13

One of their players was glaring over at me. I stood taller, tipping my chin slightly, sending him a silent ‘fuck you’. He narrowed his eyes, pointing his finger at me before dragging it across his throat.

“Yo, Coach?” I asked one of our assistant coaches. “Number twenty-three. What position is he playing?”

“Linebacker,” he said warily. “Should I be concerned?”

“Nah, Coach. Just wondered.”

He gave me a pointed look. “No bullshit out there, okay?”

“Did I hear someone say bullshit?” Coach Hasson called us in. “Listen up. Millington came here to win. If they don’t, they can kiss a shot at the play-offs goodbye. So that means they’ll be gunning for blood. Your blood. You hear me?” We nodded. “They’re desperate and desperate men will do anything to get the win. Keep your cool and don’t get dragged into their games. That goes for you too, QB.”

“Yes, Sir.” My eyes flicked over to Millington. Like us, they were now huddled around their coach, who was no doubt telling them to use every trick i