Harper's Rules 1 & 2

Chapter 18: Jake

"Pushing it, Harrison," a gruff voice observed from behind me.

The background rock music beats, clanged weights, grunts, and self pep talks faded around me as my attention focused inwards. A hot tension rushed through my legs, clenched tightly in my quadriceps and calves as I ground my heels and sank my glutes down. Beads of sweat dribbled down my forehead like my head had sprung a leak. They tickled as they tipped over my nose and upper lip but I ignored them and pounded out another round of squats.

"You've gotten stronger..." Tim Harrell's thin-lipped grimace popped up into my view. His gray eyebrows drew together and the overhead lights highlighted his bald head as it shook slightly. "Or something's pissing you off because this is supposed to be a recovery day."

"Needed... a release," I grunted out and tightened my hand grip around the metal bar that now cut into my trapezius, the meaty muscle that joined my neck and shoulders. Gravity and the two hundred pounds of weight that sat on each end of the bar weren't my friends at the moment and my knees strained under the pressure but I just gritted my teeth and pushed harder.

"Let's see," he chuckled and cupped his gray goatee-covered chin in one palm while I groaned through another twenty squats. "Can't be for the Colorado game."

My only answer was another grunt as I lifted the bar overhead, rotated my wrists, and slid it down my chest. Every intrinsic posterior chain muscle screamed at me as I slowly hinged over, and despite the almost instant sagged relief I felt when I dropped the bar, my ego ratched up a notch at my continued upwards progress.

Last year's season, my third, couldn't have been scripted better. After the starter I'd backed up my first two years went into the NFL draft, I'd easily won the starting quarterback position in camp and moved forwards since. We won the PAC-12 Southern Division Championship, the PAC-12 Championship notably over Logan's UW Huskies, and then the National Championship in the Rose Bowl.

My first two years on the team, I patiently served mop-up duty whenever needed in blown out games. Last year, my third year, I won the starting quarterback position in camp, we tore up the PAC-12 Southern Division, and won the NCAA Championship game in the Rose Bowl.

That was last year though. Pressure this year under everyone's expectations is even greater.

I set personal bests in my quarterback stats and lined up a challenge that I not only repeated last season's success but also elevated my performance even higher. But I'd trained all summer for this season and my entire body practically twitched at the idea our season opener game was in five days.

"You know the punishment. Ten minutes ice, shower, film study wants you in thirty." Tim jerked one of his thumbs over his shoulder, past the industrial-designed white walls, exposed ductwork, and black rectangular-patterned floor with red squares inset with the intersected yellow S and C letters. The trainers' room was located down an invisible hallway between the weight racks and at the end of a yellow ladder-like pattern painted on the floor.

Ten minutes after I cleaned and racked my weights, shock pierced into my skin as I submerged myself into Tim's diagnosed ice bath. I sucked in a deep breath since my skin felt like it had been burned until the cold numbness quickly took over. My muscles clenched and tightened but I steadied my breath and lowered myself down to a seated position until the water chilled over my shoulders.

Fuck, this never feels good.

Self-reflection was a bitch during ice baths because my mind searched for any distraction from the needle-like pricks of the water into my skin, the heaviness that sank into my muscles, and the ache that came from the cold.

Tim, our team trainer, wasn't wrong. He wasn't the only one who'd noticed that I worked out harder than normal today but was right in that my extra efforts weren't for physical gain. Just like when Evan and Zach chirped in my ear earlier about pent-up frustrations, I ignored the unwanted commentary on my headspace, which had been nothing but fucked up since Ellie told me Harper was here.