I should have known something was wrong when the locker room was too quiet.

By the time I finished my cooldown, the guys were usually long gone. They had an unspoken rule: clear out before I came in to change. Not out of respect, out of resentment.

But tonight, I heard voices. Three of them.

Tyler Harrison stood by my locker, quarterback, team captain, sharp green eyes and a jawline that could cut glass. Devon Wright leaned against the wall linebacker, six-foot-five of pure muscle. Marcus Kane blocked the exit running back with a cocky smirk I’d spent two years wanting to slap off his face.

The three who hated...