Page 46

CHAPTER 46

ZANDER

I knew this game was going to be tough, but holy fuck!

By halftime, I feel like I’ve been run over by a steamroller. The Titans want to break every bone in my body. And you’d have to be blind not to notice it.

“I’m pulling you,” Coach tells me as soon as we get to the locker room.

“No way,” I growl. “You promised me you wouldn’t.”

“They are trying to demolish you!” Coach argues back, pointing toward the field while the rest of the team goes quiet around us. “This isn’t just about football to them. The entire team hates you. You’ve got a target on your back that you can see from space, Zander! And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not hurt,” I mutter.

Coach shakes his head. “You are going to be black and blue tomorrow, and you know it. We’ve still got the rest of the season to get through. The playoffs are more important than this game. ”

“We won’t get to the playoffs if we don’t win this game,” I hiss.

“Yes, we will!” His clipboard slaps against his leg as he lowers his arms, then looks around the locker room. Everyone is staring at us, and I can’t hold their gazes.

“Dude, what the fuck happened at Kelsey U?” Grady quietly asks me.

I shake my head. We went through this last year, and I refused to tell them then. I’m not about to open up that ugly-ass can of worms right now. They’ll never respect me again.

“Zander,” Coach sighs. “I know you want to win this game. I get it. And I understand that you want to be the guy on the field when you do it, but our team is about more than tonight. It’s about more than one game, and I won’t see you get injured over this. They’re playing mean and dirty, but just clean enough not to get penalized.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure their gameplay is to kill you, bruh.” Tyrell shakes his head. “We’re doing everything we can to protect you, but…” He hisses. “It’s getting rough out there.”

I close my eyes, hating how right they are.

Hating that history is repeating itself, just like it did last year.

I don’t want to be on the sidelines. I want to be in the action, throwing perfect passes and running those plays that make me so fucking good on the field.

“Please, Coach,” I try one last time.

He huffs, resting his hands on his hips and looking at Tyrell.

My friend gives me a doubtful frown but eventually gives in with a resigned huff. “We’ll keep him safe. ”

“One more hard hit and you’re off.” Coach points the clipboard at me. “I mean it, Zander.”

“Got it.” I nod, lifting my chin at Tyrell as a silent thank-you.

He just shakes his head and turns to check on his offensive line while I mentally gear up for a second half that I know will be brutal.

Carson and Grady flank me as we run out of that tunnel. Carson is fired up, ready to dish out a little hellfire of his own. One thing I love about the guy—he’s loyal and will bust his knuckles for anyone in our house if he has to.

And that’s exactly what he does the minute we step back onto the field.

“Thought Coach would have benched your sorry ass,” Biggs sneers as I run out for our first offensive play. “You obviously like my kind of punishment, Donohue. Does it get you off, having your ass handed to you?”

“Get the fuck away from him.” Carson shoves the guy back with a growl.

Biggs immediately springs back, ready to pummel my friend. I move into the defensive, Grady right beside me as we protect our own, and a quick scuffle ensues.

The crowd roars as I shove and push back where I can, desperate to throw a punch but smart enough not to.

“That’s it! Break it up!” The referees and coaches are yelling at us, tugging us away from one another, and we end up getting into position like irate bulls. My chest is heaving, my heart thundering as I eye up the Titans’ defensive line.

They’re glaring back at me. I’m a piece of trash that’s about to get scrunched into a ball and thrown away .

“Fuck you, Donohue!” some guy calls from the end of the line.

I don’t even know who he fucking is.

It’s clear the rumors about me are still rife. It kills me that the only version they’ll hear is the one about how I broke the captain’s jaw and ended up in jail for the night. They only know the twisted version of why I left Kelsey U and escaped to Nolan for a fresh start.

They have no idea how desperate and ashamed I was.

All they see is a traitor.

And they’re out for my execution.

We’ve gotta win this game.

Scanning the haters opposite me, I prep for Play 29, then suddenly notice one of the Titans shift position at the end of the line. They’ve figured out our play.

Shit.

“Add one! Add one!” I shout down the line, and my boys quickly scramble, resetting for Play 30 as I yell, “Hut! Hut!” and collect the ball.

Our last-minute change confuses the Titans for a second, and I’m able to set up the next play perfectly, launching the ball downfield to Carson, who’s sprinting into position. He’s covered by Grady and two other players and easily snatches the ball out of the air, hugging it to his body and charging for the end zone.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I shout, running after him and jumping in the air when he crosses the line and slams the ball down.

Starting the second half with such a sweet touchdown is giving the Titans the proverbial finger, and I relish every second of it.

I get shoved and jostled by the opposing team as we run off the field, but I ignore their sneering insults and walk past Coach with a grin.

“Attaboy.” He slaps me on the butt as I pass him, and I take a jittery seat on the bench.

This is far from over, but it’s a fucking good start.

“We’re gonna win.” Grady takes a seat beside me.

“Fuck yeah, we are.” I nod and slap his hand with a grin.

He doesn’t smile back, just nods, keeping himself centered like he does in every game, and starts talking about our next play. Coach probably has it lined up already, but Grady’s a strategy guy and I indulge him, nodding as he runs through the next scenario.

And as usual, he’s right on the money.

We’re up next, and Coach is instructing us with the play Grady predicted. We run onto the field fired up and ready to go.

And damn if we don’t execute the shit out of that play.

By the end of the game, the Titans are walking off the field with an eighteen-point defeat. It’s fucking satisfying, but judging by the looks I’m getting, they’d rather shoot me dead than shake my hand.

“Fucking traitor,” Morales mutters as I pass him on the field.

I clench my jaw and keep walking, refusing to engage with that asshole.

He doesn’t know shit.

He wasn’t there that night.

And all I can hope is that he didn’t get caught up in that sick game Hodgkins and Williams were playing when I was at Kelsey U.

But I guess he was a freshman at the same time I was, so there’s no way he didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

Shit, he was probably part of it too.