Chapter 86 Chapter Eighty Six
Chapter Eighty - Noah's POV
"What the fuck did you just say to me?!"
I barely saw Jace’s shove coming, both his hands slamming into my chest with enough force to knock me back a step.
I recovered quickly, planting my feet and shoving back just as hard. "You heard me perfectly well the first time."
The team exploded around us, cursing and yelling.
Marcus grabbed Jace's arm, trying to yank him back. "Dawson, chill the hell out…"
Donovan stepped between us, hands up. "Guys, come on, we've got a game in two minutes—"
But Jace wasn't listening. His face was red, veins popping in his neck, his eyes wild with rage while he gave me his most vicious death glare. Pathetic.
"I'm going to fucking destroy you," he snarled, straining against Marcus's grip. "Just you wait, Noah. Just you fucking wait."
I couldn't help but laugh in his face at that, especially knowing it would drive him absolutely insane. He was acting like such a child it was hilarious.
"Want to guess why I'm wearing a spare jersey, Jace?" I gestured to the number seven on my chest, then pointed toward the bleachers where Lena sat in the stands. "It's because Lena's wearing the original. My name. My number. On her body."
Jace's eyes followed my finger, landing on Lena in the crowd.
His entire face went white, then red, then almost purple with rage.
"I've already won," I said quietly, just loud enough for him to hear over the chaos. "Just like I'm going to win this too."
Jace lunged at me again, his fist headed straight at my face with the clear intent to break something; my nose, my jaw, maybe both.
Marcus yanked him back at the last second, Donovan joining in to hold him as Jace thrashed and cursed.
"Get the fuck off me! I'm going to kill him! You fucking prick! I'm going to—"
I didn't flinch, didn't even blink.
Instead, I looked past Jace and his juvenile whining, meeting the eyes of every player on the team one by one.
Tyler Costa. Marcus Rodriguez. Donovan Hayes. The offensive line, the receivers and the defence. I’d spent a long time studying their plays, so long that I knew all their abilities like the back of my hand.
They all stared back at me with varying degrees of hostility. Some glared outright while others just looked uncomfortable, like they wanted to be anywhere but here.
They hated me, that much was obvious.
But here's the thing about hate: it's loud, passionate, and powerful, but at the end of the day, it is completely irrelevant when there's something far, far more important at stake.
I scanned the sidelines, noting the cluster of men in polo shirts holding clipboards and studying the field. They were college scouts, at least five that I could see, maybe more scattered throughout the crowd.
There were reporters too, cameras ready pointed at the players with notepads out, reporting live for the whole state.
This wasn't just a game to these people, it was an audition that could very well determine how the rest of their lives would play out. To them, it could decide their futures.
"ENOUGH!"
Coach Ellis's voice cracked across the field and we all froze. He strode into the middle of our circle, his face so red and angry that I knew someone was about to get benched or worse.
"I don't know what kind of soap opera drama you ladies think you're starring in," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "But let me remind you of something important."
He pointed toward the scouts.
"Those men over there? They're from USC, Michigan, Ohio State, Alabama. They came here tonight to watch the best high school team in the tri-state area. They came to find the next Cooper Kupp, the next Jalen Hurts, they came to change someone's life."
His eyes swept across all of us.
"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to put aside whatever teenage bullshit is going on between you. You're going to get on that field. And you're going to play like your future depends on it, because it does."
He stepped closer to Jace and me specifically.
"I don't care if you hate each other. I don't care if you're fighting over a girl, or pride, or who has the bigger…" He stopped himself, frowning deeply. "Figure it out after the game, but right now, you play for Westbrook. You play for your team. You play to win. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Coach," we muttered in unison, though Jace sounded like he was choking on the words.
"Good. Now get in position."
The team started to scatter, but I stayed where I was for a moment, watching them.
Fear. That's what I saw in their eyes now, underneath all the anger and bluster.
Fear of losing their shot, fear of disappointing the scouts, fear that their one chance to escape whatever insignificant small-town future waited for them would slip away because of some stupid fight that had nothing to do with them.
And fear was useful.
Because that meant they wouldn't throw the game just to spite me, no matter how much they wanted to. They'd play to win, because winning was the only thing that mattered.
I felt almost sorry for them. They were meatheads; drunk on teenage power, high on their own hype, and ultimately predictable, which made them easy to manipulate.
Before this game was over, I'd bring every single one of them to my side.
The ref's whistle pierced the air, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"Teams, take your positions!"
I jogged onto the field, adrenaline burning through my veins.
The Sharks lined up across from us; massive, mean-looking guys who'd clearly been recruited more for size than speed. Their linebacker had to be two-fifty pounds minimum.
The crowd roared, the bands started to play even louder and cheerleaders jumped and spun on the sidelines.
I couldn't see her from here, but I knew somewhere in the crowd, Lena was there watching. Wearing my jersey and cheering my name.
The thought made me smile.
"HIKE!"
The ball snapped.
The Tigers moved like a well-oiled machine, their blocks executed perfectly, their routes run with precision. These guys were good. Stupid good. I could see why they’d come so far, someone had been drilling the fuck out of them. Most likely Jace.
Jace took the snap, faked left, then launched a pass downfield to Marcus who caught it clean and gained twenty yards before getting tackled to the ground.
The crowd went wild, and we huddled up for the next play.
"Twenty-three dive," Jace called out, not looking at me. "Chen, you're the lead block. Rodriguez, I'm looking for you in the flat. Noah—" He finally met my eyes. "Stay the fuck out of my way."
I bit back a retort, choosing to save the energy for the actual game instead.
The play ran smoothly, another first down, then another.
The Tigers were dominating, methodically marching down the field. But they were doing it without me; every pass went to someone else, every single play was designed to keep the ball as far from my hands as possible so that I was practically useless.
We were only fifteen yards from the goal line.
I broke into open space, raising my hand to show I was wide open. The closest Shark was a good ten feet away.
"Jace!" I called out.
He looked right at me, then turned and threw the ball all the way back to Tyler, who was significantly farther from the end zone and covered by two defenders.
Tyler caught it anyway, the kid had hands like glue, but got immediately swarmed.
The ref blew the whistle. Third down.
We huddled again.
"Same play," Jace said. "Dawson, run a decoy route."
"I was wide open…"
"Did I fucking stutter?" He snapped, daring me to publicly oppose him as Captain, obviously hoping I would take the bait and get benched by Coach as a result.
I said nothing and kept my eyes on the ball.
The ball snapped. I ran my route anyway, breaking toward the sideline and then cutting back toward the middle. One of their massive defensive ends charged at me, clearly instructed to shut me down.
I was obviously open again and with a clear path to the end zone, but instead of Jace passing the ball to me, he pivoted.
And threw directly at the giant Shark headed straight for me.
In that split second the defender had to choose: go for me or go for the ball.
He chose me. Three hundred pounds of heavyweight teenager slammed into my shoulder with the force of a freight train.
I went down hard, my shoulder screaming in pain, knees scraping against the turf. The impact was so powerful that it rattled my teeth.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the crowd erupt in cheers.
I pushed myself up on my elbows, dirt and grass stuck to my face guard, and looked downfield.
Jace was in the end zone raising his ball high over his head, his teammates swarming him to pound on his back and cheer him on.
Touchdown.
The crowd was chanting his name, screaming "JACE! JACE! JACE!"
I lay there in the grass like an idiot, my shoulder throbbing, tasting blood where I'd bitten my tongue.
Then I looked up at the stands. There in section C, middle bleachers, I spotted Lena jumping to her feet with Nicole and Jake beside her.
Even from this distance, I could see her face. Worried, hopeful, afraid for my sake.
She was watching me with clear tension in her shoulders. Not Jace celebrating, but me.
I gritted my teeth and pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the shooting pain in my shoulder.
This wasn't over, not even close.
Jace wanted to play dirty? Fine. Two could play that game.