He smacked a rolled up stack of papers against his palm.
“The coaching staff are handing out your playbooks. Guard these with your lives. I don’t want you adding apps and other crap to these. They’re one hundred percent controlled by the coaches and can be remote wiped, if lost.”
“Do not lose them.” He stopped and took the time to meet the eyes of every player in the room.
A stack of tablets in hard cases were passed down the row with our names on the front. D. Keyton.
My fingers tightened around the edges of the case and I let out a long breath. The reality was almost as scary as the dream.
“Set this up for touch ID, so only you can open it.”
“Training camp is about giving this team your complete focus. Families, wives, girlfriends, friends.” He cleared his throat. “Fans. Do not allow outsiders into the apartments. If you’re having a problem, tell your coach or a member of the support staff. We do not want any problems before the season even starts. We’ll have enough to deal with without the drama you all love to create. All outside distractions are squashed and you’re all here to do your jobs. One job that every other teammate is leaning on you to get done right. If you break curfew, you’re putting not only your spot on the team, but also your wallet on the line. You will be fined. You might lose your spot or not be invited to join us for this season.”
“Do you understand me?” He folded his arms across his chest, wearing the trademark scowl I’d seen on the sidelines of so many games.
“Everyone stand up.”
We all stood.
“If you’ve played in a national championship stay standing. Everyone else sit down.”
Knox and I sat, as did almost half the room.
“If you’re wearing a championship ring, keep standing. Everyone else sit down.”
Ten players remained standing. A couple were vets whose jerseys I’d have worn growing up if I’d had the money. Now I was sitting in the same room with them.
“Can you fucking believe we’re here?” Knox whispered, squeezing my forearm like he was about to jump out of his seat, singing ‘All I Do Is Win’ or some other pump-yourself-up song we’d blasted in the gym to keep everyone hyped up.
“No, but we need to at least act like it.” I whispered back.
A couple of heads turned in our direction and I stared down at the coach.
“Seventeen practices before the preseason starts. We have workouts and only seventeen practices to get you all working as a team. Your position coaches are going to expect a lot from you, and I’m going to expect even more. There are still cuts that need to be made before the season starts, and some of you will end up on the practice squad. Keep that in mind when you’re in the gym, doing your drills, and working your tails off in practices.
“We are not in a rebuilding year this year. We are in a powerhouse year this year. You leave it all out on the field and you’ll all be standing when I give this speech next season. Get some food, and get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
He dismissed the team. Everyone shouted like we were in the locker room in our last game, getting hyped up and adrenaline pumping, ready to tackle this season head on. All the guys flooded out of the lecture hall. Everyone clustered up, forming groups of guys who’d gone to school together or played in conferences together.
Players on the team who’d played together for a few years stuck together, and then there were the new guys. Us. Having a familiar face to hang out with took the edge off the chaos and fear, shaved it down about a quarter of an inch to make walking and eating possible.
One of the guys from STFU jerked his chin in my direction. That seemed to be as much of a hello as I was getting. Once mortal enemies, now we were teammates. Weirder shit had happened.
Knox punched my shoulder, looking around at all the guys we’d been in the same room with for the past couple hours.
One thing I’ll say for pro teams, the catering was a hell of a lot better than anything Fulton U had given us. I’d never been on a cruise before, but the carving stations and mountains of plates heaped high with steaks and salmon seemed like they’d have fit right in. Here there were no worries about screwing with our NCAA eligibility by accepting crab legs at a massive team booster buffet. From now on, there would be no going to bed barely on the side of not starving. At least until the dreaded, “you’ve been cut” phone call came through.
T-Bones, ribs, chicken breasts. Every high protein food right alongside things like steamed vegetables, cookies and an ice cream machine. It was all piled high on plates and brought back to the round tables around the room.
Knox and I headed to the table with other rookies. There were a few familiar faces of guys I’d faced off against on the field last season, but most I’d never seen before.
“I’m Knox, this is Dare.”
I jumped in. “Keyton. My name’s Keyton.”
Knox jerked back and stared at me like I’d announced I was actually a new recruit from Alpha Centuri. “Since when do you go by Keyton?” he mumbled.
“Since I left Greenwood.” I shook hands with a couple guys next to me. Dare was the guy with anger problems. Dare was the one who’d broken Bay’s guitar and her heart. Dare was the kid who’d gotten the crap beaten out of him by his dad.
His eyebrows furrowed.
Handshakes and head nods were exchanged with the table. The STFU player was Reid Riddick. Our run-ins had only ever been on the field, but I’d seen him hanging with another player who’d given one of my old roommates trouble before they buried the hatchet right at the end of our final season.
“Congrats on the national championship,” he grudgingly shook my hand.
“You guys didn’t make it easy.”
“No, we didn’t. But you still came out on top.”
“And we’re all on the bottom rung again here.”
He made a huff of approval before going back to his plate. It was like being the new kid at camp—well, if I’d ever gone to camp. Our table was quiet and awkward while the rest of the room was blanketed in a sea of voices, laughter and shouts from players who’d known one another for years.
“Hey, rookies.” A voice boomed above the din of noise in the room.
One of the vets, Vince, dropped his hands onto the shoulders of two of the other players at our table. “Welcome to the team. There’s just one thing I thought you should know. I’ve been playing on this team for longer than you’ve been alive. So don’t think you’re going to come out of this playing in the pre-season. Just hope you’ll be good enough for the scraps of game play we have left for you.”
His smile pretended to be nice, but it was closer to a sneer than anything I’d seen since we arrived.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I clenched my hands under the table.
“Then maybe it’s time you make way for some new blood.” Knox grumbled and stabbed at his steak.
“What did you say?” Vince’s gaze snapped to our side of the table.
The blood pounded in my veins, hammering at my heart, and the urge to shoot up from my chair was overwhelming. I gripped my knees until I thought the bone would bruise.
“Vince, leave the rookies alone and stop being an asshole.” Someone shouted behind him.