3. Jonah
CHAPTER THREE
jonah
Nope. Keep your eyes on the goal, Zimmerman. Do not stare at the left tackle. He’s here to guard your body and nothing else.
Nothing. Else.
Though he’s not doing that so well at the moment either. I’ve been hit more times today than during any game. The big guy is making it clear I’m not welcome, and the rest of the team seems to be on board with that plan because they’re beating the shit out of me.
Not that I didn’t expect it.
But I can’t stop staring at the big guy. The first person I really saw this morning when I arrived at school. He was standing with a few other guys I correctly assumed were on the team, though something was off about their interaction.
I can’t really put my finger on it. I don’t know how to even describe it or explain how I know, but it wasn’t just friendly banter I walked up on—not just teammates goofing around. There was some serious hostility there.
Hostility I still felt when I walked into the locker room after school and we all pulled on practice clothes.
Mr. Left Tackle—or Duke, as I’ve heard a couple of guys call him, though I don’t know if that’s his first or last name—was on the edge of every bit of the team’s antics.
They laughed and joked about what they all got up to this summer.
Duke—whether it’s a nickname, last name, or first name—didn’t participate.
There were a couple of comments directed at him here and there, but it was off somehow.
Jabs. Though I’m still not picking up on what it meant.
Why they would have a sneer on their face when they asked what he got up to this summer.
And then the snickers from the other guys afterward.
I’m definitely missing something, but the big guy gave nothing away. Just a subtle tick in his jaw as he stayed silent and continued to get ready. As if he’s just doing time here.
Micah blows the whistle after the last hit I took steals the breath from my lungs and leaves me lying on the field for longer than I’m proud of.
He looks pissed off, and this is not good.
I don’t want this come to Jesus moment I sense coming from him.
I told him as much when he wanted to introduce me to the team before practice and I asked to just be thrown into the fold without the big speech.
I pull my helmet off, glad I put it on in the first place, despite it supposedly being an easy practice, and we head to the sidelines to be reamed out for a terrible first practice.
Mr. Left Tackle is walking in front of me, wearing a pair of black gym shorts that should be outlawed.
They aren’t school-appropriate, that’s for damn sure.
Hell, they shouldn’t be allowed out in public because holy fuck, I can see every single flex of his firm, toned bubble butt as he walks in front of me.
The nylon clings to his body like a glove and accentuates every glorious movement.
My God, I didn’t even know they made asses like that.
The guy isn’t pretty. He’s not refined and beautiful—yet he is art. He’s got to be six foot six, tall and broad. His entire body is made up of thick, corded muscle with a thick neck and defined jaw. Shaggy brown hair and green eyes hide pain and secrets I want to hear all about.
And no.
Damn it, Jonah. No. You’re here to get this year over with and get to college. That’s it. You’re not here to rescue this giant behemoth.
My heart rate ticks up as my brother moves so he’s standing in front of all of us as we line up. “Welcome back.” Micah grins at his players. “I sure hope you had a good summer break, but now it’s time to get down to business.” He points out to the field. “And that was not it.”
I hear a snort from one of the guys who was standing with the big left tackle this morning by the lockers. Micah locks in. He’s smiling, but I know that smile. He’s pissed. “You have something to say, Adler?”
I assume that’s the guy’s last name. It’s something jocks do.
Use the last name. That’s why I’m almost positive Mr. Left Tackle’s last name is Duke.
I don’t know his first name and may never.
After all, coaches are just big, grown-up jocks, and my brother likely mostly calls them by their last names.
Which means I’m going to be Zimmerman.
“What?” Adler looks a little nervous as my brother approaches him.
It’s kind of funny to me to see someone actually intimidated by Micah.
He’s a teddy bear, always has been. But by the stiffness of Adler’s spine and the dumbfounded look on his face, I know he’s a little nervous now.
“No. I just mean we were here most of the summer for practice.”
“Then what the hell was that out there?” Micah’s face is stone as he stands right in front of the player, his head tilted to the side in a menacing way.
Okay, I guess I get it a little bit. There’s an air of authority coming off my brother right now.
“Because it sure doesn’t seem like you’ve been practicing this summer at all. ”
“It’s just, um . . .” Adler looks around nervously at his teammates, who are all looking straight ahead and not offering any backup.
That is until the other meathead who was with him this morning pipes up, though his voice breaks a little. “We’re just getting used to the new QB.”
Ah, fuck. Here we go.
Micah moves with all the grace of a jungle cat hunting his prey and stands in front of the other guy who is two down from Adler. “Oh, is that so, Shields?”
Definitely going by last names.
The guy—Shields—shifts from one foot to the other, but his back is straight, and his shoulders are solid as he looks my brother in the eyes. “Well . . . yeah.”
Micah pretends to soak that in for a moment, letting us all sweat. And I’m doing some sweating for damn sure. I don’t want to be here. I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole as Micah approaches me, his gaze softening, but his jaw ticks with nervous energy.
“Okay, that’s fair.” He shoots me a semi-apologetic look, and I know what’s about to happen.
“So some of you may have heard the quarterback this year won’t be Billy.
” He sends an apologetic look to a small, nervous-looking guy at the end of the line who has a baby face that looks far too innocent to be a football player.
“And I’ve talked to Billy about this, but maybe I should have given you all a heads-up. ”
He would have if I wouldn’t have begged him not to, but he’ll never tell the team that.
“Billy isn’t quite ready to be QB1, though he will be our backup, and he’ll still be practicing. He’s going to learn from our QB1 this season.” His gaze is back on me. “And some of you may have also heard that Jonah here is my younger brother.”
No one looks shocked, and okay, that’s the small-town gossip mill working, I guess. They all already knew.
“That’s true,” Micah continues. “He’s my younger brother, but you all know me.
” I hate the hint of vulnerability I hear in his voice.
I know he’s hurting from the looks of betrayal on all their faces right now.
“You know I don’t play favorites, and I only hand out positions to players who have earned it.
” He points to me, and my heart hammers in my chest. “He’s earned it. ”
“How?” Okay, this Adler guy doesn’t know how to shut up.
Micah’s eyes zone back in on the guy. “He started as quarterback way back in peewee.” The guy doesn’t even get a chance to scoff at that before my brother continues, “He went on to play QB in middle school, taking that team to many district and regional championships. And let’s not forget high school.
” Kind of want to die right now. Kind of proud of my brother’s pride in me.
It’s a toss-up. “Starting QB1 his freshmen year of high school. Their team went to state. They won,”—he points at me—“because of him.”
“I . . .”
I open my mouth because my cheeks are flaming. Yes. All of that’s true—except for it being all because of me. We were a team. We were a fantastic team. It wasn’t just on my back, but the sharp look from Micah tells me to shut up, and unlike Adler, I can do that.
His eyes roam over the players again. “They went to state every year he was QB. Won twice. And I guarantee you they would’ve won this year if they were lucky enough to have him, but they don’t. Their loss. Our gain.”
Okay, he’s being really intense right now. But I keep my mouth shut.
“So we’re just supposed to believe he was the reason?” Adler pipes up, and it seems even his backup from earlier has shut the hell up.
“Yes.” Micah leans into him a little bit, an intimidation tactic that definitely works.
“You’re supposed to trust me as your coach.
Because I’ve proved to you all over and over again that I have your best interests in mind.
Jonah doesn’t need to be here. He already has scouts all over his ass for college and professional leagues.
But he’s here. Give him a chance. That’s all I ask. ”
Most of the team nod their heads in agreement, most actually sounding a little pumped up, but there’s one that’s a grumble. One who doesn’t nod his head in a silent okay. One who looks pissed off.
Micah notices too. He approaches Mr. Left Tackle and stands in front of him, not looking quite as pissed as he did with Adler and Shields. He seems to have a fondness for this one. “Duke.”
The guy stays stern, his face full of tension. “I trusted you.”
“You still should.”
“You gave your brother the starting quarterback position. Because he’s your brother. Not because of anything else, and now you’re lying about it.”
Oooof. Micah does not like to be called a liar. His whole thing is reputation and integrity. I wait for him to tear into Duke. “Calvin,” my brother sighs. “You don’t mean that.”