The Trouble with You (Rixon Raiders 1)

“Raiders,” we all yelled in well-rehearsed synchronicity.

“I said who are we?”

“RAIDERS.”

“And what are we?”

“Family,” our voices echoed around the room, reverberating through my chest.

“And what are we gonna do?”

“Win.”

“I said what are we gonna do?”

“WIN!”

“Damn right we are,” Coach yelled over the noise. “Now let’s go out there and play some ball.” He thrust his clipboard in the air, and we rushed out of the locker room, fists pumping, spirits high. Adrenaline coursed through me as I bounced on the balls of my feet, stretching my neck from side to side. Game night was always a high; addictive and all-consuming. For those forty-eight minutes there was no room to think about anything else but the win.

The roar of the crowd as we re-entered the field was deafening, the glare of the Friday night lights blinding. We were gods now, and this was our arena.

“Soak it up, bro,” Jase clapped me on the back. “This year is ours. You ready?” His eyes were dark, almost black. I’d never seen anyone get in the zone like he did.

Nodding, I pulled on my helmet, biting down hard on the mouth guard, and striding out to our end zone. Marshall were already on the field at the thirty-five-yard line, ready to kick off. Our players moved into position, waiting for the whistle. It sounded and their kicker punted the ball. My eyes fixed on it, tracking its projection as it sailed through the air, long and deep. “It’s yours, Fourteen,” someone yelled.

It kept flying, cutting through the air like a bullet. I dropped back, moving under the ball’s trajectory, lining myself up for the catch. I didn’t need to think, the actions were imprinted, instinctual like muscle memory. Knees loose, hands cradled, the ball landed with a thud and I tucked it into my body, locking my fingers around the leather.

“RUN!” Another voice yelled, echoed by Coach and his men on the sidelines, our four-thousand strong crowd in the bleachers. But I needed no encouragement, my eyes already scanning the field, anticipating the route home. Marshall’s blockers were already moving downfield, a wave of black and yellow coming right at me, but I saw an opening and took off, pumping my legs as fast as they would take me. Adrenaline fired up my synapses, shooting around my body like tiny bolts of lightning, propelling me forward.

I passed midfield into the forty, the stampede of Marshall players right on my tail but I kept pushing. Kept moving. Catching a blur of yellow and black in my periphery, I tucked myself in, bracing myself for the hit, but it never came, one of our guys slamming into their blocker, taking him out of the play. Thirty yards… twenty… ten; they couldn’t catch me now as I flew toward the endzone, nothing between me and the touchdown but fresh air. Slamming the ball onto the ground, I found myself jostled between my teammates as the crowd erupted.

“Ninety-five yards, baby,” Grady shrieked. “That’s how it done.” He fist-bumped me as we moved upfield for our kicker to try for the conversion. The ball sailed cleanly through the uprights giving us the extra point, taking our lead to thirty-eight to six. Marshall needed a miracle now to claw back a win.

As we ran back to the sideline, Jase collared me, pressing his helmet against mine. “That is why Penn wants you, that right there.” He gave me a rare grin. “One game down, another nine to go and then we’re going all the way.”

The conviction in his voice was deadly, and I knew Jason believed every word coming out of his mouth.

We would win State.

I would go to Penn with him.

And we’d have long and successful college football careers... together.

In his mind, there was no other option.

“Hey, you okay?” He grabbed my shoulder, eyes hard on my face.

“Yeah, I’m good.” The lie rolled off my tongue. “Come on, we have a game to win.”

We won forty-six to twelve in the end. Our offense was fast, our defense impenetrable. And in Coach’s words, ‘we outplayed them like a dream’. But the win was bittersweet.

After we’d left the field and gone back to the locker room, I’d picked up a voicemail from Dad saying they wouldn’t be able to attend the game. He’d left it ten minutes after kick-off. So while my teammates were all pumped about seeing their friends and family who were waiting outside to congratulate us, all I wanted was some air.

It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate people coming out to support us, I did, but it was a painful reminder I didn’t have the people I wanted most waiting for me in the gathered crowd.

“Good game, Cam,” Khloe sauntered over to me as I waited for the rest of the guys.

“Thanks,” I grunted, kicking at the dirt with my sneaker.