Page 102 of Forever Defiant
“We use our words,” I said, getting up and picking up his textbook. “Who’s your professor?”
“Professor Staff.”
I grinned. “Ah, the professor who hates people who try to bench-press their way through assignments.”
“Which is me.” He pointed his pen at me. “So, how do I learn this?”
“Your solution to everything is tackling it.”
“It works,” he muttered.
I nudged his notebook toward him with my knuckle. “Okay, big man. Tell me whattransformational leadershipmeans in football terms.”
He stared at me, confused. “Like when Coach screams loud enough that we change formations?”
I bit back a laugh. “Close. But no. Think less yelling, more inspiring.”
He frowned harder. Inspiration was not a language Noah spoke on the field. He was more ‘follow me or get flattened.’
“Try it like this,” I said. “Who’s the guy on the field everyone plays harder for — not out of fear, but respect?”
Noah looked down, and his voice dropped into something quieter, unarmored. “The middle linebacker.”
I didn’t miss the way he didn’t say ‘me.’ He was too humble. Too unsure. Under too much pressure for a guy who carried the defense on his back every damn game.
“There you go,” I murmured. “That’s transformational leadership. Leading because people believe in you.”
He finally looked up — and for once, he wasn’t joking, or frustrated, or cocky. He just looked... grateful. “Thanks,” he said, throat tight. “I... really don’t want to fuck this up.”
“You won’t,” I said. “Not while I’ve got your back.”
His gaze flickered to mine for a moment before he nodded.
“Okay,” he muttered, clearing his throat and flipping the page. “Let’s keep going before I lose the will to live.”
I grinned and tapped the heading of the chapter. “Leadership in Crisis Situations.”
I snorted. He glared. “Fantastic.”
“Dude, that’s easy,” I said. “Think about third down, second quarter against Kentucky — when Mac intercepted the ball and then dropped the damn thing, and Bowson recovered it, and our chance at taking the lead went straight out the window... until you got the sack. And instead of going for it on fourth, they panicked and blew it.”
He sat up a little straighter, eyebrows rising. “Well, I didn’t do it alone. If Hernandez hadn’t wiped out their running back, I’d never have gotten to the QB.”
“But you still did,” I shot back. “That’s the point. Crisis hits, you reset the team. That’s leadership.”
“And it’s okay to make football references?” he asked, still unsure.
“It’s leadership in crisis,” I said, shrugging. “You do that every week. Pretending that experience doesn’t count is just dumb.”
He twirled his pen between his fingers, thinking that over, brows drawn tight. “Yeah, but that’s different. On the field, you don’t have time to analyze it.”
“That’s what makes it legit,” I countered. “Some business guys panic when the printer jams. You’re out there making split-second decisions with an entire stadium watching.”
He huffed a laugh under his breath. “You’re giving me way too much credit.”
“No,” I said simply. “I’m not.”
He didn’t respond right away. Not because he was emotional — just... processing. “So,” he said eventually, clearing his throat. “Crisis leadership. What’s next?”
