Chapter 4
Dustin
“And that was it?”
I watched Noah and Dante as they told me what happened at the bar after Naya and I had left. Hadley had made eye contact once and then left. She hadn’t tried to approach Noah, whom she’d kind of spoken to earlier when she asked about the program.
She’d just finished her drink, picked up her bag, and left.
I dropped my bag, peeled off my hoodie, and forced my shoulders loose. Everything felt tight. Like I’d slept half tensed. I knew why, I was just refusing to think about it.
“Then that’s what we want, right?” I switched my attention to Dante.
He nodded, but he had that look in his eye.
The look that said he was analyzing facts.
The look that said he was going to throw a Hail Mary, but really, he was going to pass the ball to his running back.
But really, he was going to run the ball himself.
“We’ll wait,” he finally said.
The ‘for now’ wasn’t spoken out loud, but I heard it anyway.
The three of us walked out to the training field, saying ‘hi’ to a few of the guys who were already there, stretching like they had something to prove. Maybe they did. We’d all seen the game film.
Dante had already been here for an hour; I knew his schedule as well as I knew my own.
Noah had been watching film as he got ready for training this morning when I left.
I could hear his iPad through the wall of our room.
I’d already run laps in the athletic facility.
All three of us were already warmed up like professionals.
Noah mumbled a goodbye and jogged off toward the defensive line, where the guys were already lining up behind the blocking sleds.
The heavy steel rigs sat anchored in the turf, padded fronts braced and waiting — the kind of equipment built to make you question your life choices on a cold March morning.
In a minute, they’d be driving them downfield, shoulders low, legs burning, digging in as if the whole damn season depended on it.
Even though we were in the offseason, they still needed to train like we weren’t. Spring training started in less than ten days, and we were not preparing for the next game. We were making sure we were on the team for the next game.
Defensive linemen only had one gospel: get to the quarterback first — theirs or ours. All that mattered was to break the play. Break the rhythm. Break the game.
Even from here, I heard the thump as Noah’s shoulder hit the pad — and while I understood why he hit the sled like it had personally insulted his mother, I still flinched at the phantom pain of the impact.
Dante was silent beside me, and the ball I hadn’t seen him pick up was being turned over in his hands. “Naya okay?”
“Yeah, she needed food. Spent her trip money on a concert ticket for one of her emo bands she adores.” I shook my head.
“Mom gave her tough love and didn’t give her any money — a teachable moment, right?
” I shook my head as I looked over at him with a small smile.
“But she also sends her to her big brother, who she knows will make sure she eats and has cash.”
Dante grunted. “The burden of having a sister,” he murmured.
“Yeah.” We shared a look, and the ground beneath us felt a little firmer.
“You good?” he asked.
“Always am.”
I knew he wasn’t convinced, so I decided not to justify myself. Let him think what he wanted. Some conversations aren’t worth the energy. When Dante fixated on something, you could spend twenty minutes pushing back, or you could let him think what he wanted and get on with your day.
Dante, however, wasn’t done stating the obvious this morning. He rolled his neck and shot me a sideways look — the kind that meant he’d already decided how this would end and was just making sure that I also knew the outcome.
“She saw you leave, you know.”
My jaw should not have clenched. It did anyway. I bent down, tightened my laces, and pretended the act required deep concentration. “I know.” I didn’t look up. “It’s not a big deal.”
Dante loosened his shoulders. “We do not need this to get messy. Messier.”
I straightened — slow and controlled, the way you stand at the end of a hard exercise routine, in the cool-down session, where your back rolls. “Dante, I got it.”
Dante was doing that thing where he didn’t say what he was thinking and waited to see if the person would fill the silence themselves.
I didn’t play that way. And he knew it.
“Dante.” My voice was firmer. He needed to loosen his jockstrap.
“It was a hookup. I kissed her, she kissed me back. I asked if she wanted to split, she said no. I left.” I watched Noah and his defense run the sleds down the field.
“I went back to the bar for another chance. Noah knew who she was, and we bailed. There is nothing for you to worry about here. I dodged a bullet.” I leaned in closer.
“And seriously, man, what the fuck do you think I’m gonna do?
Spill all the shit we’ve learned to some rando who I just met? ”
His look turned mocking. “The same rando you were going to screw without knowing her name?”
I huffed out a loud sigh. “I’d have learned her name on the walk back. This is why they invented the words ‘baby,’ ‘darling,’ and ‘sweetheart.’ You don’t need to know their names.”
“You’re a dog.”
I grinned at him. “Nah, I’m a wolf.”
Wolves didn’t chase. They picked their angle, waited, and moved when the moment was right. That was the difference.
He finally relaxed as he laughed. “Seriously, a predator is what you’re going with?”
“Hey, man, just because you got leashed, doesn’t mean we all have to be.”
“Leashed?” He squinted at me, but I saw his lips twitch.
“Yes. You’ve been tamed. It’s fine, it happens to some guys.” I put my hand over my heart. “Your single days are behind you, I’m in mourning. But you know, it means there’s more for me.”
Dante barked out a laugh. “You’re an idiot,” he told me fondly. “Pretty sure you already think campus is an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
Bouncing on my toes, I grinned at him. “And I’m hungry.”
Dante pushed me away from him, laughing, the tension easing as we messed around like we usually did. Me speaking crap, and him shaking his head at my typical trash talk.
Coach Sutherland’s whistle blasted across the field. We both turned, and he was glaring our way. “Fuck,” I muttered, and I jogged over to the bench and grabbed my helmet, letting the familiar weight settle into my hands.
“So sorry to interrupt your gossiping,” he snarked as I ran back to the center of the field.
“Not at all, Coach,” I shouted, loud enough for him to hear me. “I’m focused.” And I was.
Focus.
Breathe.
Lock in.
The world made sense when I was in motion. When everything focused on timing, force, and execution. Football didn’t need anything else — just commitment and trust in yourself and your teammates. I spent every day of my life dedicated to the goal of playing and playing well.
Hadley Peterson was the opposite of that. She was the kind of risk you couldn’t calculate in advance. I didn’t like that kind of risk.
Dante knew that. Why Dante was giving me side-eyes over this was starting to piss me off. It was Dante who liked risk; I preferred known outcomes.
The music from the speakers was bass heavy this morning, and I’d already seen Coach Hemby glare at them more than once.
“You warmed up?” Coach Merriman asked as he walked over.
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded. “Good. Do it again.”
I didn’t argue. I’d done enough this morning on my run to fire up the engine.
Now I did a simple jog from the end zone to the thirty-yard line and back.
I moved into hip-mobility stretches, next were ankles, then calf activation.
Receivers live in their ankles; all my power came from there.
I finished with high knees, and all the while, Coach watched, unimpressed.
“Open your stride,” he finally barked.
“Coach.”
We moved on to releases. Hand-fighting drills. Press coverage footwork. Coach held the pad like a defender and kept crowding my space, making me earn every inch. I didn’t mind. I liked the fight part. I liked the part where I got to win.
“Stop thinking,” he barked when I hesitated half a beat coming off the line.
“I’m not thinking,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s the problem. Run it again. Work on it.”
His feedback could use some work.
We moved to routes. Slants, outs, digs, posts. Full speed, no walk-backs. Catch, tuck, sprint to the line, reset. My lungs burned, but burning was familiar. Burning was home.
Then ball skills — reaction catches, high-point drills, over-the-shoulder fades. I snagged every one just as I always did. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was the half second of static in my head every time I exploded off the line.
Something was in there with me. I hadn’t left all of last night behind when I walked onto the field, and that was unacceptable.
Life stayed on the sidelines when I played. That was the rule. I put my head down and worked harder.
When we finished, Coach didn’t say good job. He just looked at me, somehow seeing every thought I didn’t say.
“You want to run from something,” he said firmly, “you better be faster than this. Run five more laps, work it out.”
I didn’t have a snappy answer. But I ran. Because I was not about to get caught. All that mattered was my feet on this field and how well I played.
When I was done, Dante was waiting with a towel and a bottle of water. His sessions were lighter because of his shoulder. He was already showered and changed.
“You look good out there,” he complimented me. “Faster than I’ve seen you in a while.”
I nodded at the compliment, reaching for the water. “Got to stay sharp.” I gulped down my water. “Fuck, needed that.” I looked across the training field. “Where’s defense?”
“Holt has them running drills in the stadium.”
“We have film next?” I asked as we headed to the locker room. “You joining?”
“Yeah, Merriman told me to tell you that you have five minutes to shower.”
“And you were going to tell me when?” I asked him as I picked up the pace.
Dante grinned. “Truthfully? In about six minutes.”
“Such a dick.”
I sped through my shower. I’d booked an appointment later for a massage for my muscles, and I barely made it into my seat beside Dante when the lights dimmed and the film replay started. A game from last season against the Cardinal Saints. I heard Dante’s low grumble.
Jett was on the screen, his familiar voice loud over the speakers as he called out the play. Jett was my QB in high school. Damn good QB too. Better than Dante in some ways — raw instinct they both had, but where Dante was smarter, Jett was fire. Sometimes you needed the fire.
But I would never say that out loud.
Dante was cool under pressure. Jett was the complete opposite: he was explosive.
If you were in danger of pissing him off due to a bad play or a penalty, he would ream you out on the sidelines.
Dante would tell you it sucked and to move on.
Jett Santo would move you on in a body bag if you made the same mistake again.
If he didn’t, Gray would be ready to knock you down as he walked over you to get to the bench.
“You can’t deny their passion,” I murmured to Dante as we watched Gray bring one of his teammates off the bench by his face mask.
“Reckless,” Dante muttered.
“Invested,” someone else said from behind us.
Dante turned in his chair. “Are you saying I’m not invested?” he asked the second-team running back.
“No.”
Dante turned back to the screen. “Good.”
We may not yell at our teammates on the sidelines, but we kept our team tight with control and discipline.
We watched the rest of the game in silence.
Coach Sutherland was eager to point out each and every one of Dante’s mistakes on the day.
He’d thrown over two hundred yards, but Jett had thrown for less but run for more.
One of the reasons they’d beaten us. Their QB8 had been hard to catch that day.
It was before we had Noah on the defense.
I really wanted to see Noah take down a Santo again. I had nothing against them, but they were my rivals on the field for now, and it would be nice to see Jett eating dirt.
“Watch how Slater allows this interception to happen.” Coach’s voice seemed extra loud.
“You threw a crap ball,” I bitched under my breath to Dante. “Why isn’t he tearing you a new one?”
“Because that’s bullshit. I threw the perfect ball, you were just too slow to catch it.”
“I’m never too slow. My speed is impressive.”
“You say impressive, Coach says disappointing, who do we believe?” His finger was pressed above his lip to stop from smiling, but I elbowed the fucker in the ribs anyway.
“I hope your next shit’s a hedgehog. All prickly and stabby.”
Dante snorted, and Coach stopped talking. “QB10, do you have something to say?”
“Just pissed off watching my poor throw that allowed an interception,” he answered smoothly. “Lessons to be learned there.”
Coach Sutherland held Dante’s innocent stare for a moment and then turned back to the screen.
“Don’t push him,” I warned.
Dante nodded slightly. “Not pushing, reminding.”
“Reminding of what?”
“We’re still here.”
One of the assistant coaches turned to glower at us, and neither Dante nor I spoke again for the rest of the film. Neither of us needed the attention.
Hadley’s face popped into my head, and I felt my shoulders tense.
Another one whose attention I didn’t need.
Pity, she was hot, and that night I met her, she’d surprised me.
The girl knew what she was doing and had me hard quicker than anyone I’d been with in a while, which is probably why I was still thinking about her, days later.
The chemistry had been there. The need to see what else she could do with her tongue had been an itch I wanted to scratch ever since I walked away from her.
I didn’t hide my game plan on the social circuit. Girls knew I wasn’t looking for anything more than some fun, and the majority of the girls I met wanted exactly the same thing. Blow off some steam and move on.
I’d gone back to the bar looking for her. Never done that before, and with Hadley, I wouldn’t be doing it again.
The plan was to keep our heads down. Pretend nothing was wrong with the program, do nothing that would get us noticed for the wrong reasons, and get the fuck out of here.
It was a good plan. Easy to follow. I just needed to stop thinking about the way she’d looked at me when I left the bar. That look of distaste, like she’d already made her mind up about me, and I hadn’t been given the chance to defend myself.
If I could do that, that would help.