Chapter Seven Cash
Chapter Seven
Three months later
Cash
“That’s what I’m talking about, Cash Money!” Patty’s face lit up and he fist-bumped me as we switched places with the first team offense.
I’d just dropped a dime in Callahan’s arms about thirty-five yards downfield on an out route, leaving Taco Hernandez, our star safety, to scramble after him.
Poor guy nearly left his shoes on the turf on that play after Callahan totally broke our cornerback’s ankles when he blew past him.
The play worked exactly the way Coach Wiley had drawn it up.
Unfortunately, it made both our starting safety and starting left corner look silly, so I had no doubt the tight ends and receivers were going to have to keep their heads on a swivel for the rest of practice.
“Nice work out there, Donovan,” Coach Wiley said. “Those throws are what we’ve been missing.”
“The question is, will that play work in a live game when the QB isn’t wearing the protective red shirt?
” Coach Ainsworth, the defensive coordinator, asked from beside him.
Turning to me, he said, “I hope your scrambling skills are on the same level as your arm, because if you’d have been a live target, Bax would have dumped your ass in the turf long before you found O’Reilly streaking down the sideline. ”
After months of rehab and a full season under my belt, albeit spent mostly on the sidelines, my knee was in great shape.
Probably better than new. Intellectually, I knew that.
My lizard brain, on the other hand, still had some catching up to do, which was why on that play I hadn’t even attempted to leave the pocket.
Still, I threw my shoulders back and said, “I’ll be ready for the live scrimmage, Coach. I’ll drop that pass in Callahan’s breadbasket twenty minutes before Bax even knows I let it go.”
Coach Wiley cracked up. “That answer your question, Coach?” he asked Ainsworth.
Coach Ainsworth grumbled something obscene under his breath and returned his attention to the field.
I hoped it was only sour grapes that his defense had been caught out on that play and not something he’d seen in the way I moved that prompted his commentary.
Coach Wiley didn’t seem worried about my mobility, so I let my shoulders relax and watched as Patty executed a designed run on the run-pass option.
A few snaps later, Coach Ellis called us all to the sidelines for the usual post-practice pep talk before dismissing us for the day.
The beauty of spring ball was that while every play from scrimmage was deadly serious, nothing ran at full speed.
We played more of a modified flag football game than a getting-after-it tackle game.
Plus, practices were shorter, with more teaching and less yelling than during fall camp when all the pressures of the coming season loomed over us.
One added bonus was the pleasant weather. It could even be considered balmy on this fine Friday night near the end of May. As I finished tugging on a clean pair of shorts after my shower, a shadow with Dally’s voice loomed up behind me.
“Hey, Cash. I heard you’re looking to find a place to live this fall.”
After tugging a T-shirt over my head, I faced him, a mirthless laugh snorting from me.
“Yeah. One winter of digging my landlord and me out every morning was enough on its own. Now the sun’s out, I’ve noticed a greenish tint on the white paint of my rental, like the house is going bad or something. Time to move.”
“Huh.” He ran a hand over the back of his head. “Well, Dalton’s moving in with us, but we’re going to need a fourth roommate after graduation. You interested?”
Dally and I had started out on the wrong foot, but after almost a semester of weight training, practice, and me working my ass off to prove my first loyalty was to the team, he’d come around some.
Still, I had to give it a minute to let his offer sink in, considering he was the one making it and not Taco.
“Would I be sharing a room?”
While my current situation wasn’t ideal by any stretch, and I missed the availability of roommates for gaming or spontaneous shenanigans, I’d become used to having my own space.
Still, I didn’t want to live in a house that was succumbing to moss and plants, every day looking more and more like something out of The Hobbit.
“Your own room, but you’ll be sharing a bathroom with Taco.” He smirked. “The property manager hires someone in the winter to plow the driveway.”
Over the course of the winter, Coach Larkin had made it a running joke in the weight room how close to six I’d arrive all sweaty and pissed off from having to dig out my driveway yet again. When the snow finally started melting last month, no one in town could have been more relieved than me.
“Yeah? They show up so you’re on time to lift?”
“Plow hits the sidewalks every morning at five. Cute little thing with a massive spotlight on the front of the cab so the driver can do his job in the dark.”
“How soon can I move in?”
Dally threw his head back, his laughter filling the locker room. “How ’bout you follow me over to the house, check it out, see if you like it and the rent? If all of that suits you, we can sign the lease when it comes due next week.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I slammed my locker door shut and slung my duffel over my shoulder. “Thanks, man.”
An hour later, in my head, I was arranging my furniture in my new room and daydreaming of winter mornings spent waking up half an hour later rather than setting my alarm to shovel mountains of snow in the dark.
The house was a block over from Jock Street, where every house was occupied with athletes, mainly from the football and basketball teams, but also a house or two with hockey players, and one with skiers.
It was kind of the sports fraternity section of town.
Our street tended more to general college students, but our back yard was right across the alley from where Callahan, Danny, Bax, and Finn lived.
Convenient.
We could throw passes across the yards from the back decks of each house.
Right as I was about to head back to my place, Taco and Dalton pulled in, boxing my ride in on the driveway.
“Hey, Cash! You movin’ in with us?” Taco asked as he swung out of the passenger seat of Dalton’s Tundra.
“Looks like it,” I said with a grin.
“Good thing.” A warning sounded in his voice.
“Why’s that?”
He shrugged. “Now I might feel like forgiving you for making the secondary look silly in practice.” He smirked. “Seriously, man. How is it you transferred down to FCS? Dude. You’ve got a big-league cannon right here.” The glancing blow he delivered to my shoulder emphasized his observation.
It was my turn to shrug. “More opportunities to contribute here.”
“LeSean is not happy to be playing in the background,” Dalton said as he came around the front of his truck. “You’re gonna need to work with him.”
I blew out a breath. “Don’tcha think I’ve been trying? First he was pissed I came in to take Patty’s spot. Now he’s pissed about me taking his. But not once has he shown up for our impromptu practices—even after both Patty and I invited him.”
“Yeah, well, QBs are divas. Everyone knows that.” Taco clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Got somewhere important you need to be?”
“I was headed home to work on my part of a group project in anatomy so I’m ready when we meet tomorrow afternoon.”
“How much time do you need?”
I considered where I was in my research and said, “Probably about an hour.”
“Good. You’ll have time to finish it in the morning.” Taco guided me back to the front door of the house. “We need to change before we head over to the SCR house. We’re hosting a cornhole tournament with Sigma Nu. You can help us represent.”
“But—”
“It’s a good time. Trust us,” Dalton said. “Barbecue, beer, Little Rhos…”
“Little Rhos?”
“The ‘little sisters’ to the house. You know, because what’s a fraternity without hot girls?” Dalton waggled his brows.
“I think by definition, fraternity is guys.” I laughed.
“With an ancillary group of women who like to hang out exclusively with us. And we make sure the hottest and most fun ones want to be a part of our house.” Dalton ushered me through the door Taco held open.
“We’ve gotta change our shirts. Won’t be a minute,” Taco said as he walked down the hallway toward his room, the two of them leaving me on my own in the middle of the living room.
“Thought you were headed out to work on your project,” Dally said around a mouthful of sandwich as he wandered into the living room from the kitchen.
Pulling a face, I said, “Guess I’m going to some frat party.”
Dally swallowed and grinned. “Oh yeah. Their big cornhole tournament.” He stared at his sandwich, shrugged, ate about half of it in a bite, and said, “I forgot about that. Guess I’d better change my shirt.”
“Should I be changing my shirt?”
“Nah. It’s casual. But I got mustard on this when I was making my snack.” Then he too disappeared down the hall.
A few minutes later, Dalton and Taco reappeared, both wearing matching polo shirts with the SCR insignia on the breast and khaki shorts. Very GQ. I glanced down at my Metallica concert T-shirt and cargo shorts and pulled a face.
“Seems I’m underdressed for this party. I should probably head on home.”
Right then Dally stepped into the living room wearing a Wildcats T-shirt and a pair of cutoffs. “You can ride with me, Cash. Let the frat rats ride together.”
My eyes darted between my teammates, the question apparently on my face.
“It’s a sanctioned SCR function, so we’re required to dress for the house,” Taco said. “Our guests can wear what they want.”
“If Bax shows up, no doubt he’ll be wearing something extra special.” Dalton smirked.
At the mention of our star middle linebacker’s penchant for rudely hilarious T-shirts, I finally relaxed. Guess I’d fit in at this party. Better than I did at the formal SCR bash back in February.