Catch Me (The RLU #5)

Chapter 3

Theo

I wake up in a cold sweat as my alarm goes off at 4:30 a.m., my usual schedule now that classes are starting today. My personal trainer, Rob, whom my dad hired, has me doing extra conditioning in the morning before classes, on top of the practices and team workouts that I already have later in the day.

To say I’m exhausted, even thinking about it, is an understatement.

I quickly get up and dress in athletic shorts, a T-shirt, and my running shoes, before bounding out of the football house, a house that all junior and senior players live in, to meet Rob at the track where I spend the next hour.

By the time I leave the track at six, I’m drenched in sweat from the brutal conditioning we just did.

As I walk through the front door of the football house, I’m hit with the smell of bacon, making my nose curl in distaste. Growing up on a farm and seeing the animals as my friends, I have refused to eat meat since I was a kid.

“Theo, you want some eggs and toast?” Dale, the kicker for our team, asks.

“Yes, please,” I tell him, taking a seat at our large dining room table.

“I’m not your dad. Come get your own food,” Dale snickers, dumping the scrambled eggs onto a large serving dish.

“Can’t a man catch a break?” I groan, my muscles screaming in protest as I get up from my chair to load my plate up with eggs, three slices of toast, and some olives.

Yes, olives. I don’t think there’s anything better than a green olive stuffed with red peppers. It’s my go-to snack.

Dale, who is apparently the only person awake in the house, groans when he sees my plate.

“Dude, you and your olives.”

“Why does good old Theo always get so much judgment? I’m a guy who likes olives, sue me,” I defend myself and my exquisite taste.

“They’re gross,” he mutters.

“I could say the same about your bacon.” I raise my brow at him.

“Touché,” he agrees easily, knowing my aversion to meat.

“How is Robin doing?” I ask, because Dale told me last week that she’s pregnant. They’ve been dating since freshman year, after meeting at a party the first week of school.

“She’s stressed. And I’ll be honest, so am I.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We didn’t plan on starting a family until after I got drafted and we’re settled in our careers.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. That’s a lot to deal with. I know your family will be supportive. Your parents are great. What about hers?”

“We haven’t told them yet, they’re very … traditional, you could say,” Dale sighs.

“Hey, look on the bright side. You have a woman you love—your soulmate—and once this year ends, you’ll be leaving school with not only a spot in the NFL, but a mini version of you both. How awesome is that?” I try to reassure him, because if I’m honest, I envy him a little.

Not the baby part, per se, because I’m not ready for that. But I envy the fact that he met his person so early on, that they fell in love, and now get to experience more of it.

I want that.

“Fuck, I know.” He rubs his finger into his temple. “I can’t wait to start a family with that girl. She’s my everything. And we’re both happy and want it, it’s just shitty timing.”

“Everything will work out how it’s supposed to,” I tell him, and myself. Because my belief in fate has me convinced that I’ll get my girl somehow, someday.

“I hope so,” he says before chugging the rest of his strawberry milk. Leaning forward, he looks around to make sure no one’s there and whispers, “Did you hear the rumor about tonight’s practice?”

I lean forward too, and whisper back, “No, what?”

“We’re getting a transfer on the team.”

My eyebrows pinch together. “What? This late in the season? Who is it?”

Our first game is this Friday, and after having pre-season training for this past month, it’s really late for someone to be added to our roster.

“Rumor has it, Hunter Johnson is going to be our new wide receiver. Even though he was a previous quarterback, he was having some trouble with that position, so they’re trying something new.”

There is no way I just heard that right. Hunter is joining our team. The guy who cheated on Marcela, and is the scum of the Earth in my books? This means I will have to see this guy almost everyday, and fucking trust and throw to him during games?

Please let this be only a rumor.

I must not hide my disdain well, because Dale’s looking at me with confusion. “What’s up? It’s all good. Your position is safe. It’ll just be weird throwing to someone we haven’t played with for years, like the rest of the guys.”

“You’re right,” I say, plastering on a fake smile, the one I know he’s expecting. “Where did you hear this?” I ask him, finishing off the last bite of my toast.

Dale pins me with a dumbfounded look. “Did you forget Robin’s dad is our assistant coach?”

“That I did.” I stand, rounding the table to grab his cleared plate, and clap him on the back. “Good luck telling him you knocked up his precious daughter.”

“You dick,” he half-groans, half-chuckles.

Later that day, I walk through the hallways of our stadium toward the field where practice is being held, my mind a mess.

If Hunter is actually here at our school, that means Marcela will be forced to see him, because our team loves to celebrate wins at the bar she works at. My gut twists at the idea, knowing how much it will hurt her to see that piece of shit.

I plan on texting her about it to warn her, but I decide to wait to see if the rumor is true first.

The late afternoon sun shines down on me as I exit the tunnel, the crisp turf under my feet familiar. The stands are a mix of our school colors, forest green and white, with our famous coyote logo on the jumbotron.

I scan the group of people here. It’s still early, so there are only a few players, the coaching staff, and our trainers. I come to a stop when I see none other than Hunter Johnson standing on Rock Land University turf.

Fuck me.

I’ve never liked the guy—even less so now. He used to play at the University of Aspen, our rival school, which instantly made him enemy number one.

Add in the fact that he hurt my Marcela?

He’s not even an enemy anymore. He’s nothing. Doesn’t exist.

Sadly, he’ll have to exist in my world once more if he’s about to be my goddamn teammate. For now, I avoid him, instead walking over to my friends to chat before practice begins.

“Did you see who’s standing over there?” Will, the center, whispers.

“Fucking Hunter Johnson. What is Coach getting at with this shit?” grumbles Cory, our tight end.

Dale chips in. “Probably out of his hands. Hunter’s dad is a fucking state senator, and if he wants his kid going to a new school in his senior year, then it’ll be whatever Daddy says.”

Before we can say anything else, Coach Davis claps his hands, signaling that he wants our attention. We all turn toward him, finding Hunter at his side.

“You boys know I don’t beat around the bush, so let’s get to it. I know there’s been some confusion as to why Hunter is here with us. He no longer wanted to be a quarterback, and with his previous team already having a solid wide receiver, he wanted to transfer out. Since our best receiver graduated, we are more than happy to welcome him to the team,” Coach says, his tone even and practiced.

Definitely something Hunter’s dad wrote for him. Which has me wondering why Hunter’s really here.

The team is silent, nodding as Coach goes on, “I expect you to welcome him to our family with respect. If I find out otherwise, you’ll be personally meeting with me and the dean. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” we all say in unison.

Coach Davis doesn’t mess around and expects perfection from us. He’s taken teams to the championship more times than I can count. He joined RLU two years ago, and it’s been his goal to get our team to win its first ever championship.

Coach instructs us to line up to run one of our plays, so I take my position behind the center, ready to go.

I watch as Coach instructs Hunter and the other two receivers, and I instantly know the play we’re doing. We’re running a flood play, placing three receivers at one end of the field, which will force the defense to decide who to cover once the ball is snapped to me.

Will snaps me the ball as soon as I yell “Hike!”

My eyes quickly scan for an open player as the defense works to get closer to me. I see that Hunter is open, but because I can’t stand the guy, I decide to make a run for it.

I’m tackled down after only gaining a yard.

“Again,” Coach orders, his near-black eyes on me.

We set up the same way, and once the ball is snapped to me, somehow Hunter is open again.

I run the ball, not wanting to throw it to him because fuck. That. Guy.

And just like last time, I’m tackled.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Will says so only I can hear. “Hunter is open, throw him the damn ball.”

We do it again, and this time, despite Hunter being wide open, I throw the ball to another receiver who’s somewhat covered. The ball is tipped away and intercepted, causing Coach to blow his whistle.

“Miller,” he barks, and I jog toward him instantly.

“What’s up, Coach?”

His gaze hardens when he looks at me, but I don’t flinch. After growing up with a father like mine, you get used to this.

“Is there a problem? Hunter is wide open and you’re making stupid decisions,” his weathered voice is harsh. “I won’t have you as my starting QB if I can’t trust you to make the right choice.”

I swallow down what I’d really like to say, simply nodding before I return to my spot behind Will. This time, when Hunter is open I throw him the ball and he catches it, gaining us ten yards before he’s tackled to the ground.

And I hate every second of it. I hate that he’s good and we have to work together, when all I want to do is repeatedly throw my fist at his face.

When practice finally ends, I make sure to shower and change quickly to avoid running into Hunter more than necessary.

Knowing what he’s done to Marcela, I don’t know if I can fake being nice to him, but I can’t let personal issues affect my game and the team dynamic this year.

My dad will be watching, which means there’s no room for disappointment.

Fake it ‘til I make it.

It seems to be the motto I’ve lived my entire life. Why stop now?