Dare You to Hate Me

g to beat these assholes.”

“We will, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” The word is bitter on my tongue, tasting of disbelief.

“The boys are talking a lot of smack out there and DJ already got us a penalty for unnecessary roughness because of the shit talk. Last thing I need is getting a player ejected because they’re letting petty bull crap creep under their skin. You’re tough. Keep your head up out there if you want to beat them.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“I knew the second I saw you two together that Ivy has the capability of changing everything for you. You can drool over her after we beat these sons of bitches. Understand?”

My jaw ticks. “Understood, Coach.”

He releases my shoulders and grabs the headpiece on my helmet, pulling me closer. “I didn’t hear you. Are we going to take the Raiders down?”

My nostrils flare. “Yes, Coach,” I say louder. He lets go of my helmet and gives me one last look before clapping his hands and calling us together.

The cement feeling in my stomach only grows heavier with each passing quarter.

An interference.

A 15-yard penalty.

Tripping.

I come face-to-face with one of the opposing defense players who narrows his eyes at me. “I can see why they let you go,” he says, trying to block my opening. Ignoring him doesn’t get the message across, and every move I make he mimics with a sense of challenge that goes beyond the game. “What? Nothing to say. What they say about you must be true then. You’re nothing but a pussy.”

Grinding my teeth, I create an opening just as the ball comes soaring in my direction from Wallace. I’m running with as much speed as I can and avoiding the Raiders coming at me when I catch the ball and cradle it to my chest and make a break for the end zone.

I’m twenty yards away.

Fifteen.

Two guys are hot on my heels, one of them mere inches away when I push myself harder than I ever have before to get to the ten-yard line.

This touchdown would put us in the lead.

We’d win.

All the trash talk.

All the bullshit.

All the penalties.

It’d be worth it.

Five yards away—

Three—

A body slams into me with so much force it’s suddenly hard to breathe when my body collides with the turf. I bounce on impact and slide past another yard, watching the ball roll away from my body.

The timer hits zero.

The final quarter ends.