Football AU (Because Canon Sucks #3)

Chapter 1

Notes

Oh, and normal disclaimer: no AI was used in the creation of this story. All idiocy is my own. (But then, what would you expect from a lifelong die-hard Scorpions fan?)

Rowan

Three days ago, I’d been a linebacker for the Fayetteville Foxes. Then, Tyriq Fell of the Tucson Scorpions suffered a season ending injury in a preseason game, and everything changed.

It started with a phone call from my best friend and agent, Troy Palmer, telling me that the Foxes ownership had requested a meeting.

I was given an hour to shower and get ready.

He met me outside of my house, and we went to the stadium together.

An hour later, I was emptying the locker I’d called mine since my rookie year.

I’d given five years to the Foxes. Fans wore my jersey.

They’d offered me an extension three years into my rookie contract, and a part of me naively thought that I’d retire a Fox.

Instead, I’d been unceremoniously traded to the Tucson Scorpions.

If I’d been given a list of the teams and told to rank them in order of who I would like to play for, the Tucson Scorpions would’ve been near the bottom.

In the five years I’d been in the ALF, they’d never made the playoffs.

The Foxes were in the playoff conversation every year, and we’d only missed it once since I’d been there.

The Foxes were one of the worst teams in the league.

Sure, they had their highlights. Their quarterback, Liam Lowe, might have been in the top ten conversation if they had a better offensive line.

They had a great running back in Milo Tobitt and one of the best wide receivers in the league, Johan Jones.

Their defense was paper thin though, and offenses ran through them like they were made of wet tissue paper.

If I were Tyriq Fell, I might have gotten injured on purpose so I didn’t have to suffer through another season of embarrassment.

The main thing the Scorpions had going for them was a strong social media team that managed to keep them relevant somehow.

And now, I was one of them.

After my meeting with the Foxes ownership, I was given two days to pack and report to my new team.

My oldest sister and Troy’s wife, Raina, volunteered to pack up my house once I was gone.

All I had to do was rent a storage unit so she could store my belongings and pack a few suitcases to live out of until I got settled in Tucson.

It didn’t take long, and before I knew it, Troy was dropping me off at the airport.

The flight to Tucson took nearly ten hours including the layover.

By the time I landed, my body ached from cramming my 6’7” body in one of the business seats.

I was tired, and my head ached thanks to a baby a few rows back that hadn’t stopped crying the entire time.

I was starving and desperate for something to eat, but I knew that wasn’t happening any time in the immediate future.

I had to get my luggage and find the Scorpions’ staffer that was sent to collect me from the airport.

Then I’d be taken straight to the practice facility to sign my new contract, get a facility tour, and start the newest stage of my career.

Joy.

Leaving the airport was surprisingly easy.

The staffer, a young woman with brown hair pulled tight into a severe ponytail and a Scorpions polo, was waiting for me just past the security gate.

She introduced herself in a no-nonsense voice, led me through the airport to the luggage conveyor, and straight outside to our waiting car.

She asked me a few cursory questions on the ride over, but she mostly let me sit in silence.

It was probably the most relaxed I’d been all day.

When we reached the Scorpions training facility, she led me inside to the administrative offices, leaving me in front of a large desk and disappearing.

My picture was taken by a social media intern with an oversized camera, and I was left alone again.

A few minutes later, the team owner, a woman named Bex Meechum, appeared.

She instructed me to leave my bags there and led me into a conference room where the coaching staff was waiting.

We went over team expectations and my new contract, and I finally put ink to paper.

Once everything was done, Coach Cal Finch, the head coach, motioned for me to follow him.

He assured me that my bags would be safe, and he’d have someone bring them down to the locker room so I could collect them later.

Then, he led me through the catacombs of the practice stadium and to another conference room.

This one was smaller, and inside, there was just one person waiting.

The man inside was long and lanky with hair that looked almost translucent under the harsh fluorescents of the conference room. Every part of him was sharp angles, right down to the way he was perched atop the table when we came inside. He looked up, and his face exploded into a smile.

It was a smile I knew and had seen before, always on screens: Milo Tobitt.

“Tobitt, get your ass down from there,” Coach Cal barked as he closed the door behind us.

Milo’s smile grew bigger, and he hopped down from the table. “Sorry Coach.”

“We have chairs, Tobitt.”

“But the table’s more comfortable,” Milo chirped before his nearly colorless gray eyes landed on me. They moved over my body in a way that felt like a physical caress. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt anyone sizing me up before, and it wasn’t a feeling I was too fond of now that I had. “Is this him?”

“Rangecroft, Tobitt,” Coach Cal introduced. “He’s going to give you a tour. I got to get some shit done before practice tomorrow.” Coach Cal took a few steps back toward the door. He stopped just before he slipped into the hallway. “Go easy on him, will you?”

“Sure thing, Coach.”

Something about the tone of his voice combined with the mischievous glint in his eyes made me doubt the sincerity of his words. A feeling of dread washed over me as Coach Cal left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence settled in the conference room for a beat, and then it was broken immediately by the sound of Milo’s fingers drumming on the edge of the table. The table he had somehow moved back to sitting on. “Do you want some water or anything before we get started?” Milo asked.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Milo raised a pale eyebrow at me and then shrugged.

He bounced off the table, landing on the carpeted conference room floor with a low thud.

“How do you like Tucson so far? Have you seen anything? I mean, besides the airport? Or did they have you come straight here from the—Oh right, this is one of the conference rooms. I think the wide receivers use this one for their meetings. Or maybe it’s the tight ends…

” He trailed off for a moment, and then he shook his head like it was a used Etch-A-Sketch and he needed to clear it.

“Right, sorry, did you come here straight from the airport?”

His words came out too fast, and he was too energetic. I had a hard time following his questions. I wished he’d take a deep breath and calm the hell down.

“I came here straight from the airport. Didn’t see much yet,” I told him as I followed him out of the room.

“That’s depressing.”

“I’ve been traveling all day. I’m not really wanting to do the tourist thing.

” I wasn’t even entirely sure I wanted to do the facility tour.

It wasn’t like I’d remember anything I was shown.

It would take more than a walkthrough of the building for me to know where anything was.

It had taken me weeks to learn the basic structure of the Foxes practice facility.

Now, I could navigate it blindfolded. I knew I’d eventually gain that level of comfort with the Scorpions.

Assuming I wasn’t cut the moment Fell got back on his feet. I had only signed a one-year contract.

Milo nodded at my answer and started off down the hallway.

I’d given tours to new team members in Fayetteville.

I knew what was supposed to be pointed out: meeting rooms, the cafeteria, the workout room, things like that.

Instead of showing me any of that, Milo chose to point out the most inane things: the overhead light that flickered when it stormed, an old mural that had been painted by a former coach’s kid, his favorite snack machine.

We made it through three hallways before I realized that he wasn’t pointing out anything important.

“And where does the team meet in the mornings?” I asked after he went on a diatribe about one section of wall that was painted the wrong shade of maroon.

(I couldn’t tell the difference between it and the wall across from it, but Milo seemed to think this was a very important thing for me to know about.)

Milo blinked and then sighed. “Ugh, that’s boring stuff,” he groaned.

“Then show me boring stuff,” I demanded. “I need to know where we meet. I need to know where the locker room is. I need to know—”

“Boring stuff,” he interrupted. He heaved another heavy sigh, one that made his entire body shudder. “Fine. I will show you the boring stuff.”

He sounded so put upon. Why had Coach Cal decided that he was the right person to give me this tour?

Surely anyone else would’ve known better.

Anyone else wouldn’t have wasted my time talking about murals, what hallway had the best lighting for selfies, and the weird-shaped water stain on the ceiling.

But put upon or not, he started to give me a proper tour.