Page 35 of Hard Count
The ball felt good in Piper's hand, and was the only thing that helped him forget why he was anxious in the first place.
He dropped back and fired the first throw into the chest of a receiver. It was a tight, clean spiral with real speed. The next rep got the same result.
“Piper, you’re driving too hard,” his coach said as he monitored the situation.
Piper took another snap from the assistant coach and hit the out route, and answered. “Shit, the arm’s doing too much.”
Piper reset and threw again. This one was deeper, the receiver having to stretch for it.
They moved through progression drills, then pressure simulations. Piper liked the pressure work, because it kept himinside his body as his mind took a break. He stepped through the collapsing pocket, felt the rush flash at the edge of his vision, and delivered one throw after another. The ball was coming out hot enough now that even the receivers noticed the intensity.
One of them held onto a slant and flexed his hands afterward, “Fuck, bro.”
Piper gave him a look. “Catch it softer, bro.”
The receiver laughed and jogged back to the line.
By the time the rest of the offense joined them, Tank was already watching him with narrowed eyes. They ran the opening scripted series. Then Ramirez waved them into position.
Tank jogged past him on the reset. “You trying to make a point or start a fucking war?”
Piper wiped his palm on his towel. “Maybe both.”
“Well that’s fucking healthy.”
Piper almost told him to shut the fuck up, but didn’t. Tank would only take that as confirmation.
They reset. Another play and completion.
For maybe fifteen minutes, he forgot completely about anything else.
***
The game itself was the kind of win Piper preferred, clean. Boring for the highlight reel and perfect for his body. He threw for two hundred and seventy-four yards, two touchdowns, no turnovers. Tank caught nine for a hundred and twelve yards. The defense got three sacks. Final score: L.A. 27, Chicago 13.
On the flight back to L.A., he sat in the first row of the charter with his phone on the armrest. He continued to check every minute, just in case Noah texted him.
Joan, was it something I said?
Chapter Fifteen: Los Angeles
Piper walked toward the sideline, chest rising harder than it should have this early, sweat already cooling under his shoulder pads. He reached for his bottle, and looked down at his phone out of habit more than hope. One message, from Noah, finally.
A surge of dopamine shot through his entire body. He opened it.Piper.
Piper stared at the screen.
There was nothing romantic in the wording. If anyone else saw it, it meant nothing. Probably why it landed like a hook to the ribs.
How the fuck am I supposed to answer to my name, this dude is a mess. Piper thought to himself as his fingers hovered over the keys. Noah? He hit send.
Tank came up beside him and cracked his own bottle open. “Sup, my dude.”
Piper locked the phone and slid it face down onto the bench.
“Who are you texting with that face?”
Piper took a drink before answering. “Vivienne. I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me today.”
