Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
DILLON
S ummer training camp finished two weeks ago and coach shipped us all back to Briar U and immediately started our regular season training. Even though there was a hint of the seasons changing, with cooler mornings and nights drawing in, it didn’t touch the scorching midday temperatures. Coach Grundy was a former NFL linebacker, and he worked us hard. He pummeled us into the ground, and if we set one foot out of line, he’d have us running suicides till we puked and then drag our asses back into the melee of practice without a second thought.
He was hard, but we respected the shit out of him, because we knew he could make NFL stars. He had connections, and for those of us with the drive and determination to push ourselves, he’d make sure we secured a foothold in the future we wanted. But right now, I wanted to smash my fist into his face. He was being an asshole. His words were spat with vitriol, hate, and ire, and cracked like a metal-tipped whip on our backs.
Sweat poured down my spine like a river and dripped into my eyes as I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. I grabbed a cold drink out of the cooler and ran it over my face before taking a sip. The cool liquid flowed down my throat as I swallowed, but it felt as effective as a broken sprinkler in a raging inferno.
“Who pissed in his Cheerios this morning? I feel like I’ve been ripped a new asshole,” Buchanan, our center, groused as he jogged up next to me to grab a drink while coach was focusing on our defensive line. They’d been our weak link last season—the first one I spent on the varsity team as a breakthrough sophomore talent—and because of their repeated failures, we lost our chance to go to state. That failure had coach riding the team harder than ever before, and I had to step up to the plate this year as the first junior captain of the Briar U Ravens.
“I heard he caught his wife with one of the history professors.” Stevens chuckled as he grabbed a water from the cooler. “You know, doing the horizontal tango.” He held the bottle before him and pretended to fuck it and slapped his ass.
“Such a prick.” Buchanan snickered, watching Stevens being, well, Stevens. He’s an immature idiot on his best days, but his spirit and ridiculous antics buoyed the team when energy and belief was low.
I snorted. “You’re such a dick. Don’t let him hear you talking about it, or you’ll be cleaning the locker room for the first half of the season at least.” Stevens shot me his favorite finger and continued to ride his bottle.
“That’s if it’s even true,” Vieck, the best running back in the state, said and slapped Stevens around the head. “You can’t always trust what the cheerleaders say. Stevens, you know this.”
He snorted and we all turned and stared at him. “What?! I can’t help it that they get loose-lipped when I fuck ‘em, can I? If there’s anything you need to know, I can find out… my dick’s magic!”
“Does he have a special wand too? To back him up when he falls short?” McCormack, our wide receiver, added. “Can’t believe you nut sacks started without me.”
“Just a quick water break, man. We’ve gotta get through the last hour of practice without fucking up. I just wanna hit the sack, my hamstrings are killing me.”
Buchanan’s head snapped to me, a fleeting look of concern crossing his face before he wiped it clear.
“Make sure you report to the physios after practice, Hargraves!” Jessop, our assistant coach’s voice, rang out behind us as he strode out of the tunnel and onto the sidelines next to us. He gave us all a withering stare and sighed like we’d innately disappointed him. Fucking story of my life; never being enough for anyone to stick around or put the effort in with. “Finish up, then get back out there! You don’t win titles by sitting on the sidelines, boys.”
“Sir,” I grunted as he stalked across the field and took his position at Coach’s side. I dropped my bottle in the empties bucket and strapped on my helmet. “Right, guys, let’s get back out there and show our defense what we’re made of.”
I rubbed my hands together, looking forward to making fucking Chad eat dirt. Prescott was our defense captain and hated my guts. He despised the fact I was a junior and team captain when all he got as a senior was the defensive cap and had to defer to me. But I fucking loved it.
“Whooop!”
“Let’s kick their ass.”
“Hell yeah, Cap!” The guys hollered as they fixed their helmets and ran out onto our side of the field. I knew coach was planning a short face-off between the lines to end this morning’s session. We’d discussed it while the rest of the team were in the locker room getting ready. He wants us to be unstoppable—our defensive line a brick wall, me to have sniper-level accuracy, and the rest of the offensive line to be a battering ram that obliterated the opposing defense. As captain, that responsibility rests on my shoulders. I might only be a junior, but I’m going to leave an indelible mark on this place.
“Hargraves, get your ass on the field,” Coach bellowed, and I snapped to it, taking my position in the offensive hustle and laid out our play. The guys were hungry. They played hard and partied harder, but at the end of the day, winning was in our blood, and that’s what we did best.
Coach blew the whistle, and like a perfectly choreographed dance, Vieck and McCormack sprinted through the defensive line, breaking through their weak spots like knives through butter. The defense broke apart and tried to rally by chasing them down, but it was like the guys knew it was over before it even began. I took a step back and worked out the force I’d need to make the distance to Stevens, who was completely open as pandemonium unleashed on the field.
Chad was closing in on me, but I didn’t let the thought of the impending sack distract me. My arm snapped forward, the ball rotating in a fast spin as it flew in a perfect arc, dropping into Stevens’ arms on the ten yard line. I lasted long enough to see him break into an unstoppable sprint before Chad’s shoulder pads crashed into my gut, forcing the air from my lungs. He wrapped his arms around me and slammed me into the ground, the smell of wet dirt and grass searing into me. The impact was jarring, and I felt like I was floating for a second before he hauled ass off me and left me on the ground.
“Time to get up, Cap,” Buchanan said as he held his hand out to haul me up. I wavered on my feet for a split second, the adrenaline pounding through me dulling the aches I knew I’d feel later. “You good?” He looked at me through the bars of my helmet with a grin. “We fucking did it.”
“Fuck yeah, we did.” I slapped him on the back and ripped my helmet off before we jogged down the field to join the rest of the team. I snickered as the angry bellows from the coach reached my ears. “Wouldn’t wanna be Chad right now.”
“Yeah, he’s getting whipped.” The evil smirk on Buchanan’s face said it all. We all hated Chad Prescott, but we had to deal with him day in and day out. The guy thought he was a god and the world’s most talented player, when in fact, he was mediocre at best. But his daddy was minted and had invested heavily in the team—new uniform, training gear, and a private bus for us to use when we traveled, decorated in the team colors.
“Nothing less than that prick deserves,” Vieck added as we stepped up next to him. I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling the wet strands from my eyes and blinked away the drops of sweat from my lashes.
“Head on the game, boys,” I grunted. They nodded, shut up, and focused.
“How do you expect to take state playing like that?” Coach bellowed, his blue eyes like ice as he stared each of us down. It felt like we were looking down the barrel of a gun, and his finger was on the trigger. Our life and our futures were in his hands. “You’re playing like a bunch of headless eejits, not my top-tier guys. You are all on probation. Everyone’s starting place is in jeopardy if you continue like this! I will not have my name tarnished by association.”
“But we’re trying, Coach,” Chad whined like a spoiled brat.
“Shut it, Prescott! You have no room to talk. That was the worst sack I’ve ever seen. You run slower than my grandma when she’s using a walker. Hargraves shouldn’t have been able to get that throw in if your game was en pointe.”
“What the fuck ever,” Chad muttered under his breath, loudly enough for me to hear. The prick. Judging by the red flush on the coach’s cheeks, so did he.
“Prescott, you’re on locker room duty for the foreseeable future.”
“What the f?—”
“Do not finish that, young man, unless you want to be stripped of your captaincy.” Chad stayed silent, but if he were a cartoon character, there would have been steam pouring from his ears. He ripped his helmet off, threw it down the field in full diva mode, and stalked off toward the tunnel.
“Holy shitballs.” Stevens whistled as we waited with bated breath for Coach to blow.
“I will not tolerate insubordination on my team. I don’t give a fuck who your parents are or how much they donate to this college. When you’re on my team, I demand your respect at all times, not just when it’s game day. You are ambassadors of Briar U and you must—at all times—lead by example.”
“Yes, Coach!” we shouted, as Chad’s figure faded into the darkness of the tunnel under the stands.
Coach took a deep inhale and pinched his nose. “Now that’s out of the way, I have arranged for you all to act as chaperones for the new students starting today.” The collective groan that rang out made me chuckle. Nothing was worse than helping a bunch of away-from-home-for-the-first-time kids find their dorm rooms. I hated dealing with criers, and there always were on drop-off day. Fuck this shit! “On the whiteboard in the changing room, you will find your assigned buildings. The clipboards with room details are on the bench next to it.”
“Just what I wanted to be doing after the session from hell,” Vieck whispered in my ear.
“Tell me about it.” It took everything within me to hold back the eye roll I was desperate to unleash.
“Well? What the hell are you doing standing there? Get your asses showered and get to it.”
“Yes, Coach!” Chatter ensued as we headed to the locker room, mixed with pained groans and a hell of a lot of whining. Christ, it was just my luck that I’d be stuck with a team that behaved like ungrateful kids. This was going to be a long year, and fuck me, it had only just begun.
“I can’t believe we got stuck with the scholarship kids,” Buchanan moaned as we trudged across campus to our dorm. We had enough time to dump our shit in our rooms before heading over. I was lucky to get a single this year due to being team captain, but was still in the same building with the other guys so we could bond as a team. All the footballers were housed in a state-of-the-art building with a private gym, all the equipment donated by none other than Daddy Prescott. I’ll admit it was nice as fuck—new, clean, and an en suite in each room. It made a nice change after the filthy communal showers in the locker room.
“Should only take a few hours, so stop your bitchin’!” I sneered as I pushed the button for the elevator. My guys were on the top floor of our building, and it was nice not to have to listen to idiots running up and down the halls at all hours of the night.
“I know, but I wanted to get laid.”
I scoffed. “Your dick’s not gonna fall off if it doesn’t get wet for a few hours.”
“True.” Buchanan shrugged. “But he’s a lover, and he’s been lonely.”
“That’s what your hand is for,” I snapped, looking over my shoulder and pulling my key card from my pocket to open my door. “Dump your shit, and I’ll meet you downstairs in ten. I gotta hit the head first.”
“Cool. See ya then.” Buchanan disappeared through his door, and it felt like the first time I could breathe all day. My room was simply laid out with a bed, closet, and desk. I didn’t personalize it like the other guys. I had no time for that shit. I was here for one purpose—to get scouted and drafted to the NFL. Nothing else was acceptable. Everything else was a distraction.
No sooner had my gym bag hit the floor, than my phone rang. The most obnoxious sound made my ears want to bleed, and my heart stopped. Shakes racked my body, and saliva pooled in my mouth, the acidic quality making my gut churn. I took a deep breath, braced my arm against the door, and clicked on the green phone icon on the screen. “Dad?—”
“Don’t you fucking ‘dad’ me. I heard practice today was shit. What’s the meaning of this?” I stifled my sigh, knowing it would only lead to a verbal lashing. I closed my eyes as his rant continued and wished I was anywhere else but here. “Well? What the fuck you gotta say for yourself, kid?”
“Sorry, sir,” I ground out, but it was as if he didn’t hear my words or chose to ignore them, which is par for the course with him. I tuned out after five minutes as his tirade continued, barely aware of the grunts of acknowledgement I made.
My dad wasn’t the worst parent in the world, but I wouldn’t say he was the best either. There was no love in our relationship. I was a tool for him to reclaim his youth through. He was a second round pick drafted to the NFL his senior year, but while at practice, he damaged his ACL. Being the man’s man he is, he played with the untreated injury during practice season until he was pulled up by the coach for poor performance. By then, he’d done too much damage to treat the injury. His contract was terminated and his dreams shattered.
When I was five, he threw me a ball in the backyard. I caught and returned it, and from that moment, he has pushed me to succeed where he had failed. The game comes naturally to me, and I loved playing at high school, but it’s lost its appeal the past couple of years. Not that I’d ever breathe life into those words—it’s his way or the highway.
“I expect to hear things have improved by the end of the week, or I’ll be coming down to meet with Grundy myself. Clearly, his ability to discipline you idiots is failing.”
“Yes, Dad.” Silence greeted my words. The asshole hung up on me. Well, fuck him and the horse he rode in on. I’ve got too much to deal with as it is. I quickly changed into some black jeans, a band tee, and slipped on my black high tops. I take a second to glance in the mirror and run my hands through my wild hair with a bit of product.
“You said ten minutes, man. It’s been fifteen,” Buchanan says with a grin as he saunters toward me, leaving the girls he was talking to outside our dorm.
“Yeah, well, shit happens.” My curt response wasn’t a surprise. He gave me a knowing look, his bright blue eyes laced with sympathy and understanding.
“I know, Cap. But if you ever wanna?—”
“No!”
“Well, alright then,” he muttered, flicking through the pages on the clipboard that he held in his hand. “We’re expecting twelve scholarship kids to turn up today.”
“Great. Can’t fucking wait.”
“Try to put a smile on that ugly mug of yours, Cap.” I tried, but it came out more like a grimace, judging by his reaction. “Oookay, maybe not, then.”
I snorted, and my steps faltered as a wave of coldness rolled through my body, a bit like someone had walked over my grave. Goosebumps spread across my skin, and I clenched my fists and bit down on the inside of my cheek as the feeling intensified. I scanned the parking lot, eyeing the people and cars coming and going. Piles of boxes lined the entryway to the dorm block opposite ours. I scanned every face to see if I could pinpoint where this alien sensation came from, but I didn’t recognize anyone.
I’d only ever felt this feeling once before, when I’d stumbled across a little blond boy being picked on by the two biggest pricks in high school. His beseeching pale-blue eyes looked up at me from the dirt where he laid flat on his back as Mark Johnson straddled him, landing punch after punch. It was like time froze and the world stopped turning. Something coiled around my heart and made it stop beating, and I went full beast mode, almost like I’d blacked out as I hauled Mark off the boy with beautiful blue eyes and golden curls that looked like spun sunlight. It didn’t come back into focus until I was sitting on the floor with this boy in my lap, his face buried in the crook of my neck, arms and legs wrapped around my body as he...
“Fuck this,” I muttered to myself as I shook it off. That was a lifetime ago. I shut that train of thought down immediately and locked it up tight. “Right, what do we do now?” I turned to Buchanan to see he’d gone. “Fuck!” I ran my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands in a futile attempt to center myself.
“Thanks for joining me,” Buchanan snarked. “I’ve ticked three off our list already,” he said, slamming the clipboard against my chest. “You stand there and look grumpy.” I rolled my eyes. Fuck my life. Were we done yet? “Just give me the room numbers when I give you the names, alright?”
“Sure.”
“Sure, he says,” he muttered, rolling his sleeves up his arms as he plastered a smile on his face as a young woman and girl walked up to him. They smiled sweetly, instantly hypnotized by his all-American smile. God, this afternoon couldn’t pass quickly enough. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than be surrounded by people.