I do not own the characters of Glee. They rightfully belong to Ryan Murphy. I only own this idea.
"Evans! Brace yourself, 24's cutting right!", screamed Coach Beiste from her position on the sidelines of a game. 24's been cutting left all night, how'd he even see me go right? Sam looked for Puck's number in the sea of red jerseys and when he saw the opening, he threw the football with all the strength he had. When the ball left his finger tips 24 slammed into him from the side, the impact sent him flying across the field, landing hard on his back, knocking the air from his lungs. Sam rolled onto his side in an attempt to get the air back in his lungs, forcing himself up once the air slowly returned to him. The final buzzer of the game sounded around them, they'd managed to win this one, 21-15. Everybody jogged off of the field as the crowd around them cheered them in their victory, the other team had walked off the field hanging their heads.
"Sam? Are you good?", asked Finn as he walked over to his teammate, taking his helmet off as he walked. Sam took off his helmet and turned to face him before answering, "I'm fine. I recover fast.". Puck made his way over to the two and clapped them on their backs as he passed, tossing a "Nice pass." over his shoulder. Sam walked at Finn's side as they made their way into the locker room, some of the team following them in behind. "You finally learned how to work like a team. You know what happens when you work like a team? You win!", praised Coach Beiste as she made her way into the locker room after her team. She was rewarded by the cheers and whoops of each guy that was standing in the room. When her eyes landed on Sam she gave him an appreciated nod, he gave her an understanding one in return.
The blonde shedded his jersey and untied his shoulder pads, pulling them off over his head, followed by the remaining uniform equipment. "Hurry it up, ladies! The lacrosse team needs the locker room next!", hollered Coach Beiste from her position in her Office. Sam's Dad had played lacrosse all through his High School year, the blonde looked up to his Dad for exactly that. Lacrosse was a tough game to play, its a contact sport and you have no choice but to make contact. Exactly like football, if you don't make contact you don't get anywhere with it. Sam made his way into one of the empty showers and let the steaming water relax his sore muscles. He pushed himself harder then before in this game with no reason as to why. As he was rinsing the soap off of his body his hand brushed over his ribs which were already starting to bruise from the force of the impact. That's going to make a workout hard.
Sam turned off the running water and stepped out as he wrapped a towel around his waist, walking over to his locker and placing all his equipment into his dufflebag to take home, making sure to keep his clothes out of the way. He dried off his body and pulled on a clean pair boxers, just as he picked up his jeans the lacrosse team made their way into the locker room. "Damn, how'd I miss that shot, I was within range?", asked one of the guys, wearing a jersey with the number 9 on. "Apparently not.", snapped a guy wearing a jersey with the number 11 on it. "Shut it, Conner!", number 9 snapped back. "Bite me, Todd!", snapped Conner. "Relax your arms, tense your shoulders and hands, extend your arms and pivot your hips.", said Sam before he could stop himself, clamping his mouth shut afterwords and pulling on his jeans, tightening the belt.
"You say something, blondie?", asked Todd as he made his way over to Sam. They locked eyes and started to size each other up, eyes moving up and down the others body. "Relax your arms, tense your shoulders and hands, extend your arms and pivot your hips.", he repeated to the guy standing in front of him. "You know lacrosse?", asked Todd as he now stood side by side with him. "My Dad played all through High School. Lyle Evans, and I'm Samuel Evans, Sam for short.", Sam said as he picked up his shirt and closed his locker. Conner took the opportunity to make his way over to the two, placing his stick on the bench. "I remember you. You tried out for the team the second week you were here. You went for right side attack, made one hell of a hit on Clarson. Why didn't you make it?", asked Conner as he leaned against the red lockers. "Coach said I was too small. No matter how much contact I made or how many hits I took.", ground out Sam as he put on his shirt and shook out his damp hair.
"You sure don't look small to me.", Conner said as he reached for his stick, only to have Sam snatch it up before he had a chance, a playful grin on his face. Conner chuckled and made his way to the blonde, playfully lunging a side swipe at him, only to have Sam duck his right shoulder down, switch the angle of his feet and spin out of the attack before a hand was layed on him. "Pretty slick for somebody who never played on a team.", complimented Todd as he smiled at him from his spot on the bench. "Never played on a real team, just off and on with my Dad when he felt up to it.", Sam said as he looked up at Todd, a look of admiration on his face. "Where's the famous Lyle Evans now?", asked Todd. Before Sam had the chance to respond to him, a loud "Clarson don't!" was heard through the room. Clarson slammed into the smaller blonde without a second thought, knocking him to the locker room floor, Conner's stick locked tight in his hands. You never let go of the stick, was a command that Lyle made sure to teach his son before he was recruited back into Iraq.