by L A Cotton
“Holy crap.” The words fell off my lips in a whoosh of breath. It was Jason, staring right at me, his dark intense eyes fixed on my face, arm hiked ready to release the ball. I moved closer, awed by the detail. The muscles in his arm bulging, strong and powerful.
“I think it’s my favorite so far,” Hailee said. “Which is weird considering I still can’t stand him. But he embodies the game. I think it’s his eyes, the sheer determination in them. Like he is the game. I never really understood his obsession, but watching him train, seeing him out there on the field, I get it. He doesn’t just like football, he—”
“Needs it.” I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I’d seen Jason play a few times now and it was always a sight to behold. But that was from the bleachers. This was intimate. As if I was right there on the field with him, watching him command the play, his team. A shiver ran up my spine and I sucked in a shaky breath.
“It’s great, Hails. Really good.” I tried to school my expression, but Hailee narrowed her eyes. Trying to deflect, I asked, “Who do you have left?”
“Jones, Merrick, and Killian. I’m almost done with the rest.”
“I can’t wait to see them all together. Coach Hasson is going to be blown away.” My eyes flicked back to Jason’s portrait, but I forced myself to look at Hailee. I needed to push him to the recesses of my mind; a memory I would only allow myself to recall when I was alone with a gallon of ice-cream in reach.
“I just hope the guys like them,” she said quietly.
“They will,” I reassured her. They couldn’t not. But as she covered Jason back up, I saw the way her eyes lingered on her step-brother. The wariness in her gaze. Things had always been strained between them and although Hailee would never admit it, I knew she wanted things to be easier. For Jason to respect her. Especially now that she was with Cameron.
“He’ll love it, Hails.”
“I don’t know—”
“Yes you do.” My lips curved in a small smile. “It’s okay to want his approval. He’s your brother.”
“Step-brother.”
“Does it really matter? It’s senior year. Soon we’ll all be going off in separate directions. But you and Jason will always find your way back to one another, because like it or not, you’re family. So yeah, it’s okay to want him to like it, and it’s okay if you want to try to smooth things over with him.”
“You’re a good friend, Felicity Giles.” Hailee wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tight. “And I promise to do everything in my power to make your senior year as awesome as it can possibly be.”
“Ride or die,” I said.
Hailee pulled away, grinning at me. “Ride or die.”
Jason
“Yo, QB, check it out.” Grady flipped me his cell phone. I caught it, my eyes narrowing on the tweet.
@ThatcherQB1: Raiders better watch out, the Tigers are on the prowl #Tigersgohunting #Raiderscansuckit
“Doesn’t Thatcher’s cousin play for the Tigers?” he asked me as I handed back his cell.
Shrugging, I grunted. “Fuck if I care. He’s just bitter we put their asses in the ground Rival’s Week.” We’d played them a couple weeks back. It had been a dog fight, both teams refusing to roll over. But, in the end, we got the win, and Thatcher had gone back to Rixon East with his tail between his legs.
“Should we be worried?” Cam leaned in, whispering in my ear.
“Do I look worried?” Thatcher was clutching at straws. He couldn’t touch me on the field, and he knew it.
“Hey.” Cam’s hand pressed against my chest as I went to move. “You sure you’re good?”
“Millington are going down and I’m going to enjoy every fucking second.” I grinned, but Cameron didn’t share my enthusiasm. In fact, he looked miserable as hell.
“He can’t touch me out there.” My expression grew serious. “You don’t need to look so—”
“Grady,” Coach boomed, startling us. “That better not be a cell phone I can see on game night. Lock it away, Son. Now.”
“Sorry, Coach,” Grady grumbled, flipping me off when I smirked at him.
“Gather in, ladies,” Coach Hasson’s voice echoed around the locker room. We all moved in, dropping into formation around him. I kneeled, helmet tucked onto my knee, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
“Game six,” he said. “Win tonight and we’re only one more game away from securing our place in the play-offs. We’re the team to chase, the team to beat. But that doesn’t mean we can get cocky, you hear me?”
“Yes, Sir,” rang out, vibrating through me.
“Millington have a strong defense and a quick offense. Don’t underestimate them. I want eyes open, give Chase a clear path, and for the love of God, keep your eye on your QB.”
Our defense grunted another, “Yes, Sir.”
“Chase,” Coach said to the guy standing at my side. “You good?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Glad to hear it, Son. Anything changes and you let me know, okay?”
Cam nodded, his eyes sliding to mine. So much passed between us my chest constricted. He’d missed our last game due to his mom being in the hospital, but he was back now and he was hungry for it. I saw it in his eyes, knew I was reflecting the same back at him. We were so close. So fucking close I could almost taste it. Last year, we’d lost out to a shot at the championship but this year it was ours. Do or die, I was getting my championship ring before I graduated.
“Anything you want to add QB?” Coach asked me, his eyes conveying every conversation we’d had during practice this week.
Keep your cool.
We’re almost there.
Lead them to victory, Son.
Letting my eyes run over every one of my teammates faces, I said, “We do what we do every week, go out there and play like we want it. Like we deserve it. We’re Raiders. And what are we going to do?”
“WIN,” the roar of my teammates, my brothers, slammed into me, fueling the fire already raging in my chest.
“That’s what I like to hear. Asher, Son, care to do the honors?”
“Sure thing, Coach.” Asher jumped to his feet, bouncing around like fucking Tigger on steroids. “Who are we?” he cried.
“Raiders,” our voices carried over the rumble of the crowd outside.
“I said who are we?”
“RAIDERS.”
“And what are we?”
“Family.”
“And what are we gonna do?” Asher grinned at me, cocky motherfucker.
“Win.”
“I said what are we gonna do?”
“WIN!”
“Damn right we are,” Coach punched the air with his clipboard and yelled, “Now get out there and show me what you’re made of.”
As we spilled from the locker room into the stadium tunnel, we sounded like a stampede, an army rushing into war. Flames licked my insides; hunger for the win coursing through my veins. I pulled on my helmet as we jogged onto the field, crashing through the cheerleader’s banner like a powerful wave. The crowd was on their feet, cheering and yelling our names. The sheer force of their collective voices slamming into me. Whatever it takes by Imagine Dragons rose above the noise, igniting the whole place into a frenzy. This is what I lived for. On this sacred place, under the bright Friday night lights, I was the best. Worshipped like a god and revered like a star. I was an above average student, knew my way around an algebra textbook, knew my Shakespeare from my Miller, but out here… out here I was home.
I took a second, inhaling deeply, relishing the smell of freshly cut grass, letting my eyes run over the four-thousand-strong crowd. Four years, I’d played football here. Four years, I’d celebrated wins and defeats, although not many. Four years of blood, sweat, and tears. I was ready, so ready, for the next step in my football career. The NCAA. One step closer to the ultimate dream: The NFL. But I knew there was something about this time, senior year at high school. I’d grown from a boy into a man on this field and I would never forget my time
playing under Coach Hasson, with guys I considered my brothers.
“Yo, QB, you good?” Asher yelled, and my head whipped over to him. I gave him a nod, jogging over to the rest of the guys. Anticipation rippled around us, the air crackling with excitement. It was addictive; better than any synthetic high.
“Hey, Jase.” Grady flicked his head over to where Millington were huddled. “Looks like you’ve got a new fan club.”
One of their players was glaring over at me. I stood taller, tipping my chin slightly, sending him a silent ‘fuck you’. He narrowed his eyes, pointing his finger at me before dragging it across his throat.
“Yo, Coach?” I asked one of our assistant coaches. “Number twenty-three. What position is he playing?”
“Linebacker,” he said warily. “Should I be concerned?”
“Nah, Coach. Just wondered.”
He gave me a pointed look. “No bullshit out there, okay?”
“Did I hear someone say bullshit?” Coach Hasson called us in. “Listen up. Millington came here to win. If they don’t, they can kiss a shot at the play-offs goodbye. So that means they’ll be gunning for blood. Your blood. You hear me?” We nodded. “They’re desperate and desperate men will do anything to get the win. Keep your cool and don’t get dragged into their games. That goes for you too, QB.”
“Yes, Sir.” My eyes flicked over to Millington. Like us, they were now huddled around their coach, who was no doubt telling them to use every trick in the book to get the win they so desperately needed to keep their play-off dream alive.
The referee interrupted Coach’s pep talk to inform us we needed to call the toss. I jogged out into the middle of the field with Cam and Asher flanking my side where we met the Millington players head on.
“Since they’re the visiting team, the toss goes to Millington. What’ll it be, Captain?”
“Heads,” their captain said, as we all crowded in to watch the referee toss the coin into the air.
Tails. Eat shit. I grinned at him and then at number twenty-three who had come out to support his captain.
“It’s your call, Raiders.”
“We’ll kick-off.” I wasn’t giving these fuckers even an ounce of breathing room.
“Sounds good. I expect a clean game. Captains, keep your players in check, and let’s play us some football.”
Asher and Cameron began to jog back to our team, but I couldn’t resist glancing over my shoulder. Number twenty-three was jogging backward, his eyes fixed right on me, and even through his helmet, I didn’t miss the words he mouthed.
Thatcher sends his love.
“Run, run,” the whole crowd seemed to echo my words as Cameron took off with the ball, ducking and dodging the sea of orange and black players racing toward him.
“Motherfucker,” I roared as he got tackled by a huge defensive end, his body slamming against the ground with a resounding thud. Right outside the end zone as well.
“They’re all over us,” Grady jogged over to me as we walked off field.
He wasn’t wrong but I didn’t want to admit it. Millington had brought their A-game and if we didn’t turn it around soon our 21-18 lead was going to disappear down the drain.
I clapped him on his shoulder before cutting a path toward Merrick, one of our best defensive players. “Make them pay,” I said, pulling his helmet to mine. “I refuse to lose to this bunch of pussies. You feel me?”
“I feel you, QB.” His eyes sparked with hunger.
“Go get ‘em.”
Watching as our defense lined up at the scrimmage, Coach Hasson came up to me. “What the hell is happening out there? They got you spooked or something?”
I couldn’t tell him that Thatcher’s cousin, number twenty-three, was making it virtually impossible for me. He’d talked shit most of the game, pushing me, taunting me, trying to get me to take the bait. I hadn’t... yet, because I knew Coach would rip me a new one. But I wasn’t sure how much more of it I could take.
“Defense will take care of it,” I grunted, watching as the Millington’s QB called the play. He was cocky; a real showman, preferring to keep the ball and run than use his players and pass.
Sure enough, he faked the pass, rolled around to the left and took off downfield... right into the awaiting arms of our cornerback. Their bodies fell hard, the referee rushing over to the huddle already forming around them. But it was our player with the ball.
“Thank fuck.” Clapping my hands, I yanked on my helmet, ready to get back out there.
“This is the one,” Coach yelled, and my eyes flicked to the clock. There was time for one more play; two if we were lucky. We had to score; anything less and we risked giving Millington the chance to flip the game.
Giving Coach a nod, I jogged over to my teammates. “This is it. The play that ends these motherfuckers. Fourteen,” my eyes found Cam across the huddle. “You get to sit this one out. We’re going to run Blue Right Fourteen Reverse.”
“But, Jase…” someone started, but I held up my hand.
“We go with the play, got it?”
“Got it.”
It was a risk—not using Cameron—but you didn’t make miracles happen by playing it safe, and we needed to hit Millington where they least expected it.
“Raiders on three.” I shoved my fist into the center of the huddle, waiting for the other ten fists to follow. “One, two, three.”
Our battle cry rang out around us, the crowd’s roar igniting a firestorm inside me. They believed in us, in me, cheering us on until the bitter end. And we were about to give them the victory they deserved.
That we deserved.
Millington stepped up to the scrimmage, eyes hard, jaws set. They were the predators now, and we were the prey. But first they’d have to catch us.
“Blue Fourteen, Blue Fourteen, hut.” The ball snapped to me and I caught it with nothing more than muscle memory. Dropping back, I extended my arm ready to hand-off the ball to my running back. He barreled past me and took off, as I darted right, ball cradled in my arm, head down. The fake play had given me the time I needed to gain yards, but it didn’t take long for the Tigers’ defense to realize I had the ball. They barreled toward me like a runaway train. I pushed harder, my muscles pinging with exertion, the air whooshing around my helmet as I kept running.
“Go, GO! The entire stadium seemed to yell, propelling me forward. Giving me the strength I needed to make one final push.
Someone reached for me and I leaped to the side, the thud of their body hitting the ground behind me reverberating in my ears.
Fifteen yards… ten… five. I was so close. So fucking close I could already hear the echo of ‘touchdown’ ringing in my ears. But a Millington player appeared out of nowhere slamming straight into me, the ball fumbling out of my hands. “Fuck,” I grunted, the ground beneath me breaking my fall.
“That one’s for Thatcher.” Twenty-three came down hard on me. His elbow—or was it a fist—clipping my ribs with purpose. Once. Twice… Pain splintered through my side.
“Get the fuck off me,” I sneered, pushing him off. He rolled away, clambering to his feet. The second I was upright, I got up in his face, barely aware of the game still going on around us. “What the hell was that?”
Dead Man Walking had the balls to smirk.
“Oh, you think this is funny. You piece of shit.” I lunged for him just as the announcer called, “Touuuuuuchdown.”
“FORD, GET THE HELL OVER HERE NOW,” Coach Hasson barked just as my hand twisted into twenty-three’s jersey.
“Better run, bitch b—”
Yanking him forward, I smashed my helmet against his. “Tell Thatcher if he wants me, to come get me. He knows where to find me.” Anger radiated through me and when a hand landed on my shoulder, my head whipped around so quickly I got whiplash.
“Let him go, man,” Cam said coolly. “He isn’t worth it.”
“How’s your girl, Chase?” Twenty-three wore a shit-eating smirk. “When you’re done with
her, let me know. I wouldn’t mind taking her for a—”
Cameron barreled me out of the way and tackled him, the two of them crashing to the ground. Suddenly we were swarmed by a sea of orange and black, blue and white, players pushing and shoving while Cameron wailed on twenty-three. His helmet was off now, Cam’s too.
“Raiders, get the hell over to the sideline, NOW!” Coach grabbed my shoulder. “Rein your players in, Captain.” His voice was icy cold. Enough that it snapped me out of the red mist, and I started pushing my teammates away.
“Go, get over there.” I flicked my head to the sideline where the remainder of our team was gathered.
“Let’s go, Chase.” Coach and one of Millington’s coaches pulled Cam off Thatcher’s cousin; Coach Hasson handling my best friend while their coach helped his player to his feet.
“Coach, it wasn’t—” I started, but he levelled me with a glare that said, ‘shut the hell up’.
“We’ll deal with this once we’re in the locker room. Get in there and wait for me, you hear me?” Disappointment dripped from his words, sitting heavy on my chest.
I slung an arm around Cam’s shoulder, but he shrugged me off, storming away. “Motherfucker.” I threw my helmet down and kicked it, sending it flying into the water table.
“Ford!” one of the coaches yelled, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t even look back as I followed the rest of our team into the tunnel. We’d gotten the victory. But it had ended in a shitshow.
All because of Lewis fucking Thatcher.
Felicity
Coach Hasson’s voice echoed through the doors. He wasn’t just pissed about what had just happened, he was furious.
“Maybe we should go?” I winced, as his tirade continued, eyeing Hailee as she paced outside the team’s locker room like a caged animal. We weren’t supposed to be back here but being the star quarterback’s step-sister and star wide receiver’s girlfriend swayed the security guy’s decision to let us wait.
“You can go if you want to,” she said, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other bent so that she could chew her thumb, “but I’m not leaving until I know Cameron’s okay.”
