Page 95 of Hard to Score

“No worries there.”

When I walk out and slam the door behind me, he doesn’t follow.

I run down the middle of the street as fast as I can until I can’t breathe and double over on a sidewalk.

They’re trading you out, Drew.

Even though they found nothing on me, even though I’m innocent, the Tigers no longer wanted a name on their roster like mine. One that has accusations tied to it everywhere he turns.

The Tigers win the Super Bowl. What an incredible game!

The announcers’ declarations were like a taunt. Telling me what I missed. What I’ll never have.

You should be happy Florida took you.

How could I be happy when I’m so far away from my family?

You could never be me.

Where I’m relegated to sitting on the goddamn bench week after week.

Alone.

All fucking alone.

Because of him.

CHAPTER FIFTY

DREW

I ROLL MY HEAD BACK on my shoulders as frustration eats at me. Another fucking game stuck on the sidelines.

Another goddamn game where Hobbs’s inexperience screams loudly.

And for what? For the Raptors to make sure they’re not wasting their fucking money in that huge contract they’re paying him.

He’s a fucking flop. He has more talent in his pinky than most quarterbacks, so he needs to get past this block. His mental game is weak as shit. I know what that’s like. But I kept fucking trying, even when knocked off my pedestal.

The Georgia crowd roars when his pass sails wide for the third time in as many downs. Thank fuck Georgia is playing just as poorly. The only reason we still have a chance is because they’ve made just as many mistakes as we have.

The stands explode in cheers when Hobbs fails to get the first down. Victory is so close they can taste it.

And it makes me sick to my stomach.

I turn my back to the game, unable to watch for one more second.

“Hey, Bowman?”

I turn at the sound of Lonnie’s voice. “It’s not your plays,” I say, answering the question he’s been giving me with every game as of late. “It’s Hobbs. It’s—”

“You’re in next sequence.”

I do a double take at his words. “Come again?”

Did I hear him right?

“We have five minutes left. You think you can pull this off? You think you can find a way to pull a touchdown out of your ass?”