The team goes into motion, the defense dropping into a three-deep zone exactly like I expected. My line picks up the pass rush, and I throw to the tight end for an easy eight-yard gain on first down.
“Nice read. Sinclair, your turn,” calls Alvarez while I jog to the sideline, victory thrumming through my veins.
“Hut!” Sinclair yells. The tight end runs a slant and is wide open in front for an easy ten yards—and Sinclair hits him in stride. He breaks the tackle and turns up the field for another fifteen yards before the safety can make it over to bring him down. A muscle pops in my jaw.
I’m up.
“Two minutes to go in the quarter. Down by five. First and ten from the twenty,” Alvarez calls out from the sideline.
“Hike!” I growl.
Palming the ball, I study the blitz coming from both sides. I throw a perfect pass down the sideline to Sawyer. He catches it and heads to the endzone. Score.
I pass Sinclair on my way off the field. “Beat that, rookie.”
He huffs and gets into the huddle at the twenty yard-line. Right away, I see the blitz coming as an overload on his right side. He’ll need to keep the tight end in play to block and dump the ball off to his running back. It won’t pick up a lot of yards, but it might move the ball downfield.
“Hut!”
The play starts and the blitz surprises him. Sinclair falters but spins at the last second and runs toward the sideline, looking for an open player. He waves his hand at Sawyer, who breaks off his slant route just as Sinclair throws the ball, a wobbly spiral that hits Sawyer around sixty yards. He walks into the end zone for a touchdown. The freshman players run out and smack Sinclair on the helmet.
My teeth grit. Yeah, it was pretty, but…
“What the hell was that?” snaps Alvarez as he stomps out to the field and gets in Sinclair’s face. “That little spin worked this time, but it’ll get you sacked and probably a fumble. That shit might have flown in high school, but you aren’t the best athlete on the field anymore.” Coach turns to the defense. “And you just let some fresh-as-a-daisy kid beat you deep on what would have been a game-winning play. You have to contain…”
He continues to yell at the defense as I swagger over to Sinclair. “You know what he’s looking for? Experience. This is real football, not a one-man show.”
He bumps me with his shoulder and stalks to the sideline.
Walking into the locker room after practice, Alvarez motions for me to come to his office. Sinclair is already there, hovering in the background.
Coach scans his eyes over us, and I think I see a glimmer of uncertainty there. He crosses his arms, determination on his face.
My heart pounds in my chest, but I keep my face cool.
Sinclair sends me dark looks, his fists clenching and unclenching.
“You both did fine today.”
And…
“I’ll be announcing Dillon as the starter this afternoon at a press conference.”
Yes! Elation rushes over me as the weight of summer camp eases.
Sinclair exhales a breath and looks at the floor.
Coach’s eyes narrow as he takes us in. “It’s no secret you two are at odds, and I get it. You both have different styles. McQueen, you’re steady and balanced. Sinclair, you’re talented but have a lot to learn. McQueen, I want you to spend some personal time with Sinclair—”
“Sir?” I interrupt. “What do you mean?”
Coach’s lips flatten. “You claim you want to lead this team, so do it. You’re the captain, and that means welcoming the new talent and teaching him what you know. I’m assigning you two to run together every day—on your own time. It would be good if you spent more time together as well. Eat together, hang out, whatever you boys do.”
My personal time? I shoot a glance at Sinclair, and he curls his lips at me.
Coach looks down at the mess of papers on his desk. “Sinclair, you may go.”
He bumps his shoulder against me as he heads out the door, and I shake my head. Was I ever that much of a pill? No. I was an eager learner and deferred to Ryker, letting him mentor me. Hell, I welcomed his friendship with open arms. I might even have been a little needy. That first year was a hard time in my life, adjusting to college and the ghost of my brother.
Coach leans back in his chair. “Congrats on the position. Take a seat.”
My stomach jumps. Why do I feel like I still haven’t won? “Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll put the team ahead of everything. This means the world to me.”
He nods. “You’ve been patiently waiting for your turn, and I have a lot of respect for your dedication. This is it for you, son. If you’re tight this year, the scouts are going to notice.”
But? Is he just letting me start because he feels like he owes it to me and not because I’m the best? Insecurities rise up, and I tap my fingers on my knee.
His gaze goes back to the door Sinclair left through. “He is good, you know, but he’s impulsive and makes it up as he goes along.”
I’m impulsive too, but never on the field. Everything I do with football is calculated and sure.
“Just because I’m naming you starter today doesn’t mean I can’t change my mind. Don’t flake out under the pressure, because trust me, you’ve never seen the kind of intensity you’re about to face. If you aren’t the best on the team at the end of each week, you won’t be playing.” He assesses me. “I need Sinclair to fall in line. Teach him what you know.”
Oh, I see. Teach him my tricks… “So he can step up and take my place?”
Coach frowns. “This isn’t a pissing contest between two players. Ryker
