My new teammates nod at me as they trickle into the locker room. The Sharks’ longtime quarterback and team captain, Chris Jackson, slaps my shoulder as he heads to his locker. Rumor is this is his last season, and I’m his natural successor.

I’ve yet to encounter any of the animosity or hazing most rookies face. Worn down after years of last-place finishes in the league, every Sharks player is looking to me to resuscitate the weary franchise. The unfamiliar challenge is exhilarating. I’ve never been the underdog before.

I head out of the locker room as soon as it gets crowded, opting to clear my head out on the freshly mowed field instead. Football has always been a constant. It’s never beguiled me and then disappeared.

Practice is exhausting, but I welcome the physical and mental strain as a temporary escape from the residual ache left by the cover I can’t seem to forget, no matter how hard I push my body. After practice ends, I follow one of my new teammates to Jackson’s mansion. Apparently, it’s tradition for the team captain to host a barbecue the week before our first preseason game. Based on the Sharks’ previous season’s records, I’m not sure if it’s a tradition worth continuing, but I keep the pessimistic thought to myself.

I’m one of the last to arrive. Most of the team is already eagerly devouring the massive spread of food after a grueling practice. Once I’ve said hello to Jackson and the coaches, I head in the direction of the buffet at the insistence of my growling stomach. Halfway there, I hear my name called. James Cooley, the Sharks’ rookie wide receiver, is standing next to the pool with a couple of the other younger players. Cooley calls my name again once he has my attention. I amble over to them.

“What’s up, guys?” I greet.

“Hey, Dawson,” one replies.

“You played for Lincoln, didn’t you?” Cooley questions.

“Is this about how we decimated you guys last year?” I reply, grinning. “Don’t feel too bad. We did it to everyone else we played, too. It’s how you become national champions, you know.”

Cooley flips me off. “No, it’s about the princess chick.” He turns his phone around, revealing a photo of Viv on the screen. My grin freezes in place. “This article says the school she spent a semester at was Lincoln. Did you ever see her?”

It takes a Herculean effort to keep my face blank and voice calm. “Lincoln is a huge school,” I tell him. “The only person everyone knew there was me.” I flash them all a cocky smirk, hoping that will be the end of it.

“Surprised you managed to overlook a girl who looks like this,” Cooley remarks, shoving the phone screen closer to my face as though I’m unfamiliar with the features burned into my brain. “I can’t believe no one from Lincoln’s announced they screwed her royally yet. She probably came here to have some fun before shacking up with this bore.” He zooms out on the photo to show the blond guy walking next to Viv, looking every bit as groomed and pompous as one would expect the son of a duke to be.