decided that if he continued to reach out, I’d let it happen and play that by ear. I would approach that relationship with no expectations and go with the flow. Something that wasn’t like me at all.
It was time to move forward and not look to the past. I had Ma, my brothers, a decent future if I continued to work hard at college, and then there was Harper. She was the fuel that kept me going. And now I would focus my energies onhelping my girl to tidy up her own life and make her whole again. I knew she still had baggage and stuff she wanted to say, and I would be there to help her with that, however I could.
As I made my way back across the field towards the coach, the crowd was still going wild. People were walking back to their seats, their arms loaded with cheese dogs and beer, and I played the crowd, posing for a couple of selfies with a group of high school wannabe jocks. I stayed away from the girls that time, not wanting to make my little love jealous. I was the best-looking guy on the team at the end of the day and a big fucker. I couldn’t disappoint the fans.
Half of the team had taken a courtesy break in the locker room, if you could call getting a hand-job at halftime from one of the cheerleaders that. As I pulled away from the bleachers, Michael Dexter jogged alongside me, looking mighty pleased with himself. His expression only had one setting: smug. He’d been the same when he went to St Andrew’s whilst I was at Harbor Heights.
“You need to watch Prescott’s six, that ratdefender keeps dropping into the middle, trying to read him,” he stated, his face covered with sweat.
He was right, too. I’d given the Vipers an easy ride so far. It was a clear hustle between my team and me, but the opposition didn’t know that. Now the gloves were well and truly off. “Yeah, I noticed him cut back, typical pussy trick player. Motherfucker can kiss my cleats. I’m gonna wrap the cunt straight off the whistle.”
The rivalry on the field was unmatched; both teams were fighting for their place in the future playoffs, so go figure.
The Vipers were known for their raw power and relentless defense, and their quarterback possessed an arm like a fucking cannon, but he hadnothingon my brother, Reed. Reed was the best quarterback in the division, and one day the NFL would be all over his ass, just like members of the NCAA were.
“Cole says there’s a scout here,” Michael blurted as he started to stretch. The tension that appeared in my jaw as Dexter mentioned that sly defender reduced.Knowledge that a scout was in the crowd was a clear reason for all players to up their game, but I didn’t give a shit. I had no intention of playing football professionally, not like my brothers. Whatever I did would still be physical work, but it wouldn’t amount to throwing a ball around for the rest of my life.
“Isn’t there always?” I replied in a bored voice. Cole Smith was our captain and was probably lying to get us to up our game. Not that we needed to, as we were already up by eight points.
“Nah, man. I mean the real deal.”
“What, as in pro?” I replied, dashing a hand down my face and glancing out into the crowds. It wasn’t as if I would see anyone; it would be a proper needle-in-a-haystack scenario. I glanced over at Harper. She was now laughing and joking with Molly, before Dexter drew my focus back.
“Hey, I’m talking Nunn Wooton.”
My brow scrunched. “Bullshit. How would Smith know about a scout anyway?”
“Well, he’s still tight with Adam Summers.”
“Adam Summers from your old High School, as in Storm’s cousin?”
“The one and only,” he replied proudly, as if he’d just delivered the biggest of secrets. “Adam’s old man still works for ESPN, hence the heads up about there being eyes on us tonight.”
“Holy shit. Well, they won’t be here for your lazy assormine. Does Reed know?”
“Nah, bro. He wasn’t in the locker room when I found out. God knows where he got to.”
And of course, he wasn’t in the locker room. Reed had been under the bleachers getting his cock sucked by Adam Summer’s cousin, Storm. The thought of that shit made me want to gag.
Rolling my shoulders, Dexter and I walked over to where the team was now huddled, listening to instructions from the coach. On our approach, hestraightened from his bent-over position and glanced past us with an annoyed look.
“Where thefuckis Prescott?”
A fresh burst of irritation coursed through me. Grimacing, I pointed out, “Am I hisfuckingkeeper?” Everyone turned to stare at me in astonishment. I wasn’t sure why; I was being my usual prickish self.
“Watch your mouth, Carter,” Coach Samuels bit back, and my shoulders dropped.
“My apologies,” I rumbled insincerely. I was so done with this game, I wanted us to win quickly, then I could go and be with Harper.
“Save your aggression for the field, son,” he replied, grasping my shoulder.
“Don’t worry, sir, I’m on it.” And I was, if the opposition's linebacker pulled a blitz and tried to clothesline me again, I’d make damn sure they never found the pieces.
“Right, see that you are. OK, tactics ladies, let’s go through our next play.”
Samuels then fired off his suggested strategic adjustments like the Coach Bull Cyclone he endeavored to be. Coach S had been pissed at the end of the second quarter, having chewed out the opposition's tight end, the fouling little prick. And now he had us gunning for the other team like the predators we were.
The coach quickly sped through, reviewing the first half and giving us pointers on where improvements could have been made.
