Cruel Me

Chapter 4: I'm A Believer (sophomore year)

(sophomore year)

Just one more touchdown.

"That's it, Lacy! Get your ass to the end zone!"

Coach had been pushing me extra hard since late last year, when he discovered that I was a hell of a lot better than the resident running back then. He shaped me up so I could officially be part of the starting line up this season because being the running back wasn't an easy job. I had to be both mentally and physically exceptional.

I wasn't complaining, though. Hell, I wanted this. I fucking loved the game. It was the only thing that didn't suck in my life. It served like some kinda safe haven where I could take out all my frustrations and not be in trouble for it.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a senior about to block my path. I sped up and lowered my shoulder in preparation for the impact.

"Oomph!" I heard him groan as he staggered away.

Damn. I gotta thank Coach Watkins for adding my gym hours.

Another senior tried to come at me from the sides. I slowed down for half a second to let him slide to the ground, then I hopped off him. I gained speed again, making sharp cuts here and there. In no time, I got to the end zone pretty smoothly.

The seniors slapped my helmet as a congratulatory move.

"Good one, kid!"

"Awesome play, Oz!"

I grinned, walking back to the bench.

"Just what I expected from Clyde's brother," Coach Watkins remarked, patting me on the shoulder when I neared.

I didn't let his comment get to me. I've already accepted a long time ago that my brother's football track record would follow me if I chose this sport. I just had to surpass it. It wouldn't be too hard considering he was a quarterback and I was a halfback (running back).

At least, there was that difference.

"Keep that up on Friday, you hear?" Coach said. He was in his sixties or seventies. We weren't sure. He looked like your typical grandpa with a friendly smile beneath that walrus beard that we always made fun of.

I nodded. "Sure, Coach." I removed my helmet and cleared my throat. "Listen, you mind if I go?"

He stared at me. "You got a date or something?"

"Something." I smirked.

"If this girl makes you play like you did today, I'll keep out of it."

I knew he'd say something like that.

Coach Watkins was the kind that didn't care what you did outside the field, as long as you showed up during practice and when it was game time. So long as we respect the game and play fucking good, he didn't meddle with our personal business.

"But boy," he warned me with a serious expression, "The minute you start screwing up, that'll be the end of it. Understood?"

Except for that.

If it got in the way of the game, he'd be up your ass about it for sure. He was a raging asshole if he didn't like you. The team was constantly torn whether or not they find him respectable.

I fought the urge to snort.

I will never let a girl mess up my game.

"Crystal," I replied.

He scrutinized my face, probably trying to see if I was taking him seriously. When he was satisfied, he nodded and waved off a hand.

"Alright, scram."