Page 18 of Fighting Spirit

When I crawl into bed, I try to think about anything other than tonight, but my brain keeps latching onto the feel of Rowan’s hand against my elbow, his wry smile as I made fun of him, the way the blue in his eyes seemed to spark as he assessed every move I made. His stare should have been frightening, especially with the way he’d loomed as he’d scowled down at where I’d sat, but thinking about it now, I’m just filled with a weird kind of warmth that follows me into sleep.

Chapter Seven

ROWAN

Ithought Taylor was going to cry from the chewing out we got on Friday. Fitz didn’t seem to know the full extent of what happened the night before, but he knew half his starting lineup was showing up to practice looking like they’d been dragged backward through a garbage disposal.

Fitz is a fair guy and wouldn’t begrudge the team a bit of stupidity after our first win, but we’ve all had to learn the hard way that you can’t bring that shit onto the field. As soon as he picked up on everyone’s state, he had us running wind sprints until half the squad was throwing up.

When we get back to the locker rooms, I open my phone to another series of texts from my dad.

DAD

Hey bud, have my messages been coming through?

You played great on Thursday

Proud of you

Have you given any more thought to next year?

Would hate to see all that talent go to waste

A headache starts to creep in as I type out a reply, the same reply I’ve been giving him for months.

Rowan

You know what I’m doing next year

Dad

I know what you say you’re doing

Rowan

I signed the contract, it’s happening.

We’ve been over this

Dad

I guess I just keep hoping that you’ll see reason

You’re NFL material, son

Don’t throw that away

Rowan

I can’t keep having this conversation with you

I’m not entering the draft

I shut my phone off, knowing if I keep going I’ll end up hurling it across the room. I let myself sink into the hum of conversation and laughter around me. It doesn’t matter that I’m still pissed at the guys, being here with them is exactly the distraction I need right now.

It takes until Sunday night for me to calm down enough to swing by the team house. I’ve spent the last two days stewing, and it’s more than just annoyance at having to clean up their mess yet again. I keep thinking about the fear on Ruth’s face and remembering that my teammates put it there.

I hadn’t planned on coming by so soon, but Christian asked if I’d finish going over the footage with him. Part of me wants to tell him to fuck off, that he needs to talk to one of the assistant coaches instead of coming to me every time he has a question, but I can’t bring myself to go there. I don’t need to give him another reason to distance himself from me. I’d known things would probably work out this way when the guys got wind of next year’s job, but the sudden shift in the way they treat me has been an unpleasant shock.

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