[18+] ENEMIES TO LOVERS SPORTS ROMANCE.
*REWRITTEN*
°•°•°•°
Hannah Walker doesn't trust anyone, especially men.
They're manipulative and toxic - her lousy ex taught her that lesson well.
Enter Tristan Beckett, the embodiment of everything she despis...
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Tristan
I was off.
I was just... off.
Practice had been a bitch and my whole body felt like it had been run over by a ten-ton truck. Might as well be true. My teammates weren't holding back, as they shouldn't — but today? I was running on fumes.
It had been like this for the whole fucking week.
I yanked off my helmet and bent over, putting my hands on my knees and taking several deep breaths. It was like my brain had taken a vacation without me. I couldn't concentrate on shit, and I was making rookie mistakes. I was running at half my usual speed, and I couldn't throw a ball to save my life. It was like my hands had developed a sudden allergy to pigskin. They fumbled and flailed every throw. It was fucking embarrassing.
"Fuck," I groaned, running a hand through my wet hair and splitting out the phlegm that had gathered in the back of my throat.
I stayed hunched over, sweat pouring down my face, while I wondered how the fuck I'd ended up in this sorry state. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was the smooth-talking, quick-thinking, go-getter guy who had it all under control. Now, I felt like none of those things.
Straightening as I interlocked my hands behind my head, I continued to focus on my breathing. I needed to calm down before my team saw how much this was getting to me. Because whatever the fuck this was needed to stop. Like, right now.
Our first pre-season game was tomorrow and I couldn't afford to start the season looking like a fucking noob. Not when my whole team was trusting me to lead them to the Championships. Not when I was entering the NFL draft in a couple of months.
"Hey, man," Tate drawled as he jogged over, helmet tucked under his arm.
I let out a sigh and dropped my hands to my sides. Tatum, my closest friend and co-captain, stopped beside me. He placed one massive hand on my shoulder, a show of support that only increased my frustration.
I felt like I was letting him down.
"We all have off days, Beckett. Beating ourselves up about it will only make it worse," he said.
"It's been like this all fucking week, Tate. I can't afford to pull this shit tomorrow."
"You won't. You couldn't possibly play any worse than you did today." He grinned, slapping my shoulder.
I managed a dry laugh. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but don't jinx it. I might as well be playing peewee right now."
His eyes sobered and met mine. "Exactly. It's our first game, unimportant in the long run. Who the fuck cares?"
"Uh, I do? It's my first official match as the Knight's Captain. Sue me if I want to start off with a bang."
"I think you need to be doing a different kind of banging. When's the last time yo—"
