Chapter 10
brEAKING: TANNER LONG TAKES FOOTBALL SERIOUSLY Teammates question everything else
Tanner
The whistle cuts through the humid morning air. Training camp began this week and Coach Knox has us out in the heat running drills.
“Again!” Coach Knox barks.
I plant my foot in the turf and explode off the line. This time, I don’t think. I don’t joke. I don’t talk. I run. Five yards – cut inside. Ten – accelerate. Fifteen – break right.
The cornerback sticks to me, but I already know where Nolan’s putting the ball. He always leads me outside the numbers when I run this route.
I don’t look back. Not yet. Three more strides. Now. I turn my head, track the ball over my shoulder, and reach. The spiral drops perfectly into my hands. I secure it, tuck it, and take two more strides before slowing.
“Better,” Coach says. He’s not praising me. Not yet, at least. I’ll get him to drop some praise on me soon enough.
I nod once and jog back to the line. This is not the time for grins or smart comments. This is work. Football is serious business – despite what my family thinks. It’s not just a game. Or a distraction until I begin my ‘real’ career. A career they choose for me.
We reset.
“Focus on your release,” Nolan mutters as I line up next to him.
“I’m always focused,” I shoot back automatically.
The quarterback gives me a look. He clearly doesn’t believe me. I scowl. He knows me better than this. We’ve been playing on the same team for several years. He knows I’m serious on the field. No matter how much I joke off it.
“I’m focused.”
“Cut the chatter,” Coach snaps. “Again!”
I crouch at the line, eyes forward. The world narrows. No Alaia. No PR disaster. No cameras. Just the snap. Just this moment on the field. Just the game I love.
The corner presses me this time and tries to jam me at the line. Not happening. I slap his hands away, pivot, and burst past him.
I’ve got the speed necessary. Being fast is my job. It’s what I’m paid for. And it’s what I’m good at. It’s where I excel. It’s why I’m here.
I eat up the space between us and the safety before breaking into my route. The ball’s already in the air. Good. I adjust mid-stride, reach across my body, and snag it one-handed.
The defense groans.
“Show-off,” Corbin mutters.
I toss the ball back to Nolan. “You love it.”
Coach blows the whistle. “That’s what I want to see. Precision and timing. Do it again.”
Notice he doesn’t praise me. Coach Knox doesn’t do much praising. Not a problem. I can praise myself.
“You’re welcome, Coach Cha-Cha.”
I can practically hear his teeth grind at the use of his nickname. He hates it. It’s not my fault he decided he could cha-cha at a teammate’s wedding.
“Do you want to jog circles around the field?”
In this heat? My legs already feel like jelly. “I’m good, Coach!”
“Then, line up.”
I salute him before lining up.
We repeat the drill for another twenty minutes. Routes. Cuts. Hands. Again. Again. Again. By the time Coach finally calls for a water break, my shirt is soaked through, and my legs are feeling more like lead than jelly.
The pain, the heat – it’s all worth it. The only way to get better is to run drills until my legs feel as if they don’t belong to my body anymore.
And I will get better. I don’t have many years left of playing. And I want a Super Bowl ring. I will run drills until I can’t remember my name. I will pass on beer and moonshine and drink water and eat cabbage. Whatever I need to do to reach my dream.
My parents think I’m lazy. They think I took the easy way out. They have no idea how hard football is. How much work being a professional athlete is. They think I play a game for a living.
I shove those thoughts away as I step off the field. The mood shifts as soon as we’re on break.
Gage grabs a water bottle and dumps half of it over his head. “I’m dying.”
I snort. “Dramatic much?”
“I’m realistic.”
Brock drops onto the bench with a grunt. “Food.”
“You just ate,” Corbin points out.
“Breakfast was hours ago.”
I grin as I lean back against the bench. “Mr. Grumpy’s gonna waste away before the season starts.”
Brock glares at me. “Call me Mr. Grumpy one more time.”
“Mr. Grumpy.”
He lunges. I dart out of reach, laughing. “You gotta be quicker than that!”
“For a big guy, he’s fast,” Gage says.
“For a small guy, you’re annoying,” Brock shoots back.
Gage growls. He hates being reminded of how he’s the smallest of us. No matter how many times he reminds us he’s two inches over six feet, he’s still not tall in this group.
I grab my water bottle and take a sip, scanning the field. Coach is talking to the defensive guys. Excellent. He’s not paying attention to us.
Now. What can I do to liven things up around here? I glance at Gage’s helmet sitting on the bench next to me. Perfect. I twist open my water bottle, glance around, and casually pour a small amount into the crown of his helmet before setting it back exactly where it was.
Brock glares at me. “You should know better.”
What’s the fun in knowing better? I press a finger to my lips. “Shh. This is a team-building exercise.”
“It is not.”
“Shh.”
Coach Knox blows his whistle. “Break’s over. Let’s go! Back on the field!”
Gage grabs his helmet and jams it onto his head without thinking. There’s a pause and—
“Why is it wet?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Nolan turns away, shoulders shaking. Brock appears to be reconsidering his life choices.
Corbin bursts out laughing. “Did you sweat that much already?”
Gage rips the helmet off and stares inside it. “Are you kidding me?”
I flutter my lashes. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because you’re the one person stupid enough to pour water into my helmet.”
“I prefer to think of it as… climate control.”
“You’re dead.”
He charges. And I sprint across the field. “Worth it!” I shout over my shoulder.
“Long!” Coach roars. “Get back here!”
I slow to a jog, my grin firmly in place, and fall back into line.
Coach glares at me. “You think this is funny?”
I straighten and wipe the grin off my face. Pranks are all well and good off the field, but when it’s time to be serious, I’m serious. No matter what anyone else thinks. I am not a goofball on the field.
“No, Coach.”
He studies me for a second before jerking his chin. “Stop laughing and run it again.”
“Yes, Coach.”
I line up. The joking is gone. The field snaps back into focus. Ball. Route. Timing.
Everything else can wait. Alaia and her lips I’m dying to taste. Belinda and whatever PR stunt she has planned for me next. Sam and his threats to drop me. My family and how they belittle me and my choices.
None of it matters when I’m on the field.