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Jace's eyes shot open at 5:29 a minute before his alarm was set to wake him. He lay there in the dark, eyes on the faint glow of digital numerals ticking over to 5:30. Bzzt. Right on cue, the alarm sounded, reverberating through the quiet dorm room like a starter's gun. Jace slapped it off with a practised motion and rolled out of bed in one fluid movement.
He looked over to the other side of the room through the makeshift curtain wall that Alex had put up. She was still asleep, Jace's eyes lingered on the soft rise and fall of Alex's shoulders for a moment, mentally noting that her own training schedule likely wouldn't kick in for another hour. He grabbed a folded towel and tiptoed to the small table near the window where he'd laid out his gear the night before: compression shorts, athletic leggings, and a lightweight team hoodie.
The faint glow of his phone screen illuminated the otherwise dark room. With practised efficiency, he slipped into his workout clothes, trying not to make a sound as he laced up his shoes. The clock on his phone read 5:35 now—he had five minutes of grace before heading out. He rifled through his duffel for a granola bar and an electrolyte packet. Once dressed, he swung his bag over his shoulder.
As he eased open the dorm room door, he threw a final glance at Alex's makeshift curtain. His thoughts didn't linger on her long though as he closed the door behind him, ready to tackle today's QB schedule set out for him.
Once in the hallway, Jace popped the granola bar into his mouth for a quick pre-workout carb boost. The building was mostly quiet; only a few other early risers dotted the corridor, likely athletes in the same predicament. A short elevator ride later, he was outside, met by the cool morning air of the UCLA campus.
His first stop: the training facility's open courtyard. It was barely 5:45, and he had fifteen minutes before he absolutely needed to be inside. He used that time for a quick mobility session—foam rolling his calves and quads, rotating his shoulders to loosen the tightness from yesterday's intense core workout. Beads of dew still clung to the grass around him, and the sky was a watercolour of pale purples and oranges, the sun barely making an appearance over the horizon.
With muscles warm and his mind focused, Jace shouldered his duffel again and headed in. The weight room buzzed under fluorescent lights, half a dozen guys already on row machines or cycling through dynamic stretches. Jace dropped his duffel bag at his locker before entering the weight room and walked up to one of the trainers to pick up his menu for the day.
"Lyon!" came a booming voice from across the gym. Coach Johnson—who seemed to have a sixth sense for tracking down any quarterback in range—strode over, arms folded and face set. "You're late."
Jace glanced up at the digital clock on the wall. 5:58 AM. Two minutes early, actually. "I'm beyond early on black people time though," he replied evenly, grabbing a resistance band from the stack by the squat racks. He quickly wrapped it around his thighs and started into a series of side-steps and hip openers. "We getting this work in or what?"
Coach Johnson stalked around him, eagle-eyed. "We're focusing on speed and agility after your dynamic stretches. I want quick feet today."
[06:00]
By six sharp, the place had a frenetic energy with only the last stragglers arriving. Jace lined up behind cones with a few other teammates. The Wasserman glass doors had been rolled up letting the morning cool air flood in allowing them to do agility drills on the grass instead of having to squeeze into the gym. A sharp whistle sounded announcing the start of the drill and they tore through cone drills, pivoting on dimes, weaving in and out of orange markers in a blur of footwork. Then it was on to ladder drills: high knees, sideways steps, hopscotch patterns—anything to hone quick-twitch muscles and sharpen reaction speed.
After the agility block came the heavy lifts. The clang of metal plates echoed through the room. Jace dropped into deep squats, core tight, powering up to stand with a satisfied grunt. Next came power cleans—one swift, controlled motion to hoist the bar from the floor to his shoulders. He felt the sweat bead along his forehead, dripping onto the rubber mats.
Somewhere behind him, another group was doing bench presses. Coach Johnson strolled around, dispensing critiques with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. "Explode off those hips, Michele! You're a big boy use some of those muscles,"
[07:30]
A short while later, Jace exited the weight room, muscles throbbing and shirt clinging to his torso. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he'd run on nothing but a granola bar so far. He headed straight to the cafeteria, grabbing a tray loaded with eggs, oatmeal, turkey bacon, and fruit. Leaning over his plate, he devoured it in record time as he continued flipping through the offensive playbook.
Chugging his bottle of strawberry-flavoured electrolytes once he was done, he wasted no time carrying his tray to the designated drop-off spot. "Yo if you got something to say just spit it out or stop looking at me 'cause we don't swing that way." He suddenly said the moment he passed Austin's table, getting tired of the guy who had been mean-mugging him the entire morning.
Austin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He had a medium but sturdy build—typical of the athletic prototype the school was looking to create. Through his years in the program, he had fully grown into his role reaching the ceiling one can in the program and the rest would depend on his own talent. This year the question wasn't whether he would get his chance, no it was whether he could make the most of the opportunity granted to him.
"I don't have a problem," Austin said coolly, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. "But you might want to watch whose girl you're making moves on."
Jace merely shrugged at his words. "So, what do I do if it's your girl making moves at me? Look, man if she's your girl, figure that shit out. Don't come throwing shade at me when she's the one creeping into my personal space. And I ain't even hit so I ain't gonna stand here and be the scapegoat for your girl not feeling you,"
"What did you say?" Austin exclaimed jumping up from his chair ready to get in his face but was quickly stopped by a teammate.
"I think he said it's time to hit the showers, Boys stop playing high school games and focus up, we don't have the option for unnecessary drama this year," Darnell Jones the team's captain and starting Safety who is a genuine prospect like Isaiah who chose to say to rebuild the school despite having options to enter the draft instead of playing his senior year.
"Yeah, you're right I'm sorry," Jace Said with a slight nod as he placed his tray in the designated spot and headed for the showers not willing to arrive sweaty at Film Study. Jace could still feel the heat of Austin's stare on his back as he stepped away from the cafeteria.
A few minutes later, Jace stood under the hot stream of the locker room shower, letting the water pound the stiffness out of his shoulders. He was over the situation with the two and simply wanted to put his entire focus on climbing his depth chart especially since another QB from the walk-ons joined their group. Not That he was feeling threatened but he so no need to leave it up to luck by letting unimportant matters distract him.
Shaking the thoughts away, Jace quickly towelled off and changed into fresh athletic gear. He briefly scrolled through his phone: Set both his sisters a mandatory good morning and let them know what he was about to do. He ignored all the random groups and email threads from the campus he was added to, not even questioning how these people even managed to get his emails. Socials sure but things like emails and phone number wasn't something he expected them to get a hold of.
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To be Continued...