Page 5

Alister

Game days in the locker room are an experience like no other, especially when it’s a home game. It’s that first part of the day you look forward to.

There’s the juice of waking up knowing you get to take to the field for real that day, ready for all the hard work at practice to pay off.

Then there’s the drive or walk to the stadium, where you rock out to your favorite hype music, feeling those nerves starting to bubble up.

Reaching the parking lot is when the excitement starts to kick in.

Coach gives a single time to arrive, so most everyone is piling into the parking lot within minutes of each other. That’s when the earbuds are ripped out and the shouting and shit begin, amping up to the next level of anticipation. But that’s nothing compared to when it comes time to suit up.

The locker room is pure chaos. It’s loud and overstimulating and carries a sort of magic. There’s anxiety and anticipation and every other emotion in existence.

Your buddies are screaming and shouting across the space, calling you out for a fuckup last week with a grin or jacking you up more by asking for a repeat of some sick-ass play you pulled off the week before.

There’s dancing and singing and videos being made for social media.

There’s bickering and shoving and full-on fights sometimes, but when Coach comes around that corner, it’s forgotten. Done .

You don’t snitch and you don’t bitch.

You turn to your boys and get back to the good shit, running down all the ways you’re going to attack or defend against the jerseys you’re facing on the field.

I’ve always looked forward to the pregame locker-room nonsense.

Which is what has me clenching my jaw as I enter on my own, groups of players at my front, a few not far behind, and as I round the final corner leading to where my locker sits, another good dozen—not a single one acknowledges my presence, looking through me as if I’m a goddamn ghost.

The shitty part is I deserve it. Everyone knows you don’t throw punches at your starting quarterback without consequences. Hell, hit him by accident on the field and you get the cheap shot you had coming.

Coming at him off the field at the football house no less?

Yeah, I’m officially iced out like a kicker on a crucial play, only worse.

My own damn team is against me.

Not that it’s my team.

I could have had my own team. I had a starting quarterback position of my own, and I turned it down to come play second-string here at Avix U.

Why?

Why else do men do stupid, poorly thought-out shit?

For the love of a girl.

My high school sweetheart, who graduated a year ahead of me. We made all these plans about what our future would look like, and when she went off to college, it was okay. I played my heart out on that high school football field and it paid off.

My offers had offers.

I knew coming to Avix meant I’d have to, one, battle it out for the starting position and hope I earned it or, two, prepare to play a few downs a season until it was my time. I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with my girl .

Imagine my surprise when my girl was clearly pregnant and I hadn’t touched her in a lot longer than what would have made that possible.

Grinding my teeth, I unzip my bag, shoving my phone inside, but I don’t take out my earbuds just yet.

She could have thrown out any random person—Joe Blow at the corner store would have been better than the route she took—but instead, she told me the quarterback who I’d have to go up against for playing time was the man she was having a baby with.

Mason Fucking Johnson.

Cameron’s best friend’s twin brother.

It was all downhill from there.

Sighing, I shake my head.

I can’t fucking believe Allana lied the way she did, but I had no reason to question her.

After all, she was already pregnant with someone else’s kid when I thought she was over here missing me like I was missing her.

She cried throughout the entire conversation, told me he didn’t know and would likely want nothing to do with her.

And stupid fucking me, I became upset on her behalf.

I was pissed at her and him and my-damn-self.

I’d like to blame her for ruining what should have been one of the most exciting times of my life, but the truth is it’s my own fault.

I should have just walked away, gave her what she deserved—absolutely nothing.

I didn’t, and then I met a girl who was more than I knew was out there.

Soft and kind yet full of fire and sass, and she gave it all away freely.

I’d had to earn everything I had in my life, Allana included.

Cameron is different.

It’s too bad I realized this after the fact.

I don’t know why I didn’t just let Allana go when I started to feel something real for Cameron, but I didn’t. I guess four years of firsts and loyalty to someone messes with your head more than you expect.

It’s a poor excuse, but it’s all I’ve got.

I want to prove to Cameron that I?—

My train of thought dies when I’m jolted from behind, and I whip around, a frown instantly in place as I tear my earbuds out, the rowdiness of the room making my ears ring for a split second. “What the fuck, man? You mind?”

Brady Lancaster, the O-lineman turned defensive end, cuts me a glance over his massive shoulder for nothing more than a lazy blink before facing forward and yanking his shirt over his head.

Because of course Mason’s and his two best friends’ lockers are directly opposite mine.

Shaking my head, I go back to getting dressed—and being ignored as conversation after conversation happens all around me.

God, I sound like a whiner.

It’s not that I don’t have guys I talk to on the team. They’re just few and far between…and happen to be on the opposite side of the locker room.

I’m almost fully laced up and preparing to shoot to my feet and hit the field early for some stretches—anything to get me out of here—when I pick up on the conversation behind me.

“Girls are already here. Payton wanted to bring little man to meet the mascot and walk him around for a bit, hopin’ he’ll nod off during the game.” Mason tells his friends, “Kind of want him to stay awake and watch.”

“Dude, he’s what, almost two? He’ll watch for all of five seconds, and he ain’t gonna have any idea which one of us you are once the helmets are on anyway.

He’s more likely to get excited by the frozen lemonade guy.

” Brady chuckles. “Let her wear the kid out the way you’re gonna wear his mama out tonight. ”

“I don’t know if that’s fucked up or not,” Chase adds. “So your parents are taking the baby. You walking over with me and the others or hanging back and waiting for Cam and this guy? ”

Mason asks exactly what I’m wondering: “Why are you and Cam coming late anyway?”

“Gotta get her ass back to the dorm. She has a debt to pay, and I can’t wait to cash in.” Brady chuckles, and the others join in.

I frown at my locker, blindly picking up my bag and setting it inside.

What’s that supposed to mean?

“She waiting for you after the game or what?” Chase asks.

“Nah. She’s going back with the buddy-walk crew so she can get shit ready for me. She doesn’t want to stick around here longer than she has to.”

I wince at that, knowing those words are for me and not missing how they all go silent the moment I stand.

I should walk away. I know that.

The last thing I need is to stir up more shit with three starters and my team captain. I’ve already been hit by two of these guys. I’m not looking to add a third.

For some reason I spin, plastering on a careless, asshole-like grin as if I’m completely unbothered, and I’m met with three hard stares.

I quirk my lips up higher. “So no need for me to show up early tonight, huh?”

Brady shoots to his feet, but Chase catches him around the collar and Brady clenches his fist, allowing his buddy to tug him back down.

I don’t want to hear what might be said after that. I hustle out of the room, stepping into the tunnel that will lead me to the field.

I can’t think about this shit right now. There’s a game to play soon, and I need to focus just in case I’m called off the sidelines.

Right now, I’m going to worry about the plays on the field, and tonight, I’ll decide which ones to use off it.

Win the game, then win the girl .

That’s the plan.

We won’t talk about how every plan I’ve ever made for my life has failed miserably.

Damn it.