Page 92 of Player
“If I don’t, Southeastern’s going to,” I reply, and Chauncey, who’s watching along with the first team offense, claps me on the shoulder pads.
“I think someone wants to put to bed next year’s QB1 question even before we step on the field next week.”
He’s both right and wrong. Yes, I want to prove I’m the best on the field. Next year? I don’t even want to think that far ahead. Coach Adams smirks, and nods. “Fine then. Next play, I want you running 24 Eagle Slant Fire. Our d-backs have to learn to adjust to the flood on zone coverage, or you’re going to be playing because we’re going to be down by so goddamn much that I’ll be sending in second and third team just to prevent injuries.”
We line up, and for a moment before I start calling my pre-snap cadence, I glance to the stands. Coach opened up practice to the student body, for school spirit he says, and while I can’t pick her out, I can feel her.
Dixie’s up there, watching and cheering for me.
Since our return from Alabama,she's paid a lot more attention to football than she did prior. And she’s been at every open practice, peppering me and Emery with questions afterwards to prove her attendance.
"Green, eighteen! Green, eighteen! " I call, checking our defense. They’re in Jaguar Three, their standard zone coverage, but I see the defensive line’s coming hard. Thankfully, my red ‘no contact’ jersey means I’ll have the chance to still get the throwoff.
"Hut! "
The center gives me the snap and I quickly back up to position myself to pass. The three receivers to my left run their routes perfectly, a wheel, a fifteen yard cross, and a post, just like it’s drawn up in the book. In just a second, I’ll be able to get my read and… there.
Perfect.
Ty, the scout team running back who’s really a better pass catcher than runner, slips past the linebacker covering him, slipping open. I cock my arm and throw the ball.
I sense the pressure coming in on my right, but it’s okay, this is practice and the rule is don’t hit quarterbacks in prac-
The mountain of muscle that is Vernon Whitehead, our star defensive end, crashes down on me with all two hundred and sixty-four pounds of his weight. The impact drives me to the ground, quick and violent.
I hear a crack and the last thing I see are the stadium lights before a black veil darkens my vision.
"Mom? Mom, where are you?"
My voice trembles, tears roll down my cheeks. I clutch my teddy bear tightly as my feet tread on the icy tiles that cover the apartment floor.
"I forbid you to leave me!"
That voice... I recognize it, it's his. He's shouting loudly, and I hear the sound of something falling. I run quickly and enter my parents' bedroom.
"Mom..."
She's lying on the floor, red liquid running down her head as she tries to get up.
My father's attention shifts to me. His gaze is cruel when he yells, "Are you crying?"
He approaches with slow steps, and I remain frozen.
"Bolton! No!"
But my mother doesn't have the strength to stand between us. My teddy bear falls to the floor when his fist crashes into my face for the first time, sending me spinning to the floor.
Pain and terror overwhelm me, but I don't have the presence of mind to run and hide. I lay there looking at him. His eyes seem to be bulging out of their sockets, he's so furious. "Daddy…"
He points his index finger at my chest, pressing hard and screaming, "Men don't cry! Ever!"
The images fade, but I'm unable to open my eyes. All I can perceive are the voices near me.
"What happened?”
"Total accident. I watched the practice video, Vernon was getting blocked, and when he slipped past, he got pushed at the same time he started to slip."
"Doesn’t matter. He’ll be fine."
