Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Her chest rises rapidly and she looks faint. She sits down on one of the benches.
“I’m just fighting. I get in the ring, go a few rounds, and get paid a flat fee if I win. That’s it.”
She sucks in a shuddering breath as the dots are connected in her head. “That’s why you were all beat up before?”
I nod.
She shakes her head. “But you can’t take money from anyone, not if you want to play football.”
An eerie calmness settles over me. “I know.”
“Why?” She stands and walks over to me, her hands fluttering as if she’s a caged bird who needs to escape but doesn’t know the way out.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I did the fight for Raven, to pay for Pineview.”
She blinks, taking that in. “I didn’t realize you were paying the bill. I thought the state or insurance was.”
“No.” My shoulders slump as I feel the weight of all my decisions. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I’ve been coming here to spar as much as I can. I just wanted to keep you out of it in case the press finds out.”
She stares at me, taking it all in.
I pick up my gym bag. “I need to go. The scrimmage is tomorrow and I have to be rested. It’s late. I’ll see you later?”
Hurt flashes over her face, and her eyes shimmer. “Seriously?”
I nod. “The NFL scouts are coming. I need some space, okay?”
She nods, pain in her eyes as they dart around the room. “Fine. I see what’s most important to you.” She brushes past me and out the door.
Part of me wants to call her back, for her to just…help me through this craziness, but the other part knows I need distance. I need to focus on tomorrow and everything else that may come with it.
Maverick
The next day, I’m on the way to the field to dress out for the scrimmage.
I was up late thinking about Delaney, and I’m beat. At least Eminem is blaring on the radio, and I crank it up. The lyrics to “One Shot” blast out as I tap the beat on the steering wheel. The song feels prophetic. The NFL scouts will be sitting in the stands getting a tight view of me as I manage the defense, and whatever happens will definitely set the tone for next year.
I pull into the parking lot and make my way to the dressing room. Most of the guys aren’t here yet, and more than likely won’t be for another hour. I like to come in extra early, get dressed, and get myself mentally prepared for the game. Every hardcore player has a few game-day quirks, and mine is running my hands along the turf or grass before any other player steps on it. Ryker likes to tell everyone I actually eat the grass, but that’s a lie. Still, I go along with it, let them think I’m crazy. As for Ryker…his is getting bitch-slapped by one of the coaching assistants while I hold his hands behind his back. Says it gets his adrenaline going.
Coach Alvarez comes out of his office and meets me in the hallway. A few inches shorter than me with a bald head and bright blue eyes that don’t miss a thing, he’s in his forties and stocky. A former WU player, he lives and breathes the game. His face is grim most of the time, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but today there’s an extra bit of downturn at the corners of his mouth. Known for his profanity and booming voice, he scares the shit out of most people, and no one wants to get on his bad side. He can rake you over the coals faster than a quarterback sneak.
I nod. “Coach. On my way to the locker room.”
“My office first, Monroe.” He juts his chin in the direction of his door.
My first thought is Shit, he knows, and a wave of dread washes over me. He’s been nothing but kind to me, a good coach who saw right away that I had no father figure at all, and freshman year, he made sure to check in with me from time to time.
My second thought is that this is a pep talk. He knows how much I’m hanging on to the fact that the scouts are interested in me, especially since I didn’t go out early. They want to see if I’ll live up to the hype.
I follow his broad frame into his office. Boxes of equipment, helmets, and padding are stacked against the walls, and a white board and a projector sit in the back surrounded by several desks and chairs. This is the coaching headquarters where the assistants meet to decide how we’re going to be playing the game. He leans against his desk.