Page 9

Chapter Eight

H endy

My classes are done for the day and I’m bored as fuck.

In the past, I would have had football practice or strength training or meetings with the coaches to occupy my time. Then in the evenings, I’d do homework and hang out with the guys to chill and game together.

But now they’re both gone and living their lives in their new careers.

I walk through campus and am ready to head home when my feet automatically veer toward the field house and the stadium. It may make me a glutton for punishment, but I want to see what’s going on with the team.

Entering the side door, I give a nod to Dexter, the security guard, who pumps a fist in the air as I walk by.

“Good to see you, Hendy,” he says in his booming baritone voice. “You coming to give the team a pep talk?”

I chuckle because I’m anything but peppy these days and would be no good at motivating anyone, much less myself.

“’Sup, man? Nah, I’m just checking in to see what’s what,” I offer noncommittally. “Maybe I’ll watch a bit of practice.”

He nods. “They’re not looking as good as they used to. They sure could use your leadership on the field again.”

Talk about a dagger to the heart. Damn, that hits hard.

I give him a wave. “Thanks. See ya later, Dex.”

I breathe in the air within the corridor, the scent thick with sweat and dirt, but it brings with it a flood of nostalgia and memories. Good times that I miss more than I care to admit. I head down the hall toward the building exit that leads out to the field.

A few more steps and I’m passing Coach Brewster’s door, which is open, and the light is on. I’m surprised to see him sitting at his desk with his head bowed forward propped in his hands. My first instinct is to say hi, but it looks like he’s either concentrating on something big or he has a headache. In either case, I’m not about to disturb him, especially since I have no reason to be here. I quietly walk past the door, leaving him without interruption, when suddenly he calls out to me.

“QB One, is that you?” he asks in his usual brusque voice. I stop in my tracks and peer my head around the doorframe. Coach’s head is now cocked to the side and a strange look is on his face. “Get your ass in here, Hendy.”

I do as he says—because no one ever dares to contradict Coach, even if I’m no longer one of his players—and stride inside, where I stop behind one of his desk chairs.

“Hey, Coach. I was just going to?—”

He interrupts me without apology. “You’re just the man I needed to see. Take a seat.”

Coach waves me toward the chair and, confused at his comment, I do as he says and plop my ass down on the seat. I place my backpack near my feet and check my posture so I’m not slouching. He can’t stand slouchers.

He lifts his ball cap and runs a hand over his thinning dark hair, tucking it under the hat before he leans back into his chair.

“How’s the new semester going for you? Are you keeping yourself busy, son?”

I think twice about answering honestly because in truth, I don’t know what to say. Telling him the truth would only prove I’m struggling with the new routine and the lack of camaraderie I’ve always had in the past. I’d never admit to feeling like a failure. Not to Coach.

And I definitely can’t mention anything about my love life and what’s going on between me and Lottie.

So instead, I go with a vague response. “It’s going, Coach. Grad school is…” I pause, trying to find the words to articulate how I’m feeling about it. “I like my classes.”

Coach clears his throat with one of those noises he always makes that sound like a cross between a choke and a gurgle. “Hmm…good for you. Glad to hear it. So, what brings you by the field today?”

An awkward silence descends around us. My brain spins to explain the reason for my unannounced appearance. “Oh, you know, just popping by to check in with the guys, see how the team is gelling so far this season.”

It’s clear Coach doesn’t believe me because his bushy eyebrows lift to the ceiling and then his eyes narrow in on me. Leaning forward, he stretches his forearms out in front of him and clasps his hands together. Then he points one finger at me.

“Your timing is serendipitous, Hendy. I was just racking my brain trying to figure out how I’m going to fill the unexpected open position Coach Peters just left me with.”

“Huh? Where did Petey go?”

Coach Peters was my quarterback coach for the Bears and has been doing it for at least fifteen years or more. He’s a symbol of consistency and dedication in this program, much like Coach Brewster.

Coach sighs. “This stays between us for now,” he says with stern warning. Removing his ball cap again, he runs a hand over his hair, purses his lips, and shakes his head. “I just heard from his wife, Maggie. Petey had some tests done and they found cancer. I don’t know the extent of it yet, but he’ll be out effective immediately.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit is right. I was literally just about to call Human Resources to discuss next steps on finding a temporary replacement.”

My fingers find the rubber band wrapped around my left wrist and I unconsciously snap it, feeling the slight burn into my skin. I’ve always worn it since I was in middle school. It helps me when I’m trying to concentrate or when I get anxious, a trick I learned from one of my former teachers.

“That might be tough,” I offer unnecessarily. “First game is just a week away.”

He snorts. “Tell me something I don’t know. Which is why you showing up out of the blue is my answered prayer. You are the right person at the right time.”

The rubber band slips from my fingers and snaps me harder than I expect, stinging the flesh of my wrist. I rub at it and try to comprehend what Coach is saying.

“Um…what do you mean?”

He chuckles. “Henderson, you’re the perfect person for this role. You know my coaching style. You know the playbook. You know all the staff and the majority of players. You have the leadership skills we need. You were made for this position, son. What do you say?”

This isn’t what I expected to happen when I stopped by to see how things were going. I’m still confused as to what he’s looking for from me. Is he asking me if I want a job on the coaching staff?

“What do I say about what ?” I ask again, my brain clearly muddled like I’ve just been sacked out on the field.

“Did the summer leave you dense, Hendy?” He jokes with a laugh. “I’m offering you a temporary QB coach position, if you have the time and want a job. Of course, I’d need to run this by HR and have all the paperwork drawn up, but once we dot some i’s and cross some t’s. You could get started before our first game.”

* * *

“Are you serious, bro?” Emmett asks, his voice pitched high incredulously over this news, his face filling the video chat screen on my phone. “Coach Brewster offered you a job, just like that?”

“Yeah, bro. On the spot, just like that.” I snap my fingers. “Why is that so hard to fathom?”

EJ snickers, and I see him shrug just as he tries to maim my avatar on the video game we’ve been playing over the past hour. The girls, including my little sister Journey, are all out of the house tonight at some student volunteerism thing, and I have the place all to myself.

I never thought I’d live in a house full of women. But I have to admit, it sure smells a lot nicer here than it did when only football players occupied the place. And they’re much better housemates because they clean up after themselves.

“It sounds like a perfect gig for you, dude. You can take Levitt under your wing and show him how it’s done.”

EJ’s referring to Colson Levitt, a freshman and starting QB, who is a young cocky player with nothing but his high school stats to back it up. I like the kid well enough, but he has a lot to learn for sure. At least when I came on the team as a freshman, I had a year on the sidelines before the senior QB graduated, and I learned a ton from watching him play.

“Yeah, I suppose I can,” I agree, clicking furiously on my controller. “It’s just hard to wrap my head around the idea that I’ll be coaching rather than out on the field playing.”

It still amazes me that Coach offered me the job. I thought my football days were over and I’d never get near the field again after last year. If I take the job, it will make my schedule ridiculously busy, but it would keep my mind and body occupied and my focus on something other than classes and my sexy professor.

I haven’t mentioned that part to anyone else, not even EJ or Killer. While they are my best friends, I don’t feel comfortable sharing the details of what’s going on between Lottie and me with them. Especially since it may be a nonissue. She plans on speaking to the dean tomorrow anyway, and that will be that. Over and done, and I’ll need to move on.

A foreign pain jabs me in the heart as I consider the outcome.

EJ continues talking—mostly trash talking as he blows shit up on the screen—but I tune out.

All I can think about is not being around Lottie.

And I don’t like it.

Not one fucking bit.

A loud explosion happens on the screen and EJ rejoices with a, “Take that, asshole!”

But I’m already on my phone tapping out a message to Lottie.

Me: I’m coming over. We need to talk. I’m having trouble with this assignment.