“Tell you what.”
“Don’t.”
“Gonna help you out.”
“I swear to God, Jackson?—”
Too late.
The whistle blows and the next drill starts.
We line up for contact work.
Ball comes out.
Tank barrels forward like a freight train.
Straight at me.
“Oi—”
WHAM.
The bastard absolutely levels me.
Not illegal.
But definitely not friendly either.
I hit the turf hard.
Wind knocked clean out of me.
“Jesus Christ!”I wheeze.
Tank looms over me.
“Oh, shit,” he says with absolutely zero sincerity.“You alright there, mate?”
“You just killed me!”
“Bit dramatic.”
Great Dane jogs over.
“Walker, you good?”
I sit up slowly.
“Yeah.Just got trucked by this bloody idiot.”
Tank pats my shoulder like he’s consoling a dying relative.
“Probably should get that checked.”
“I’m fine.”
Coach squints at me.
