Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Coach launched into his spiel about how important it was to get the W tonight. We were a better team than Jacksonville, but I was still learning the Rush program, and they were adjusting to my game. It didn’t help that there was drama around me getting traded, Nance leaving because he was a bigot, and now me and Houston.
I was energized by the end of Coach’s speech, though, and it only helped getting claps on the back from Garrett, Ramsey, and Tucker. I grabbed the rest of my shit out of my cubby, taking one look at my phone when I did.
Houston: You got this.
I did have it. Even if I hadn’t before, I sure as shit did now. I was going to win this fucking game not because I promised Ramsey I would—okay, not only because I told him I would—but to prove Houston was right about me.
We headed out of the locker room and onto the field. I could do this. I was going to do this. I would guaran-damn-tee it.
“White eighty! White eighty! White eighty!” Ramsey yelled before Tucker snapped the ball to him.
The second he did, I took off running, working to dodge the players who’d stayed tight on my ass the whole fucking game.
You got this, Atwood. You can do this. You need to do this.
I went to the left, then right, pushed my legs as fast as they could go. It was the end of the fourth quarter, likely the last play before we were pushed into overtime if we didn’t score. We hadn’t been within field goal range, which was all we needed, but Ramsey had put his faith in me, calling a play for me to get my ass free and open with enough distance for me to score. I knew he would take the short pass to someone else if that was the only option he had, but I was damn sure determined to get the ball in my hands.
I swapped directions again. The defender tripped, and I took advantage, knowing Ramsey didn’t have any more time to get the ball out of his hand. He launched it, the perfect fucking pass, the pigskin spiraling through the air, just in front of me enough that I could still grab it while continuing to make a break for it.
I pulled the ball tight against my body and ran as fast as I could go, working my way through the players that wanted to take me down.
Sanders lunged at me, but I dove, flying right over him and hitting the ground in the end zone.
My body was sore as hell, everything on me ached, but I didn’t fucking care. I jumped to my feet, dancing and celebrating my touchdown, the rest of the team congratulating me and smacking me around in a way that in sports meant they were proud of me.
We made the extra point afterward, too.
A few of the media came straight for me at the sidelines.
“Cullen, how does it feel to have your first win with the Rush?”
“It’s incredible!” I replied in a shout so they could hear me. “This is the first of many, though. We just have to take it one game at a time. Now that we have our first W in the bag, we’ll look forward to the next one. It was really a team effort out there tonight. Everyone did their part. I’m just thankful we came out on top tonight.” I worked hard to be on my best behavior when really what I wanted was to tell anyone who had doubted me to suck it and that the off-field antics weren’t going to fuck with my game.
I didn’t figure the Rush would like that very much.
“What about Houston McRae? Do you think he’s at home watching you play tonight? Cheering on his boyfriend and brother?”
I frowned at the dumbass question. It sounded like…hell, I didn’t know, like he was saying Houston didn’t have anything to do but sit around and watch us. “Houston might not have been in the league long, but he’s one of the best men to play the game. I don’t know anyone who loves football the way Houston does. Talk with a little respect when his name’s in your mouth.”
The guy’s eyes widened, and I knew I’d kinda fucked up, but what the hell? What the fuck kind of question was that? Did he ask the other guys if their wives were at home watching them play? Cheering them on?
He BS’d his way through the rest of the short interview before I was able to make my escape. I expected to get an earful when I got into the locker room, but I didn’t. They looked at me with respect before Coach gave us a quick speech. Afterward, he walked over to me and said, “Good game, Atwood. We need more of tonight from you, okay?”