3. Chapter 3

"Boyd, get your head out of your ass!" Coach Campbell yells from the sideline.

Coach is right, my head isn't on the field this morning. It's back to last night in that damn room, watching Will and Brynn. His hands were all over her. His tongue down her throat. Will's a douche, but Brynn can't seem to see it. Or maybe she does and just doesn't care. But I care. I care that he gets to touch her and share her space.

This morning's practice is mild compared to normal practices. Thank God. I can't stay focused. My mind is all over the place. This season is going to be huge for me, and the pressure is sitting like a weight on my shoulders.

Tyler Harris calls for us to huddle up.

"Dude, what the fuck?" He points the question to me.

"I'm here," I say to him.

Harris calls out the next play. It's a pitch to me.

"Q, you've got this, man. I know a lot is riding on this season, but stay focused. I've got you," Harris says, slapping my helmet.

The remainder of practice goes off without a hitch. My mind stays on the field. Walking toward the tunnel, one of the equipment girls tosses me a water bottle. I lift it in the air and squeeze a long stream of water into my mouth, quenching my thirst. This Texas heat is no joke. I'm sweating my balls off. I'm pretty sure my sweat is sweating, that's how fucking hot it is out. Thank god our season doesn't start for another week. Hopefully, Texas will get a clue that it's about to be fall. But who am I kidding? We have months until it cools down.

Making my way into the locker room, I start peeling my practice jersey off. It's stuck to my skin from all the sweat. All I want to do is get out of these damn clothes, shower, and sit my happy ass in the air conditioning for the rest of the day. Oh yeah, chilling in the air conditioning sounds incredible.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Will Davis. That mouthy cock sucker constantly gets under my skin.

"Dude, that girl can fuuuck," Will draws out. "Last night, when she went out with that Emo freak, I thought my chances were shot, but she came back in ready to get down."

Standing in front of my locker, I try to tune out the asshole. Brynn's hook-ups are her own business. I just don't want to hear about it. Grant Campbell—yeah, Campbell, as in the coach's son and my closest teammate and friend—senses my mood.

"Dude, you just gotta ignore it," Grant says, trying to calm me down. "Will just likes to run his mouth." Grant is one of my closest teammates and friends.

Reaching into my locker, I pull out my shower bag. Moving my neck side to side, I feel the muscles pull and hear the cracks. The season hasn't even begun, and my body is sore.

"And the way her body moves, it's like a work of art," Will continues. "And don't get me started on the way her ti—"

The sound of my locker slamming shut silences the room.

"Shut the fuck up, Davis," I say, my shoulders tensing. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

"What's the matter, Boyd? Jealous I've screwed her now—how many times? Compared to your zero?" Will retorts.

The two of us stare each other down, my chest rising rapidly.

Grant moves between Will and me.

He looks at me and mutters under his breath, "Not here. Q, just walk away. He's not worth it."

Taking a deep breath, I move away and head toward the showers.

A cold shower is all I need. I just need to cool off and find some food.

Climbing in my Tesla, I slip my phone out of my pocket, checking my messages before I head home.

There are two texts waiting from Brynn.

Reading her texts does nothing to calm my mood. I'm all worked up. Maybe I just need to get laid? Closing out Brynn"s text thread, I look over my recent messages to see if there's anyone I can text for a quickie. No one stands out.

Tossing my phone in my cup holder, I push the ignition button. "Sicko Mode" blares from my speakers, making me jump. Reversing out of my spot, I turn right out of the parking lot and head toward Whataburger. To turn this day around, I'm spoiling my nutrition plan with a double Whataburger, fries, and a strawberry malt. If I show up to Brynn's empty-handed, she'll have my balls. I'm positive she already wants to rip into me. I don't need to give her another reason.

"Before you say anything," I pause, shoving the malt toward Brynn. "I bought you a malt. It's strawberry."

Shaking the cup, I watch her face for any hints of emotion. Brynn is a closed fucking book ninety percent of the time. And today, I guess the book is slammed shut. Taking the Styrofoam cup from my outstretched arm, she moves aside. Cautiously, I step in. There's a weird vibe in the air. I'm screwed. I can feel it. Never in our years of friendship have I got in the face of anyone who might be warming Brynn's bed. She's free to do whomever she wants.

"I'm not mad, Q," she finally says after a few silent moments of her inhaling her strawberry malt.

The first time B got upset, she told me that there was nothing ice cream couldn't solve, and a strawberry malt would make it go away. It's also her go-to when she's high. Scanning her face for any clues, I come back empty.

"You're not?"

She laughs. "Of course not. I assume Will mouthed off? He's a douche." She shrugs. Moving past me, she heads up the stairs.

Looking over her back, she asks, "You comin"?"

I stare at her, a quizzical expression stretching across my face. Slipping off my shoes, it takes me two steps to catch up to her. She leads us to her room and plops down on her bed. I'm so confused.

"Are you gonna stand in the doorway, or are you going to come in and watch a movie with me?"

This girl. She never fails to surprise me. Of course, I'm staying and watching a movie. It's been too long since B and I just got the chance to chill. No roommates, no friends, and no one looking to hook up interrupting us.

Holding the remote up, she clicks on Disney+. "Thor: Love and Thunder or Black Widow?" she asks, taking another gulp of her malt.

Bringing my hand to my chin, I act like I'm really pondering this.

"Hmm," I begin. "Watch you gush over Hemsworth or watch me gush over Johansson, hmm."

"You won't be the only one gushing over Scarlett. She's a babe."

Snapping my head at her, I let out a chuckle. "Black Widow it is then."

Both of us smile at each other before turning our attention to the movie. I settle against the pile of pillows Brynn has on her bed. and she snuggles closer to me. This is my favorite way to spend an afternoon off.

The weekend passed by in a blur. I swear it was just Saturday afternoon, and Brynn and I were arguing about who had the better chance of shagging a superhero. She says Hemsworth wouldn't be able to pass her up, and I said Scarlett would be stunned to see me. It was a silly argument full of hypotheticals, but that's our game.

Instead of chilling in bed, I'm tossing my phone, a.k.a. my alarm clock, on the floor. Five o'clock comes way too damn early. The team has a mandatory six a.m. lift Monday through Thursday. It's Coach's way of making sure we get our asses up for classes.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I flip on the light and rub my hands over my eyes to get the sleep out of them. Sliding the curtain back, I turn on the shower. A cold shower in the morning is how I start the day. I step out of my boxers before reaching into the closet for a towel. Tossing the towel onto the toilet seat, I jump in the waiting cold water.

"Fuuuck," I draw as soon as the cold water hits me.

Grabbing my body wash and pouring some in my hand, I immediately start scrubbing down my body. A cold shower is the only thing that can jolt me out of sleep, but damn it's so cold. I finish showering in roughly four minutes before hopping out and drying off with my towel.

I'm excited about this week. It's another week of classes, and unlike most, I enjoy my classes. There's just something about sitting in lectures and learning about the body. While most athletes, especially those looking to go pro, pick fluff majors, I picked a major that I would actually enjoy doing if football doesn't pan out. Leaving sports forever would never work for me, so I decided on athletic training.

I've had some incredible trainers throughout the years of sports, but my high school trainer was the absolute best. She was fun, she was nurturing, and she could read our bodies like we came with manuals. No one likes to sit out and miss games and practices. Ms. Fox knew when we were hurting. It was like she could use her eyes to scan us and diagnose the problem. It's what made her a helluva trainer.

One time in my junior year, I took a nasty hit and tweaked my hip. Whenever a coach or personnel would pass, I would suck it up and overcompensate to make it look like nothing was bothering me. Ms. Fox caught on. After practice one day, she asked me to come into the training room and point-blank called me out.

"Boyd, how am I supposed to help you when you don't tell me that your hip is bothering you?" she said, staring me down.

Ms. Fox was a petite lady in her mid-forties. But when she stared you down, that lady made you feel small. Like a damn child. It was humiliating. Well, maybe not humiliating, maybe humbling.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, looking anywhere but at her.

"Quinton Boyd, you're full of it. I've been watching you gimp around all week. Now, lay back, and let me check it out," she said, sliding her stool closer to the training table. "Give me any pushback and I'll tell the coaches. But neither of us wants that."

Turns out it was just a bruised muscle and, with some of her magic, she was able to get it feeling close to normal by that Friday's game. I think she was a wizard in her past life, like someone from Harry Potter. She had insane healing powers.

Halfway through my freshman year in college, I called up Ms. Fox to let her know that I was going into athletic training. She was so excited to hear from me. The whole time on the call, she kept spilling secret after secret of her wizardly ways. Before we ended our call, she told me how proud she was that I made it, and that she always knew I would. It was an unusual way to end our conversation. But six months later, it made sense. Ms. Fox died of stage four cancer that she had been secretly battling.

While I know she's not physically here to cheer me on, I know that wizard is watching down on me. And I'm going to make her proud.

After finishing up the normal morning routine, I slip into a pair of mesh shorts, a fitted, sleeveless CTU Eagles, and tennis shoes. Grabbing my workout bag and backpack, I head downstairs.

"Morning, sleepyhead," my roommate, Jeremiah, greets me.

I grunt in acknowledgment.

Our house only has one blender, which is stupid, but none of us ever think about buying another one. So each morning, it's a race to get downstairs and get to the blender first. Most mornings, I beat my roommates. Today, I was too slow.

"Lucky for you, I made extra," he says over the whirring of the blender.

Shutting off the blender, Jeremiah pours the chocolate peanut butter protein shake into two separate cups and hands me one.

Grabbing the drink, I set it on the counter next to my phone before moving over to the pantry to grab some snacks for the day.

"Thanks, man."

"No problem. Is Xavier up?"

"No clue. But I'm not waiting around to find out," I answer.

Xavier might be my brother, but I'm not his babysitter. He can set his own alarm and make sure he's up for practice. I'm not going to coddle him like our mom does.

Heading back over the counter, I grab all of my shit and head to the garage. As I am throwing my bags in the back, Xavier makes his way out, looking rough.

"Dude, what the hell happened to you?" I ask, pausing with my hand on the back door.

"Might've stayed up too late entertaining a lady and her friend." He shrugs, a smirk sliding over his face. I just shake my head. "Can I get a ride?"

"Yep, let's go," I answer before shutting the back door.

Xav tosses his bag in the back before tossing himself in the front seat. The house clears out, everyone in their cars, and off to hell we go.

Leaving the weight room, I make my way toward campus. I slip in my AirPods as a smile stretches across my face. My legs may be dead, but I'm damn happy. It's Monday. The first Monday of the football season. It's game week. And a big game waits for us on Saturday.

This is what I live for, and nothing and no one is going to bring me down. It's time to get focused. I'm taking my team to the ‘ship and bringing home the hardware. My hands are itching to feel the cold stainless steel of the National Championship trophy. My arms are aching to raise the fifty-pound trophy above my head.

My dad might think this is all his doing, but he didn't put in the blood, sweat, and tears. I did. I've been busting my ass to make a name for myself. He's not taking the glory from me.

I'm three songs into my playlist when I feel a presence beside me. Glancing to my left, I see one of the jersey chasers. Internally, I groan. I refuse to acknowledge her in conversation, just give her a look hoping she takes the hint. Only she interprets my ‘go away' look as a sign that I want to talk. I don't.

"Hey, Q, baby," she purrs in her fake seductive voice, moving her body right in front of me. My eyes are rolling in my head. "You've got a big game this weekend. Need some help relaxing?"

"Nah, Jaz, I'm good." Turning up my music, I step around her.

She doesn't take the hint and keeps walking with me. Girls like her are so predictable. She thinks that walking next to me will stake a claim, and other girls will back off. Only too bad for Jaz, I don't do jersey chasers. I'm no saint, but I know the difference between a jersey chaser and a girl that's looking to hook up for a quick release. Jaz is a thirsty jersey chaser and looking to trap a guy.

Doing my best to ignore Jaz and her incessant chatting, Siri announces I have a new text. Reaching into my pocket, I pull my phone out.

My eyes scan the quad before I find the bright blonde hair that belongs to my best friend. She's sitting outside the Union, puffing on her vape pen, looking fierce.

The dots appear quickly, letting me know she's typing.

I chuckle at my screen, watching her get up and head inside. Jaz sighs heavily beside me, causing me to flinch. I forgot she was still standing here.

"She's trash," Jaz states.

"Find some other free dick to ride," I snap, leaving her there with her mouth wide open. I'm not a mean person. I keep a lot of shit inside, but I don't put up with mean girls. Mean girls are catty, full of gossip, and cause nothing but problems. I don't need that shit in my life.

Opening the doors, I enter the Union, scanning the mostly empty space for Brynn.

"Wilder," I yell, still scanning the room. That's when I see her head pop up and look toward the doors. "Breakfast is on me."

She breaks out into a wide smile.

Yeah, it's going to be a great week.