Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“What was that?” I yell to my teammates. I’m one of the captains and the quarterback. Their fuckups aren’t only theirs but mine too, and I need this year to be perfect, damn it. “I’m not the only one NFL-bound here, am I? Because I can tell you now, none of us are gonna make the cut if we don’t get our shit together.”
“Relax, Cap,” Green says. “We’ve only lost one game so far this season. One in five. You should be thankful all our screwups are happening during practice.”
Ugh. He’s right.
One in five. One in five.
I take a deep breath and calm down. Not completely, but I’m brought back from the edge of losing it.
I might be more ready than I was this time four years ago when my future was staring me right in the face, and I’m more excited than ever for it, but that doesn’t mean the pressure has gotten any better. If anything, it’s only gotten worse. Not only pressure from my school and the team but my dads as well.
We’ve been on this train of thought since before I can remember. I don’t ever recall choosing football. When you’re football royalty, you don’t choose the game. It chooses you.
Coach Nass blows his whistle and calls us in. “We’re done for the day. Hit the showers.”
“We can get it,” I say.
“Peyton, there is such a thing as overpreparing. If you keep pushing your guys, they’re going to forget how to football altogether.”
My lips twitch. “Did you just use football as a verb, sir?”
“You bet your ass I did. Now listen to me and hit the showers.” Coach grins.
He made it to the big time and has lived and breathed football for his whole life. He might have only officially played one season in the NFL, but he’d been on a few practice squads—one of them being the Warriors. That’s the team my dads played for in Chicago. The team where they won their Super Bowl together. The entire reason Dad didn’t put up too much of a fight over Brady and me going to this school was Coach Nass.
If he says I’m pushing too hard, I’m pushing too hard.
“Okay, let’s go,” I relent.
The team heads for the showers, but I hang back, taking my time. I’m in no rush to shower and get to classes.
I am in a rush to fill my veins with caffeine, though, so there’s that. I pick up the pace, and by the time the rest of the team is showered and dressed, I’ve caught up and head out with Green.
He’s a big, brawny guy on the outside but a softie on the inside. He slaps my shoulder. “You over your diva tantrum yet? The great and powerful spawn of Marcus Talon—”
“Shut up.” I shove him.
He doesn’t even stumble. It’s like hitting a brick wall. “Aww, pet.” He pats my head. “Is someone a wittle sad?”
“Not sad. Just …” Stressed, exhausted, anxious … take your pick. “Annoyed that we’re not connecting on the field like I’m used to.”
We walk together across campus, and I don’t know where he needs to be, but there’s a Bean Necessities coffee cart up ahead with my name on it.
Before I can jump in line, Green wraps his beefy hand around my upper arm and pulls me to a stop. “Listen. You’re way too hard on yourself, and I know you’re going to argue with me that you have to be because of who you are and blah, blah, blah, but trust me when I say you’re going to be no use to us if you burn out and decide to quit football and join the priesthood.”
“Priesthood? Really?”
“I went with the most absurd thing I could think of.” He punches my shoulder. “Self-care, brother. Learn it, and just do it.”
He walks off, and I call after him, “I don’t think that’s what Nike meant when they came up with that slogan!”
The response I get is double middle fingers.
“Nice. Real nice!” I yell out.
I turn so I can join the coffee line, but I’m too busy watching Green’s retreating back to see where I’m going.
And of course, that’s when I smack right into someone else. Who’s carrying coffee. Which we’re both now wearing.
The hot liquid soaks my shirt, and I wrench my eyes closed and screw up my face, like not being able to see the disaster will make it disappear.
It does not.
“Shit, sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to turn, and—”
We lock eyes, and my breath falters.
“Levi?”
He steps back and shakes off the spilled coffee that’s on his hand. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag. I had hoped it would happen in a less dramatic way, but what are you gonna do?”
I blink. And then blink again. Turns out I wasn’t imagining him at the bar. “What … are you doing here?”