The sadness in the locker room was so palpable, I could taste it. We’d just dragged our asses off the field after a bowl loss, and now, even worse news hit us upside the head unexpectedly.
We looked pathetic.
After a long, silent moment, Holden stood, quietly making his way to stand next to Coach. He clapped him on the shoulder, the two of them exchanging a nod of respect before Holden turned to face the team.
“Coach is right,” he said, his eyes determined as they scanned the room.
I swore I saw him step into even more of a leadership role, if it was possible. It was as if the ship was going down and the captain took the only lifeboat, so the first mate took the wheel, doing all he could to steady us in the storm.
“This isn’t the end for us. We showed the entire nation this season that we are the team they should all be afraid of. We nearly went undefeated, and we showed real grit and heart out there against the top team in the nation tonight,” he added, pointing behind him like we were still on the field.
It was true. We hadn’t gotten our asses handed to us in the loss. It had been by only three points — a field goal that was scored too late in the last quarter for us to do anything about it, though we tried.
“Our victory may not be tonight,” Holden said, nodding as he looked around. “But it still exists. Our championship is waiting. Now, are you going to turn your back on it because we’re losing some of our family? Our brothers,” he said, gesturing to a couple of our seniors. He smirked then, arching a brow back at Coach. “Our Pops.”
He somehow made us all chuckle, even in the darkest hour, and Coach socked him across the arm — but he was smiling, too.
“Do you think they’d want us to give up?”
One of the seniors stood, pointing his gargantuan finger at all of us. “If you don’t win next year, I’ll fly back from wherever I am in the country and kick every single one of your asses.”
Another senior popped up to join him. “I’ll help.”
“See?” Holden said, gesturing to them. “Today, this loss? It stings. It hurts like hell. It feels unfair, like our one shot was stolen. But that’s just it — this isn’t our last bullet. We have another in the chamber.” He paused, letting that sink in. “So, are we going to throw in the towel? Or are we going to fight?”
“Fight!” Leo said, jumping up from where he was seated in front of a locker.
“Fight!” Zeke echoed, jumping up, too.
One after the other, every member of our team stood, thrusting their fists in the air with their brows bent, a new fire lit.
I stood last, crouched over as I bobbed my head and sifted through the crowd like a creature of the night. I walked to the rhythm of a song not playing, but Kyle caught on, and he started drumming out a beat on the nearest locker.
“Who are we?!”
“NBU!”
Their response was so loud it nearly knocked me on my ass.
“What do we want?!”
“What all champs do!”
Anyone walking past that locker room would have thought we were insane. We just lost the bowl game — and here we were changing like we’d won it.
“How do we win?”
“Fight with class!”
“And if all else fails?”
“KICK THEIR ASS!”
That last part was garbled and riddled with what sounded like war cries from everyone in the room. Helmets hit against lockers, cleats stomped on the floor, and my teammates beat their chests like warriors.
I glanced at Holden through the madness, who wore a slight tilt of his mouth as he nodded at me — my captain, and I, his new first mate.
It didn’t matter that Coach was leaving.
It would be our season next year.
And no one would take it from us.
Giana
New Year’s Eve was a mixture of sadness and loss, of celebration and renewal — a juxtaposition of a cocktail that dizzied me the more I tried to figure it out.
I leaned my back against Clay’s chest on the rooftop bar, his giant arms wrapped around me and doing more to warm me than my oversized coat. He was quiet after the bowl game loss, after the news of Coach Sanders heading to the NFL.
“Are your thoughts eating you alive in there?” I asked, smoothing my hands over his forearms where he held me. Our eyes were trained on the lights of Dallas flickering before us, fireworks already going off even though there were still a few minutes until midnight.
Clay let out a long breath, squeezing me tighter. “Everything is changing,” he said softly.
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it makes me feel unsteady.”
I turned in his arms, wrapping mine around his neck and pulling his gaze from the city down to me. “You are the steadiest man I know,” I said truthfully. “And with Holden by your side, I know you two can hold the team together and face what comes next. Zeke and Riley will be there, too. And Leo.” I paused. “Hell, even Kyle seemed fired up tonight.”
Clay scoffed. “He just hopes the new coach is a pushover so he can bring his phone on the field again. Coach Sanders wouldn’t have it.”
“I’m sure the new coach won’t either.”
Clay sighed, shaking his head. “I’m nervous,” he admitted. “But you’re right. It’s nothing we can’t handle.”
I nodded, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as I pressed up on my toes, needing more contact. “You know… I’ve been thinking about what you said. About me being an agent.”
He cocked a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah… and… I think I want to try.”
Clay smirked, the first real light coming back to his eyes since Coach’s news. “Wait, really? Holy shit, Kitten — that’s epic.”
“Don’t get too excited just yet,” I told him — mostly because it was dangerous for me to get too excited. “I talked to Charlotte about it. She said she’d help me, introduce me to some people, and let me take over leading our guys who have current NIL deals.”
“That’s huge!” Clay said, ignoring my request not to get too excited. He lifted me up, spinning me around as some of his teammates backed away so as not to be hit by my kitten heels. When he put me back down, he grabbed my face in his hands. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
I flushed, leaning into his palm. “We’ll see what happens.”
“Oh, I already know what will happen.”
“Do tell.”
“We’re going to win the championship next year. And then the year after that, I’ll get drafted in the first round, and you’ll be my agent — negotiating the sickest signing bonus anyone has ever seen.”
I let out a breath of a laugh. “And what about now?”
He frowned, confused.
“What happens before all that?”
Clay inhaled a long breath, his green eyes searching mine as he thumbed a curl behind my ear. That thumb traced my jaw next, and he framed my face, pulling me closer.
“Now, I spend the entire off-season spoiling my girl,” he said easily, and as the crowd around us began to countdown from ten, he leaned in closer. “Starting with giving her her first New Year’s Eve kiss.”