He nods his head nervously, but I wait for a response. “Yes, Coach Burns.” “I want you back out on the field. You’re running laps with Coach Evans, and once he feels like you’re done, you’re going over the playbook front to back. Then you’ll come in early to go over it with him. We clear?” “Yes, sir.” He looks defeated as he walks past me, back out of the locker room, but I don’t give a flying fuck. I turn to the other players, and slam my playbook on the bench. “I don’t know what kind of locker room crap your last coach put up with, but that’s done and over. If I hear anything like the conversation I just heard ever again, you’ll all be warming the bench come game day.” They all look at me with wide eyes, but I’m beyond enraged. I know it’s because they were talking about Hannah. This kind of talk always happens when guys get together, not just in locker rooms. But I’m blinded by my anger, and I don’t care. “Everybody clear on this?” “Yes, Coach Burns,” they say in unison. I pic
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