Page 21 of Game On

“What’s wrong with you?” Jude demanded. He pushed harder into me, giving me a goofy grin. “Come on. You know you want to tell me.”

I did—God, I wanted to. But I couldn’t exactly say your brother ended our secret almost-relationship because he picked being my coach over being with me. The whole secret part of us meant I was left to deal with and process this on my own.

“Your brother talks too much,” I told him. “I just want to be done. Today’s been nothing but bullshit.”

“A-fucking-men to that,” he muttered. “I say we hit the bar tonight and drink away our Rhodes-induced sorrows.”

I almost laughed because he truly had no idea.

“Why didn’t you talk about football with us?” Isaac asked, catching my attention. I frowned. Rhodes had certainly talked football with me. Quite a lot, actually. I’d just assumed he had done so with everyone too. That made sense, considering he was our coach.

Or maybe he was so determined to avoid all the other topics of conversation with me that he landed on the only safe one: football.

“Yeah, this is a football team,” Wyatt chimed in.

Rhodes crossed his arms as his gaze drifted over the lot of us. There was something annoyingly intimidating and attractive about him when he did that. It also could’ve been that I was used to being at the receiving end of his stern looks in circumstances that had nothing to do with football. That thought made my dick twitch with excitement. Traitor. I shifted on the bleachers and silently told myself to get a grip.

“That’s because as of right now, only one of you is actively being scouted by the NFL,” Rhodes answered honestly.

My heart nearly fell out of my chest as my mind struggled to process his response. I clamped my jaw shut and did my best not to get ahead of him. Only one of you. I was surrounded by the entire team. There were seniors who’d played all four years. There were guys stronger than me, bigger than me, and definitely more talented than me. Hell, there were a few that I’d spent years assuming had a better chance at professional football than I ever would. Was he talking about—

Nope. Absolutely not. I refused to get ahead of him, even if it was damn hard not to.

Coach Mason had never said anything about scouts. Not directly, anyway. My dad talked about the NFL constantly, but he’d been planning my professional career since I was old enough to hold a football without falling over. That wasn’t evidence of my talent or skill. That was just Dad.

“That could change before the season is done,” Rhodes continued. “However, the reality is, for almost all of you, this is the most football you’ll play in your life. That doesn’t mean we won’t have fun, or that I won’t work your ass so goddamn hard that every inch of you hurts and you hate me a little.

“But every little thing you do in college matters. I’m not here to invest my time solely in your football talent but also in who you are as individuals. If there’s something I can help with, I will. If I can’t, I have damn good problem-solving skills.”

I believed that part. Rhodes could turn almost anything into a problem to solve. Give him enough information and five uninterrupted minutes, and he’d start breaking things into variables until they made sense to him. Sometimes it was impressive. Sometimes it made me want to throw things at him.

“Coach Mason never did that,” Breck replied.

“I’m not Coach Mason,” he shot back. “All the building blocks of who you are as a person are intricately tied together. Neglect one and the others will crumble. Take care of all of them, and you’ll succeed in ways you never thought possible. My job is to help you succeed. Not just at football but academically, emotionally, socially, spiritually, and so on.”

A few guys exchanged looks, and I understood why. Rhodes’ approach to coaching was weird. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but it was different from what we were used to. Our old coaches only cared about football because it affected them. Period. They wanted healthy bodies on the field, points on the board, and wins in our schedule. Whatever happened to us outside of that was our problem.

Rhodes apparently intended to make everything his problem. That should’ve surprised me, but it didn’t.

“From now on, you will not skate by in classes. No one is writing papers for you, no one is taking tests for you, and no one is bribing professors to adjust your grades so you can play,” he told us. A murmur moved through the bleachers. That got everyone’s attention. In the name of getting players out on the field, Coach Mason had done some shady shit—like buying their academic eligibility. “Yes, I know about that shit. It happened at Everdale High too. If you’re struggling with a class, you talk to me. I know things, and the school has resources, so we’ll figure it out. I don’t care if you need help learning how to balance a checkbook, ask me.”

“What’s a checkbook?” Brent asked. Rhodes stared at him. Judging from his expression, he was trying to assess if Brent was kidding. Brent just stared back, completely serious.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered when he realized it, and I bit back a laugh.

“Is that like a book where you keep lists and check them off?” Wyatt asked loudly.

“No, that’s a to-do list,” Rhodes scoffed.

“Jude has a to-do list,” I said as the opportunity presented itself. Next to me, Jude cracked up. “It’s probably not the same thing.”

“Definitely not the same thing.” Rhodes scowled. “It’s one way people keep track of their money. Checkbooks aren’t as popular—”

“Who does that?” Isaac demanded.

Rhodes’ lips pressed together tightly as he drew in a deep breath. I knew that look. He was counting to himself to keep from snapping.

“You should be doing that,” Rhodes told him. “We’re getting off topic.”