I hadn’t expected to practice. But when I finally got into the locker room, one of the assistant coaches was there, waiting for me. He told me to get dressed, that I was expected out on the field.

I didn’t know that I’d been medically cleared, but I was ready. I got my clothes on and headed out, late but not horribly late. I joined up with the running backs and headed to my usual position as the starter.

“Rack,” the running back coach called out. “You’re number two. Kennings is number one. Got it?”

I stood still and didn’t respond at first. Finally, I said, “Got it.”

He nodded, and we got to work.

I’d been downgraded to the backup. I was furious as we went through our warm-up reps. Nobody was looking at me, but I wasn’t avoiding their stares. I didn’t need their fucking pity or their awkwardness. Kennings, to his credit, wasn’t pretending like I wasn’t around, and we talked like we normally did.

But I was fucking pissed. Not at Kennings, since he was just playing his game. I was pissed at Coach for bringing me back early only to stick me into the backup position.

If they didn’t want to play me, why not let me get more rest and heal up? My knee felt good, it was true, but there was still some stiffness. I could have used another day or two off my feet to really get back to one hundred percent.

Instead, they had decided to fucking humiliate me.

I didn’t understand what was going on or what Coach was thinking, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t say a single word about it. I didn’t even let my furious anger show on my face. I just went through practice and did as I was told. If anything, I worked harder, pushing past whatever discomfort I was feeling.

It still felt damn good to be back on the field. I had nearly forgotten how fucking good it felt to get back out here and be physical, pushing through my exhaustion, pushing past my body’s limits. I loved making my body work and finding out what my limits were, but more than that, I loved finding other people’s limits.

Even in the backup spot, I still felt good as I ran down the turf, my body pumping, lungs pulling air, legs burning. I could feel that wall deep inside me, the one that held me back, but I kept going anyway. I wanted to set every inch of myself on fire, pure and clean burning fire. I’d push hard in practice and come through feeling good, backup or not.

I kept my head down and worked through practice. I wasn’t about to make a scene or act like I was upset. Soon enough, the other guys got the message and we went through practice like nothing was going on.

Back in the shower after we were finished, I rinsed off. Kennings and I joked around, and for a second I forgot that we were rivals.

Until Coach appeared in the doorway to the showers.

“Rack,” he called out. “My office.”

I poked my head out of my stall. “Okay, Coach.”

“Dry the fuck off first.” He left.

“You should go dripping wet,” Kennings said. “Sit down on his nice chair.”

“He’d cut me,” I said, laughing.

“No way. You’re the golden child. You’re up and coming.”

“He doesn’t care about that. If I disobeyed him and got his chairs wet, he’d cut me.”

Kennings laughed as I finished my shower and toweled off. I wrapped it around my waist and hurried out to my locker. I got dressed as fast as I could and then headed over to Coach’s office.

I knocked twice. He called for me to come in. I opened the door and stepped inside.

It was a nice office. He had a large wooden desk with two nice leather chairs sitting out in front of it. His trophies and accomplishments were lined up in rows on the filing cabinets behind him, and his desk was covered in papers. A small TV sat in the corner and was playing some game from 2003 on mute.

“Sit,” he said.

I sat down in front of him. Coach Kelly was a pale man, not in the best shape, but he had intense eyes and was known as a brilliant tactician. He had been a hugely respected coach in college, and now he was in the pros. He ran teams the way he saw fit, and nobody could question him on that.

“You were number two today,” he said.

I nodded. “Yes, Coach.”

“How’d that feel?”

“Shitty.”

He smiled. “Yeah. I figured.”

“But that won’t stop me. I’m just happy to be playing.”

“Is that true?”

I paused. “No,” I admitted. “I want to be the fucking starter. I’m the best running back on this team.”

Coach smiled. “Yeah. You are.”

That surprised me. He wasn’t usually the kind of man to give praise, so when he did, it felt like a special occasion.

“So why was I number two?”

“Because Kennings had a good day and you’re still injured.”

“I’m not.”

“You telling me you’re perfectly ready to hit the field tomorrow if you had to?”

I paused and then shook my head. “No. Not tomorrow. But this weekend.”

“Kennings is fit. You’re getting more rest before we start using you to full capacity. You’ll get some touches this weekend and then we’ll go from there.”

I nodded. “Fine.”

“This is just because you’re injured, Owen. Heal up and play hard. You’ll overtake Kennings.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

He nodded. “Now get out. I’m busy.”

“Got it.” I stood, turned, and left.

I had to admit, that did make me feel better. I had assumed he had benched me because Kennings had played well and they thought he was the better choice, but if it was because of my injury, well, that made sense. I could still get touches while I worked my way back to perfect health.

As I headed down the hallway, I spotted Raylon coming toward me.

“Yo, Rack,” he said. “What up, man?”

“Nothing. Just talked to Coach.”

“You still benched?”

“For now. He said he’d get me some touches this weekend.”

“Shit, man, sounds pretty bad.”

“I don’t know. He said it was just until I got better.”

Raylon laughed. “I’ve seen this shit before, man. The main guy goes down and the backup steps up, plays well. The main guy never plays again, not like he used to.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Maybe not.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it is.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“For starters, you can do what Tony asked you to do.”

I stared at him and felt like someone had punched me in the gut.

He smiled at me. “What? You’re looking at me like I just grew a second head.”

I didn’t know what to say. It was like the entire world had just shifted around me, and I didn’t know what to think.

“You know?” I managed to say.

“Tony told me. He said you’d need more convincing.”

“You talk to Tony?” I could barely comprehend this fucking insanity.

“You think you’re the only player they got on their side?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Shit, man, half this league is owned by the fucking mafia.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope. We’re not even the only ones on this team.”

“Fuck.” That explained how Tony was able to move around the clubhouse so easily. He owned way more than I had realized.

“Just do what Tony asked, okay? Kennings will come around. Shit, they might even really let you go.”

“No, they won’t,” I said.

“Nah, probably not.” He shrugged. “Suck it up, though. Working with them can be a big fucking benefit if you’re not stupid.” Raylon patted my shoulder as he walked on past, heading back the other way.

I wanted to ask him a million questions, but I was still processing that conversation.

Tony had told Raylon to convince me to follow orders, which meant that Raylon and Tony were close. Not only that, but the mob owned a bunch of players.

I turned back toward the locker room and practically floated back, not able to think straight.

As I walked in, I kept seeing more mafia guys all over. Any one of my teammates could have been owned by the mob, and I’d never know.

Shit was so fucked up, I could barely understand it.