The Brotherly Shove

10. Lennon

CHAPTER 10

LENNON

Now

Redwoods Practice Facility

The first two weeks of training camp flew by in a painful, exhilarating, sweaty blur. Once I got over the hump of getting used to moving my body again, I was golden. I can feel it in my bones that this is going to be an amazing season. The entire rookie squad is just completely coming together. I'm excited for today when the rest of the team shows up for the 'official' beginning of training before we start the preseason in August.

The only thing that could possibly kill my buzz right now is another day of Breaker Lawson’s standoffish attitude. I've tried to get him to agree to hang out outside of camp almost every single day and have absolutely nothing to show for it. Sometimes he'll sit near me during lunch or on breaks, but getting him to converse with me is like pulling teeth.

And then there's practice itself. Theoretically, we should all be running drills together, matching up in different pairs, and running plays, and that's true for the majority of the team. But for some reason, Breaker has been really isolated from the rest of us, spending most of his days in one on ones with Kasper or the trainers. Because of that, I don't even have the excuse of getting to talk to him even if it's just to call a play.

It's so odd. Breaker hasn't been outwardly rude or mean towards me, but he hasn't exactly been kind either. I just wish I knew what was going on in his head, because it feels so much bigger than a little bit of lingering weirdness from one night in college. We used to be so ridiculously in sync and now I can barely get a read on him. I came prepared today, though. I might not know what's got Breaker's panties in a twist, but I know his weakness.

The package of Double Stuf Oreos in my bag has got to be the key to getting Breaker to open back up to me. He might not realize how I feel about him, and there's no way he feels the same way based on how he's been treating me, but I'm going to get my friend back if it's the last thing I do.

I'm running just a little bit late, so the rest of the team is already on the field by the time I join the group. I saddle up next to Buckner near the back of the pack, and he offers me a fist bump. Coach Elliot blows his whistle, grabbing our attention. Standing around him are the coordinators and offensive coaches, as well as Luke Cannon. My eyes zero in on the heavy duty brace on his right knee.

Uh oh .

It looks like our star quarterback is still recovering from an injury he incurred months ago. That doesn't bode well for the team. The hit he took in the divisional game was fucking brutal. We did our best without him, but we couldn't sneak out a win.

“Alright boys, let's get this going. Welcome back to everyone who is just joining us. We've got some housekeeping items to get through before we start—” Coach is interrupted by an obnoxiously loud scoff coming from Cannon, who is rolling his eyes so hard that I wouldn't be shocked if they rolled right out of his skull.

"Is that what we're referring to me as now, Coach? Fucking housekeeping?" Cannon spits on the turf and I'm shocked at the disrespect. He's usually a super kind, golden retriever type of dude. Right now he's giving off real angry and jaded vibes.

"Well, no," Coach says “But there's more than just?—”

"I'm out." Cannon briskly cuts him off. "I'm done. My knee is fucked. I'm not practicing. I'm not playing. I don't even know why they're bothering to put me on IR when the chances of me seeing any field time this year is slim to fucking none. As much as I beg, the big men in charge refuse to just put me out of my fucking misery, so here I am to tell you that my career is fucked in the most humiliating way possible. Thank you."

Cannon limps away towards the facilities, favoring his left knee as a hush falls over the team. I look towards Breaker, who is standing near the front of the crowd cracking his knuckles. He only does that when he's nervous.

Coach clears his throat, and then continues.

"Well, I would have put that out there a bit more delicately, but it is what it is. We're down a quarterback this year, boys. Kasper will be starting for us, obviously. Most of you have had plenty of play time with him over the last two seasons, so I have no concerns there. What I am concerned about is keeping him healthy. That being said, get used to the name Lawson, because Breaker here will be out on the field as much as possible while we balance safety and play time. I know the changes in the roster as well as the coaching staff and administration will come with some nerves and hesitation for a lot of you, but I have faith in our strength and resilience as a team, and I think that if we put our heads down and focus on the work, we'll get where we want to go this year. Oh and by the way, the social media team will be here starting today. Be nice to them and answer their questions, or you'll have me to answer to."

The silence from the team is heavy, and as I look around, I see that most of the guys have their eyes glued to Breaker, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. I guess this news explains why he's been kept so isolated during training camp so far. Usually a draft pick right out of college wouldn't be getting nearly as much attention as Breaker has, but if the coaches are planning on playing him regularly, it makes sense that they'd need to get him good and ready.

As awful as I feel for Cannon — and I do feel awful, recovering from an injury fucking blows — I have to say, I'm excited. I've played with Kasper enough to know that we work well together, but Breaker and I were a well-oiled machine in college. Our version of the quarterback sneak where I'd snap him the ball and he'd jump on me and rode me piggyback style over the line of scrimmage was legendary. No defense was ever able to stop us. Our chemistry on the field is undeniable, and I have no doubt that when we get the chance to play together this season, Breaker will show everyone that Mr. Irrelevant is actually Mr. Golden Boy, the quarterback that is not to be fucked with.

I shiver as the anticipation runs through me. This is going to be sick.

Camp starts up, and at first it's the same as last week. Breaker is off on his own with some of the training staff while the offensive line runs through plays with Kasper at my back. Right before lunch, Coach sends Breaker over to me and has us running shotgun snap drills. I'm hit with a wave of nostalgia, as this particular drill is the first one B and I ever ran together when we met as Panthers. I want to ask him if he remembers, but he's got his 'in the zone' face on.

Whatever. At least he's not outright ignoring me.

The team had food brought in from Chipotle for us today, and I am stoked. I load up my bowl with lettuce, black beans, chicken, steak, hot and mild salsa and more sour cream than the team trainers need to know about.

I'd kill for some of their salty, limey chips, but naturally no chips were ordered. I spot Breaker at a table with some of the D-line rookies, and I beeline my way over to him. I had planned on picking his brain about…well, pretty much everything on the walk to the cafeteria for lunch, but one of the new offensive coaches stole him away before I had the chance.

I pull up the chair next to him and scoot in, already shoveling some of my burrito bowl into my mouth before I even sit.

"Hungry?" Breaker asks as he watches me chew my mouthful of deliciousness. I wink at him and nod.

"Always. Crazy shit going on with the Cannon drama, huh?" I ask, prodding him for information.

"Yeah," he says, running a hand through that sunkissed brown hair that I love so much. "It's a trip. I've known since the first day of camp, but they've had me keeping everything on the down low until Coach broke the news to the team. Had to sign an NDA and everything."

"Wow. So that's why you've been so isolated during practice. They're trying to get you ready?" Of course I already put two and two together on that one, but I want to keep him talking. This is already more words spoken to me than I think I've heard coming from him since I graduated college.

"Yup. Fattening me up like a pig for slaughter." He tosses a napkin onto his half eaten plate and goes to stand. Oh no, he is not getting away from me that easily. Not today. I shovel a few more forkfuls of food into my face and chew quickly, trying to focus on not choking as I grab my bag and chase after him.

"B, wait," I call out, and I'm actually happy that he doesn't turn around, because when I opened my mouth, a bit of food went flying out of my mouth. Embarrassing as hell, but I'm desperate here. There is no time for swallowing.

The happiness is quickly snuffed out when Breaker ignores my calling after him and goes straight for the door after dumping his plate in the trash. I groan inwardly. I can't understand why he's making this so difficult for me. I'm a patient man, but damn if that patience isn't wearing thin right now. I follow him out the door and into the empty hallway of the training facility. It only takes me a few steps to catch up with him and plant a hand on his shoulder.

I swear I can feel his entire body tense up at my touch.

"I've got something for you," I say in a sing-song tone as I unzip my bag with my free hand. It's a little hard to maneuver through my crap with one hand while my bag is still hung on my shoulder, but my other hand is still on Breaker's shoulder and I'm certain that if I let him go, he's going to bolt. I find the crinkly plastic package and whip it out.

"Tada! Double Stuf, your favorite. After practice we can drive over to the bay and break into these. We haven't had any time to catch up since practice started." I wave the cookies in his face, waiting for his eyes to light up the way they always do when there's chocolate sandwich cookies near.

"You know I can't eat that shit during the season, Lennon." he says without looking at me.

"Ahh, c'mon B. I always used to sneak you Oreos. I'll even stuff as many as I can into my mouth so that you can't be tempted to eat the whole package like I used to," I bump his hip with mine in an attempt to be playful, but he shrugs me off of his shoulder and takes a pointed step back.

"There's a lot of shit we used to do that we don't anymore. Jesus, Lennon. It's like you're obsessed with me. I'm not here to play catch up and skip down memory lane with you. I'm here to play football. That's it. Stop trying to set up fucking playdates with me. We're not kids anymore." His cheeks turn a bright shade of red as he spits at me. My breath hitches and I swallow hard.

"I know we're not kids anymore, B, but we're friends. I just wanna hang out."

"WE'RE NOT FUCKING FRIENDS!" He explodes, pounding a fist into the wall behind him. "Jesus, Lennon. Your inability to take a hint is pathetic. We haven't been friends for a long time. Ending up on the same team is just a sick twist of fate. We're teammates because the Redwoods decided we have to be, but we are most definitely not friends."

My lips tremble and I feel my eyes start to burn. I'm not going to say I never cry, but usually my tears are reserved for funerals and anytime I rewatch Encanto. I blink up at the ceiling, willing myself not to let a single tear fall in front of him.

"I don't know what I did wrong," I whisper, not looking at him. I hear him sigh, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Look, Lennon—” he starts, his voice sounding much softer than it was just a moment ago. I'm just mustering up the courage to look at him when we're interrupted by the clacking of heels and a high pitched feminine voice.

"Oh good! Griffith and the rookie quarterback! We need some content for Instagram and I know your coach told you you have to answer all my questions, so no running away from me!" Harlow Ray, one of the team's social media coordinators chirps at us. I like Harlow, she always has the best ideas for content that us players actually want to partake in, and she's usually ahead of the curve when it comes to trends and what will go viral.

Right now, though? I hate her and her ill-timed lively chatter.

“Harlow, it's not a great time—” I try to say, she cuts me off with a finger pressed to my lips.

"You're not allowed to say no to me. Besides, it's a quick question. Humor me, Lennon."

I blow out a breath as she whips out a phone and a tiny microphone. She points it at Breaker first.

"Breaker Lawson, what's your favorite Taylor Swift song?" She asks but Breaker keeps looking at me. I realize he hasn't stopped since Harlow showed up. After a moment, she clears her throat, catching his attention. He shakes his head like he's clearing his mind and answers her.

"Uhh, I don't know. Shake It Off maybe?"

He's lying, and I don't know why that rattles me so much. I happen to know that his favorite Swift song is All Too Well, the ten minute version of course. We watched that short film about a million times together in college, and he'd always pause at different times to point out the nuances and implications of different scenes. I'm not sure if it's the question, his answer, or the way he was just verbally berating me a short minute ago, but the dam inside me breaks. It all hits me at once. Breaker doesn't want to be my friend. He doesn't like me anymore. He doesn't know me anymore, and he doesn't want to.

And I don't fucking know him either.

The tiny microphone is thrust into my face as Harlow asks me the same question. I pull my bottom teeth between my lips and glance at Breaker for only a split second before I answer.

"Now That We Don't Talk," I tell her, and then I stalk away before she can even finish thanking us. I turn a corner and find an empty supply closet, where I allow myself exactly four minutes of crying over the loss of Breaker before I put my big boy pants on and return to practice.