The Wrong Play: A Football Romance (The Wrong Player Series Book 2)
The Wrong Play: Chapter 30

The second I stepped foot into the locker room, I knew I was about to get obliterated.

Coach Everett was already waiting for me, his face redder than a damn stop sign, veins popping out of his neck like he’d swallowed a beehive whole. His clipboard—his favorite weapon of choice—was clenched in his hand so tight I half-expected it to snap in half.

“Thatcher,” he barked, and the whole room went dead silent. “What the hell was that?”

I barely had time to drop my helmet that I’d retrieved from the sidelines before he was in my face, close enough that I could smell the spearmint gum he was furiously chewing like it was the only thing keeping him from ripping me apart.

“You don’t get to walk off my field in the middle of a fucking game, Thatcher!” His voice boomed through the locker room, rattling through my skull. “You don’t get to abandon your team—your brothers—because you suddenly have something better to do!”

I clenched my jaw, swallowing hard. “Coach, I⁠—”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what your excuse is!” he snapped. “I don’t care if your house is on fire or if the fucking commissioner himself called you personally to tell you he needed a wide receiver! You don’t do what you just did, and you sure as hell don’t expect to get away with it!”

I exhaled, staring straight ahead. I took the hit. I didn’t fight it. He had every right to be pissed. Hell, I’d be pissed too.

“Congratulations, Thatcher,” Coach said, his voice dripping with anger. “You’re benched. For the rest of the damn season.”

A low murmur rippled through the locker room.

Matty and Parker both jerked their heads toward me, wide-eyed, looking like someone had just kicked them in the gut. The rest of the team shifted uneasily, some muttering under their breath, others frozen in place, afraid to move.

“Coach…” Parker started, stepping forward. “Come on⁠—”

Coach shot him a glare, cutting him off immediately. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care if we’re winning or losing, if it’s the fourth quarter or overtime, Thatcher is done.”

Silence.

The kind that stretched heavy and suffocating, the weight of his words slamming into my chest harder than any tackle ever could.

Then, without another word, he stormed out, slamming the door so hard behind him that the walls trembled.

I stayed frozen in place, fists clenched at my sides. My pulse pounded in my ears, my entire body thrumming with adrenaline and frustration.

Benched. For the rest of the season. Just like that.

Parker ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “What the hell was that?”

Matty looked like he might throw up. “Dude. Where did you go?”

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “I had to make sure Riley was okay.”

Matty groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Bro, I love you, but how the fuck are we going to fix this?”

Parker stopped pacing, leveling me with a hard stare. “You realize what this means, right?”

I knew. Oh, I knew.

The NFL. The scouts watching. Any possibility of a future in football. All of it—gone.

Because of one choice.

And I didn’t regret it.

Not one bit.

The door slammed open again, and everyone went stiff. Coach stormed back in, but this time, something was different. The color in his face had cooled, and his jaw was no longer clenched like he was about to spontaneously combust.

He exhaled heavily, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off, and then he pointed at me. “You’re back in.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

I blinked. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it twice, Thatcher. I’ve decided to give you one more chance.”

Matty and Parker shared a look of absolute confusion. The rest of the team was equally stunned, staring at Coach like he’d just announced practice was canceled for the rest of the year.

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. Something was off. Coach never changed his mind. Not like this. Not after making a declaration that strong.

But I wasn’t about to question it.

I grabbed my helmet. “Yes, sir.”

Coach pointed at me. “Don’t screw this up.” His voice dropped, rough and unyielding. “You pull another stunt like that, and I don’t care how good you are—I’ll bench you so fast your head will spin. You so much as breathe out of line, and you’ll be watching the rest of this season from the fucking stands. You hear me, Thatcher?”

I nodded and jogged back out with the team, the adrenaline roaring back through my veins like fire. We took the field, and the energy in the stadium shifted the second I stepped back on the turf.

The second half was ours.

We dominated.

The final score? 35–17.

We didn’t just win. We shut them down.

By the time we got back to the locker room, the celebration had already started. Water bottles were sprayed, guys were yelling, everyone was going nuts.

And then, I saw it.

An envelope.

Sitting on my locker.

Red-colored, thick paper. My name scrawled across the front in dark ink.

I grabbed it, my pulse kicking up as I flipped it over and pulled out the card inside.

Two words.

You’re welcome.

Below it, in smaller print, another line:

Courtesy of the Sphinx.

My stomach dropped, and my hand automatically went to my chest where a brand spanking new Sphinx tattoo was inked into my skin. A shady guy had shown up to the house the day after I’d passed the third trial, armed with a tattoo kit, and I hadn’t been a fan of the resulting new ink.

But I was rethinking my stance right about now.

Parker stepped up beside me, brow furrowing. “Is that what I think it is?”

I swallowed hard, showing him the note in my bag before anyone else could see it.

Matty squinted at me, catching my expression, an impressed smile sliding across his face.

I shook my head, feeling a bit dizzy from all that had happened over the last three hours. “Apparently, that ROI on my three near-death experiences has just improved quite a bit.”

Parker snorted. “I’m thinking so.”