38
BEN
“Run it again! Get that shit right this time,” Coach Krud shouts.
Yes, I’ve changed his name a little. The new moniker fits.
Krud is making me run the same route with Meyers, who is not having a stellar day. I feel for him. Has to be tough stepping in after we had Rider as QB.
Sweat drips into my eyes as the hundred-degree weather bakes us on the field. We’re in the middle of a massive heat wave—thank you, Texas.
After our morning running drills, two freshmen yakked on the sidelines. I’m not feeling great myself, but now is not the time to think about it.
I run the route and catch the ball, but Krud is already yelling at Meyers because he thought the release came late.
“You’re a junior, damn it. You should have this shit on lockdown by now.”
It’s the second week of training camp, and Meyers already looks defeated. But the expression on his face is nothing compared to when Krud calls Jared Turner, a junior transfer, to take his place.
“Winston! Take over for Rodriguez. Let’s show everyone how this should look.”
I grind my teeth. Krud decided Winston makes a better tight end than receiver. Because he “bulked up.” If that’s what you want to call partying at South Padre before training camp. Strangely, Winston didn’t put up a fuss, but the change means he’s edging me out of my role, which must please him to no end.
I head to the sidelines with Meyers, whose grim expression darkens when Turner takes the field. Winston, ever the kiss-ass, says something that makes Coach chuckle, and my mood gets bleaker.
Our new tight end coach, Doug Nicholson, pats me on the shoulder. “Hang in there, man. Coach Krugman just wants us to get it perfect.”
“Yeah, no problem,” I say by rote even though I’d like to punch a hole through a wall, the one I’ve been bashing my head against since Krud took over the football program. Nicholson has been the saving grace, though. He knows his shit, and I’m excited to learn from him. He’s already helped my footwork.
Turner and Winston execute the route almost the exact same way Meyers and I did, though, admittedly, Turner’s release has more finesse. But if it lands in the hands of the receiver, does it really make a big difference?
Krud thinks so.
“Now that’s how you do it.” After a few more run-throughs, Winston and I switch out, but the second I turn out on the twenty-yard-line, Krud’s on my ass. “Sharper next time. The way Winston did it.”
Goddamn it.
“Yeah, Rodriguez. The way I did it,” Winston taunts as he takes a swig of water.
By the time I’m back in the locker room, I’m seething. If I’m reading the room right, Winston and a fucking sophomore are Krud’s go-to tight ends. Did I not break the school record for receiving yards? Did I not score eighteen touchdowns last year? Did I not help win a national championship?
What the fuck?
I strip off my sweaty clothes, wrap a towel around my waist, and shove the rest of my shit into my locker. I finally have my appointment with Krud today, so I’m hoping to find out what the hell is going on. Because I get the distinct feeling he doesn’t like me for some reason. Even though, before this camp, I’d never met the man. The question I’d really like to ask, though, is why he’s so goddamn chummy with Winston.
After a lightning-fast shower, I dress in some jeans and a t-shirt and head to his office where he’s shoveling a chili cheeseburger down his pie hole.
I knock and stand in the doorway and wait for him to tell me to enter. He makes me wait for several minutes while he takes his sweet time eating.
Finally, he licks his fingers and waves me in. “Rodriguez. Have a seat. I have your file here somewhere.”
His office is a pigsty. Granted, he just got here, but there are empty food containers everywhere, probably one on every stack of files.
“You had a good year last year,” he says as he finally locates my file.
No, I had a fucking phenomenal year. “Yes, sir.”
“What are your goals for your senior year?”
I’m relieved he’s not being an ass like he is on the field, but that feeling is short-lived when he groans and stops me.
“You’re the one with the kid, right?”
“Lily. Yes, she’s a little over two, and—”
“That’s gonna be a problem.”
I explain how I just found out about her, but I have reliable childcare. He doesn’t look convinced.
But as Sienna is always encouraging me to look on the bright side, I try to put everything in context. “As you may know, Coach, our quarterback last year had a baby, and he won the Heisman. So it is doable.”
His bushy eyebrows pull together. “I’d say he’s the exception, not the rule, wouldn’t you? How do you feel camp is going so far? Do you think you can hack it this fall? You’ve got four other guys on the team who could do your job.”
Jesus, why is he being such a prick? Up until this point, my coaches have always been supportive.
“I’m managing, sir. My girlfriend is really supportive, and she’s helping me—”
“That’s another thing. I don’t encourage serious relationships. Your main relationship should be football. Full stop.” He glances behind me, I suppose to check that no one is in the hallway. He lowers his voice. “There’s time for all the pussy you want when you reach the NFL. If you reach the NFL.”
Is this guy fucking serious?
I try to breathe through my anger. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”
He laughs when he sees my expression. “I’m not here to coddle you. You won a national championship last year, but guess what? That was last year. You’ve got to prove yourself all over again this fall, or you can kiss the draft goodbye. When I say I want a hundred percent, I mean every last ounce of energy should get poured into football. Not your kid. Not your girlfriend. Not your classes. That might be an unpopular opinion, but it’s the truth, and the truth is what I serve up.”
I thought that was what I’ve been doing. Living in the dorms where I barely fit on the twin bed. Not sleeping next to my girlfriend. Not seeing my daughter. How am I not sacrificing everything for this fucking game?
By the time I leave his office, I’m furious. What the hell have I done? I’ve completely screwed myself by not entering the draft last spring.
I’m stalking down the long hallway along the back of the stadium to the parking lot when the last person I feel like talking to jogs up to me.
“Hey, bitch. How’d your meeting go?” Winston smirks at me like he knows something I don’t.
When I don’t respond, he slings his arm over my shoulders. “Heard a little secret. Heard you were fucking Sienna.” I stiffen, my hands in fists at my side. “No need to thank me for basically hooking you two up with that ride to the airport. Doesn’t she give the best head you’ve ever had in your life?” He shivers dramatically. “Almost makes me want her back. But then, I’m not really into sloppy seconds.”
I don’t make the conscious decision to hit him, but all the pent-up anger I’ve had for this guy blasts through me. Next thing I know, my fist is connecting with his face.