football | calum hood a.u.

0.2

"wake up my beautiful husband!" my wife says, standing at the end of our bed. she's already showered, and she looks like she made breakfast. i stare at her for a few minutes, just observing how amazing she is and how beautiful she looks.

"you took a shower, without me?" i frown.

she laughs, an empty one.

"i'm serious, babe." i mumble into my pillow.

she yanks the covers off of me, revealing me in only boxers. "come on, cal. get up." i stay in the same position, as does she. she sighs a long sigh, and makes an attempt to get me out of bed: "you have training in two hours, and people paid to see this practice, babe. you also have a press conference with me after."

my thoughts trail back to last night. "i had one last night, though." she groans at my lack of motivation. "plus, this really fucking nosy reporter kept asking about you." i say.

"really? i guess i'll have to watch the conference, now."

i sigh, knowing she'll actually watch it and find out that i'm becoming a vegetarian. i might as well tell her now instead. "definitely." i lay back into the bed, but turn over so i'm laying on my back. "oh, by the way, i'm vegetarian." i state.

i fold my arms over my head. "are you now?" she raises an eyebrow and i nod. "you know what vegetarians like to do?" she asks.

"what is that, angel?"

"get out of bed and kiss their wives." she says casually.

i swing my legs onto the side of the bed, and sit up. "i guess i'll have to get up now."

she smiles. "i made breakfast. put some clothes on and meet me downstairs." i stretch my arms up and reach as far as i can.

then, i put on shorts and meet her downstairs.

at the field

my wife has headphones in her ear and her eyes are glued to her phone. she's probably watching the interview from last night. god, i know he only asked a couple of questions, but he pissed me off. why couldn't he just wait to ask her those questions today instead of asking me last night? nosy-ass reporters are so annoying. she's my girl, so why does she matter to them? whatever.

ashton passes me the ball, and i dribble around the cones that are apparently supposed to be players, and i shoot the ball at the goalie. straight fucking at him.

"hood! what has gotten into you? i said aim for the top corners not his chest!" coach screams.

"sorry coach." i sigh.

he groans in frustration, "take a lap, 23!"

i mumble a few curse words and take a lap. once i get back, i go into the front of the line. "are you ready, hood?" ashton calls to me.

"yes." i say.

i dribble the ball, for the second time, and shoot at the top corner. i miss, and hit the crossbar.

"hood! come here!" coach screams.

the old shit gives me a lecture on 'how to not always use your power bone.'

i look over to my wife, she's still concentrated on her phone, and her eyes are squinted like she's trying to solve a problem or something. she's so beautiful.

"hood, do you hear me?" he says, snapping me back into the boring and beyond pointless conversation.

"yes, coach."

he narrows his eyes, "then do what i just asked you, or you're benched next game."

i groan, "you can't do that, coach! i'm the captain of this whole fucking team! i own a part of this company! i'm calum fucking hood! i don't need this shit!" i storm off and into the locker room. on the way there, i hear people quietly talking about me. you payed to watch a practice, not gossip about me. bitches.

"hood! you get back here or i will replace you with someone else!" coach threatens.

i hold up my middle finger.

"irwin!" he screams. "hey, 24!" he calls again. "twenty-fucking-four!" he yells, "go talk to him before i knock him into next week!"

i open the door to the team locker room and take my practice jersey off. i fill up a bath tank with ice. i wait for the tub to get colder, and step in.

the door opens as soon as i'm in.

"hood?" an accent the same as mine calls.

"what do you want, irwin?" i roll my eyes.

he walks into the room i'm in, "i don't know what's going on, but you need to take whatever's up your ass out right now, or else my foot will shove it so far up your ass it will come out of your fucking mouth."

i laugh at his empty threat, "irwin, you don't need to be in here. i'm quitting this fucking team anyways."

"fix your panties mate, they're in a wad." he says with an eye-roll.

"shut the hell up before i smack you so hard i will have an imprint on your cheek, you bastard."

he's pissing me the fuck off.

"you know what?" he throws his arms in the air. "i came in here to help you get yourself together and all i get from you is shit? get your fucking head in the game, hood! this is your job, and coach is your boss, so fucking respect him before he makes all of us insane!"

"god damn it, irwin. this isn't high-school-fucking-musical! and i don't give a rat's ass if coach is disrespected! i am the captain of this team, and if i miss as much as one or two shots i get punished! i do not deserve this, and i sure as hell don't need a bench-warmer yelling at me!"

his eyes harden, "does your ass ever get jealous of the shit that comes out of your fucking mouth?! i will fucking replace you, hood!"

he throws a ball at the concrete wall and walks out. i lay back in my ice bath and try to calm myself down with thoughts of bertha.
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[ A/N- PLS IM SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN A MONTH THIS IS SO BAD IM CRINGING I AM S O S O R R Y I CANT EVEN OMF

hi. i have a 1975 concert on monday and im suuuuuper psyched

bye. ]