Not this time.
Maggie stands at the edge of the field, tablet in hand, sunglasses reflecting every bit of her irritation. “Your mood’s leaking, Hayes,” she calls, voice like nails. “Try not to tank the brand while you’re sulking.”
I tear off my helmet, hair sticking to my forehead, sweat dripping down my face. “Fuck the brand!” I bark, my voice echoing across the field.
A hush falls. Maggie’s eyebrows shoot up, lips curling into a smug little smirk as if she’s been waiting for this. “Careful,” she says sweetly. “You keep that up and the only thing left of your career will be a cautionary tale.”
My chest heaves, fury pounding hot and heavy through my veins. I want to tell her where to shove her sponsors, want to snap my playbook in half to feel something break that isn’t me.
Coach Mike storms onto the field, clipboard hitting his thigh. “What the hell is your problem, Hayes? You think you’re the only one out here tired? You think the whole damn team revolves around your bad mood?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. The words coil in my throat like barbed wire.
Because the truth is, I’m hanging by a thread. One thin, fraying thread that feels like it’s about to snap at any moment.
The sunshine quarterback is gone. The one who smiled and carried the weight of a whole team like it was nothing—that guy doesn’t fucking exist right now.
What’s left is angry. Bitter. Hollow.
The whistle shrieks, and we reset into another drill. Mycleats dig into the turf, and I struggle to breathe. The ball snaps into my hands, and I throw it like I’m trying to kill someone, the spiral too strong and too fast.
“Jesus, Hayes!” JP yelps, fumbling as it slams into his chest. “You tryna break my ribs before game day?”
Usually, I’d laugh, chirp him back, and call him soft. Instead, I bark, “Catch the fucking ball then! If you can’t fucking play, go back to Opal Springs!”
JP scoffs, walking away mumbling, “Whatever.”
Pierce jogs up beside me, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat dripping down his temple. “Yo, what crawled up your ass today?” he asks, smirking like he can tease me out of it. “You’re usually the one telling us to relax. Golden boy energy and all that shit.”
“Not in the fucking mood,” I snap, shoving past him to get back in formation.
“Damn,” Pierce mutters under his breath, low but not low enough. “Quarterback’s gone sour.”
Another snap, another ball hurled downfield too hard. My shoulder aches with every throw, but I push through it, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
Coach Mike’s whistle blows again. “Hayes! Get your head out of your ass. You think the Daredevils are gonna roll over just because you’re brooding? You play like this next week, you’ll lose the whole damn season!”
I suck in a sharp breath, helmet clutched tight in my hands. The words sting because I don’t give a fuck about the Daredevils. Not today.
My grip tightens until the pads squeal against my fingers.
The ball snaps again. I push forward, forcing myself through another play, my muscles screaming, my lungs burning. Sweat drips into my eyes, blurring the field. But nomatter how fast I run or how hard I throw, I can’t outrun the images of her flashing through my mind.
Another snap. Another throw too hard and wild, the ball sailing just out of reach. Pierce curses, flailing his arms.
“Fuck!” I roar, ripping my helmet off and slamming it down so hard against the turf it bounces once, twice, before rolling to a stop.
The whole field freezes.
My chest heaves, sweat dripping into my eyes as I rake both hands down my face, fingers digging into my skin like I can claw out the anger gnawing at me.
“Hayes!” Coach Mike barks, storming across the field, clipboard in hand. His voice is sharp, cutting through the tense silence. “What the fuck is going on with you? You want to throw a tantrum, do it in your house. Out here, you’re a quarterback, not a kid slamming his toys.”
I spin toward him, fists clenched, rage boiling in my chest. “Maybe I’m fucking tired of carrying everyone on my back every damn day!”
A ripple goes through the team. Shock. Nobody’s used to hearing me like this.
Pierce mutters something under his breath. JP whistles softly. The air feels heavy and tense.
