Chapter 2

Patton studied his hands and pretended he hadn’t heard the question. Four of his ten fingers were crooked, thanks to bad breaks that hadn’t healed properly. His right hand was heavily callused. Patton couldn’t even remember what his fingers looked like without the thick skin.

“Sorry, man, that wasn’t cool.”

“It’s fine,” Patton said, meaning it. It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand where DeShawn was coming from.

A shrill whistle sounded, indicating the end of the first quarter, and DeShawn dropped to the bench, watching as the defensive starters hurried to the sideline. Most of them made a beeline for the coolers, pouring water over their heads before taking a drink, but they were in robust spirits, good-naturedly shouting at each other before Coach quieted them down.

“I think you should be out there, for what it’s worth.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Patton growled. “I’m not and it doesn’t matter what anybody thinks.”

“Hey, I was just stating a preference. No need to bite my head off.”

“Oz is the leader of this team now. So keep your preferences to yourself from now on.”

“You always this fucking bitchy? No wonder you’re always sitting by yourself. Shit, and I thought you’d be cool. I remember when I used to watch you play. I was in fifth grade your rookie year, and I hated you.”

Patton’s brow furrowed. “What the hell kind of story is that?”

“No, it’s cool. I was a Breakers fan.”

“How disappointing for you.”

“You have no idea.”

“You still wanted to play football after following the Breakers.”

“I wanted to play against you,” DeShawn said, his voice a little gruff, his eyes serious. “Don’t you ever listen to my interviews?”

“No.”

DeShawn grinned. “It’s like I’ve been telling everybody since I got drafted, I always thought we’d meet out on the field someday. I know every move you’ve got.”

“You don’t.”

“No, I do.” He touched his temple and pointed at Patton. “I know how your brain works, Cooper. I know how you think.”

“Do you think you’re the first corner who’s ever said that to me? I’ve heard it all before. Including the season I only had three picks.”

DeShawn leaned closer, and though the teams had returned to the field for the beginning of the second quarter, his full attention stayed on Patton. “But I know something that nobody else does. Those three? They were the same play. Sometimes you get a little impatient and you throw off that back foot. It’s fine when you’re throwing to the left, but not the right.”

“That’s not a big revelation. The analysts have been saying that for years,” Patton said stiffly.

DeShawn’s easy grin never faded. “Yeah, sure they have. I’m going to catch the rest of the game so I can tell Darnell everything he’s done wrong.”

“Did it ever occur to you that Darnell doesn’t want or need to hear shit from you?” Did it occur to you that I don’t need it, either?

“He might not want it, but he needs it.”

“He’s one of the best corners in the league.”

“Yeah, that’s the story. But it’ll be changing when they see me play.”

Patton looked over his shoulder as DeShawn walked away, his attention naturally drawn to Oz’s imposing frame. Patton wasn’t a small guy, but Oz was almost inhuman, taller than anybody else on the field, unexpectedly graceful, his feet fast and nimble when he avoided the hundreds of pounds of angry linemen barreling toward him. He sat hunched over an open playbook with Chip, the offensive coordinator, chewing absently on his fingernail while he watched Chip gesture at the page.

It was impossible to dislike the good-natured, confident Oz. Patton sensed a kindred spirit in him, and he couldn’t begrudge the kid, but he burned with helpless jealousy, too, feeling it twist tighter and tighter inside of his chest. It was like too much whiskey downed too quickly, and sometimes the base of his throat clenched and tingled like he was going to vomit.

The defense opened the quarter with a strong stand, hinting at the ways the Mustang offense would fall apart. They were committed to running the ball, but they weren’t making any big progress. Their quarterback, Felton, was young and eager, and Patton knew exactly what bad call he would make. Two plays later, he tried to force a play to the far right, and he underestimated Darnell’s speed.

“Stupid, stupid,” Patton murmured just before jumping to his feet and cheering his teammate to the end zone. Felton managed to save the play with a diving tackle, but they were on the twelve-yard line and the entire stadium roared with excitement. Oz trotted onto the field to a deafening bellow, the hometown team welcoming their new man and all his potential.