Worth the Chase

chapter six

CARSEN

I reach out of the tiled stall to grab my towel before wrapping it around my waist and stripping the shower curtain back. Today's practice was brutal; the muscles in my back ache, and my legs are sore. Getting tackled is no joke, even if I know it's coming. Though we won our first few games, we're playing against our most formidable rivals next week, and everyone is on edge.

The only time we've come close to losing our winning streak was against the Weston Cardill University—or Weston for short—and it's because of their quarterback, who also happens to have some sort of unspoken rivalry with Maverick Parker, our QB.

Stretching my arms out over my head, I sigh; the cold shower helped ease some of the pain and knots in my muscles. I smirk over my shoulder at the noisy, overexcited roars from the guys as they laugh and bask in the victory from the Homecoming game. The locker room is filled with sounds of metal lockers slamming against the frame, thick sheer steam filters out from the showers, but the putrid smell of sweaty bodies and old gym clothes still lingers in the air.

Wringing out my hair, I slip into my boots and shut the locker door, tossing my towel into the hamper. I glance to see if Maverick is ready to head out, seeing as he's my ride home—since we share an apartment in downtown Cardill.

"Blake," I hear the deep grunt from my coach. Swivelling my upper body to face him, he gestures for me to follow him into his office. The stern look suggests that perhaps we've been celebrating the win for too long, or maybe I messed up somehow in practice.

As the offensive team captain, I set an example for the guys, and a lot of the heat, unfortunately, comes down on me. The guys quiet down as they watch me shuffle towards Coach's office, and I shove my hands into the pockets of my joggers.

Football means the world to me. Not only because it's the last good memory I have of my late father but also because I'm good at it. It's my escape, my moment to shut my mind off from all the stressors of my life begging for my attention. I yearn for the next time I would be able to get on that field and play the game.

I shut the door behind me as I sit across from Coach in the tiny little shoebox of an office he's claimed for himself as the head coach for the past eight years. His office holds all the memorabilia of his previous teams, team pictures in rows on his walls, and signed footballs from each graduating class on the shelf behind him. He works hard for his team, which shows when you glance around.

"What's up, Coach?" I lean back, getting comfortable in the plush seat.

The stern glare washes away as Coach Flint smiles, the corner of his dark brown eyes crinkle in excitement. "I have some great news, Blake," he takes a long-impregnated pause filled with anticipation. He ruffles through the papers on his messy desk, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He hands it to me before sitting back, patiently waiting for me to read it for myself.

With confusion circling my mind, I unfold it, realizing it's a letter addressed to me and start reading. Coach starts laughing when my eyes widen in bewilderment, taking in the words slowly. I reread the letter a couple of times; though the words are clear and precisely typed out in front of me, I have difficulty believing them. This is exactly what I've been working for, hoping for, what I've always wanted.

But the only thought running through my mind currently is that my dad's not here to see it.

When I was younger, while my mother hated football talk, my dad encouraged me to continue pursuing it when he realized I had the skills to play. He signed me up for training camp and paid for all the out-of-state games I attended and my equipment. He believed in me when no one else did.