Page 1 of Every Move You Make

Chapter 1

Illegal Tackle

Isaiah

Every bone in my shoulder crunches as I’m tackled to the ground—illegally, I might add. The earth has barely thawed from winter, and the impact sends lancing pain through my body.

Fucking rookies and their hot heads.

We’re playing against Trenton, New Jersey today, and I know this kid is a rookie. He can’t be more than twenty years old, and he clearly has something to prove to his team. Who the hell tries to lift a prop? I’m six foot two, two hundred and eighty five pounds, and this dumbass managed to haul me up and slam me to the ground. If I wasn’t in so much agony, I’d be impressed.

“Sir!” Pony shouts to the ref. “Where’s the fucking red card? Are you kidding me?”

“I’m fine,” I grunt back to my brother, trying to roll over.

“You’re not fine,” he snaps.

In the distance, I hear voices rising on the field—my team, I presume. No one says shit when it’s an illegal tackle from one of your own.

“Are you blind, sir?” I hear my sister, Angie, yell from the sidelines.

“Trainer!” several teammates shout before I finally manage to roll onto my back and see the faces of my brothers, Dane and Jonah. Dane (a.k.a. Pony) is our team captain, and technically, he’s the only one allowed to talk to the ref on the field. But my youngest brother, Jonah (a.k.a. JoJo), seems to have forgotten that rule as he sprints over to get in the sir’s face.

I try to focus on the gray overcast sky above me, calming my nerves before everyone makes room for our trainer.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, her eyes assessing my entire body.

“Pain is subjective,” I mutter.

“It’s not,” she says firmly. “Quit being an ass and tell me the truth.”

Katrina has been with our team for a long time. Most teams have a rotating cast of trainers that come and go, but she’s been with us through most of my injuries these last few years. She’s basically my doctor so I can’t bullshit her.

I try anyway. I have to.

With a hidden eye roll, I sigh, “It’s my shoulder. And my neck.”

“Can you rotate your head to the right?”

I scoff but don’t move. “Yeah.”

“So do it.”

“Fine,” I mutter. Slowly, I turn my head just the smallest amount before shooting pain rips through my neck, shoulder, and spine. “See?” I force out, unable to control the strain in my voice.

“Pony, call the EMTs over,” she says to Dane.

“Not necessary,” I grunt. “I just need a couple of minutes and I’ll be good as new.” But my brother isn’t listening and leaves us to find the EMTs.

“Ha. You haven’t been good as new since you were twenty-four. Shut up and listen to me.”

“I’m only twenty-nine. I can still bounce back.”

“Sure, Isaiah. Tell that to the three shoulder injuries you’ve had, the knee surgery, and countless broken fingers.”

“Hey, I still have them all. I can count just fine.”

“How many fingers am I holding up now?” she asks.

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