Dale Denton | The Legacy | Rookie Year

[djp73]

Wear and tear?

[The JZA]

Chapter I: New Season, New Reason

The end of the school year had passed like a blur, finals stacked on finals until the campus emptied out. The dorms that used to thump with music and weekend parties now sounded like hollow drums, quiet enough that you could hear your own footsteps echo through the halls. Most students had bounced already, scattering back to their hometowns or to some vacation spots where books didn’t matter and professors couldn’t breathe down their necks.

But the athletes? They stayed.

Washington wasn’t the type of place you could check out from too long, not when football owned the fall and spring. Weight rooms stayed open, fields stayed cut, and coaches never stopped lurking—even when they said they were giving you space. Dale knew better.

So when summer classes opened up, Dale jumped on it. It wasn’t just about academics—it was survival. The younger Dale, summer meant distractions pulling you in five different directions, and Dale couldn’t afford that. In Washington, though? He had structure. He had an empty campus, a schedule, and enough time to split himself between classes and the grind. That balance didn’t come easy his redshirt freshman year. Being QB1 had its perks, but it also came with the weight of eyes on him at all times. Coaches, teammates, boosters, fans—everybody wanted a piece. This summer, though, he swore it would be different. If he wasn’t in the library knocking out assignments, he was on the field or in the weight room. His mornings started with chalk and film, afternoons with drills, nights with iron plates clanging like gunshots in the gym. And most of those field sessions? They went down with Trey Lincoln.

Trey wasn’t just a receiver; he was Dale’s shadow out there, five-foot-eight but playing with the heart of somebody six-four. Dale had him running everything—mid routes, deep outs, sluggos, the kind of reps that built timing.

“Looking good, Dale. You hittin’ your spots without overthrowing,” Trey joked after snatching one across the middle.

“Nah, man, you cats just too slow for my bullet,” Dale fired back, letting the next one zip over Trey’s outstretched hand on purpose. He grinned as the ball thudded against the ground. “You gotta reach for it, Trey. Ball ain’t always gon’ come to you.”

Trey dropped his hands, frowning. “Bro, come on! Really? You know I’m 5’8”. You stunting on me like that?”

“Nah fam, that’s your genetics stunting on you,” Dale smirked.

The jab hit, but Trey bounced right back. “Aye! The ladies ain’t never complained about it!” he shouted, chasing down the ball. He jogged it back, lined himself up at the forty.

“Yeah? How’s that working out on your grand scheme to get Addy?” Dale teased.

That got Trey hyped. He released clean off the line, hit his steps, and went sluggo—stop-and-go—before pulling in a one-handed catch like it was nothing. He flexed, cheesing. “Just like that, bro. She’ll be in the bag soon enough!”

Dale chuckled, shaking his head. “Better hurry up with that plan. Time waits for no man.”

What Trey didn’t know—what Dale kept low-key—was that he and Addy had already been spending time. Quiet, low-pressure, but real. Hikes out where nobody could spot them. Long nights in secluded corners of town. Heat shared in the dark when neither of them was worried about titles or expectations. It wasn’t exclusive, but it was enough. Enough to stay on Dale’s mind even when he tried to bury himself in football.

“I’m telling you, Dale,” Trey said, gripping the ball with pride. “She pull up to one of our games this year, see me cuttin’ up, making one-handers, no-look grabs—she’s gonna be puddy in my hands.”

“Man, you got a hell of an imagination,” Dale teased, shaking his head. “You struggled going for that pass before last.” He smirked hard.

“Ain’t no way you gon’ pull that in a real game. Not with all these new QBs breathing down your neck.”

Truth was, Dale wasn’t too worried about the quarterback room. Still, Trey wasn’t lying—competition was real. Four new QBs had been added to the squad, one of them Tanner Applewhite from Florida State. Tanner had a name, hype, and reps—but Dale wasn’t convinced he had the fire.

“You reckless on the field,” Trey said, suddenly serious. Sweat dripped down his temple, eyes narrowing. “You gotta take better care of yourself. Ain’t no shame in throwing the ball away, bro. NFL don’t want a QB already banged up before the draft.”

Dale paused, feeling those words. He could still feel the ache from last season’s playoff run, the way hits stacked up until his body screamed for mercy. He swallowed it down.

“Look, I can’t be Lamar, Brady, or Mahomes,” he said finally. “I can only play like me. You right, I am reckless. But reckless won me a high school championship. Reckless won us that Natty.”

Trey didn’t miss a beat. “And what you got to show for it? No NIL deal. No bag. Nothing.” His voice had that edge now, that frustration only friends could hit you with. “You need to stack your paper up, QB1. ‘Cause God forbid something happen to you, somebody else gon’ cash out on your grind.”

“I’m a slave to football, not money,” Dale shot back.

Trey laughed sharp, shaking his head. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. We in a position people would kill for, bro. Market yourself if nothing else. You got followers—cash in. Or what? You scared?”

“Scared?” Dale scoffed, glaring at him. “Don’t play with me. Just ‘cause you shorter than me don’t mean you can stoop lower, shorty.”

“I see you with the jokes,” Trey muttered, resetting at the line. “I’m just saying. Been around long enough to hear conversations, my boy.”

He released off the line again. Dale took three crisp steps back and launched another bullet, arm snapping like a whip. The ball cut through the air, and for a moment, Dale felt that balance—between the grind, the pressure, and the doubt—settle into silence.

But he knew silence never lasted long. Not at Washington. Not when the QB1 spot had a target painted on it.

Later that night, the campus was ghost-town quiet. The kind of silence where you could hear your own sneakers squeak against the concrete. For Dale, that wasn’t a bad thing. Less distractions, less noise, especially after good session hitting the weights. After jigging the lock with his key, the door finally opens. Entering the dorm room, relief had washed over on him, craving to end the night with a shower. After setting his personals down, the glow of his phone lit up on his bed. Benny’s name sat at the top of his messages with that unread bubble staring him in the face.

She’d hit him earlier: “What you doing tonight?”

Dale had typed back a simple “Nothing. Just got in from the gym.” Then stopped himself from sending it. Truth was, he wanted to see her. Wanted to get lost in that calm she carried. But he also knew he had to stay locked in. Ain’t no love story without a career first.

He tossed the phone back on his bed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. His body was still sore from the season. A dull ache in his shoulder, his ribs tender whenever he twisted. The price of “reckless,” like Trey called it.

A knock hit the door. Three sharp raps. Dale frowned—nobody came through unannounced this late. He pulled the door open and found Tanner Applewhite standing there, dressed like your typical jock, school shirt with the cap backwards. Gold chain dangling, wide grin plastered on his face. “Yo,” Tanner said, voice cool but heavy with ego. “What’s good, Heisman?”

Dale squinted at him. “Yeah? It's late, what you want?”

“Relax, man. Just checking in on the competition.” Tanner leaned against the doorframe like he owned the spot. “Word around here is, QB1 ain’t as untouchable as he think. Coaches might be looking for a change of pace.”

Dale let out a slow laugh, not moving an inch. “You really came to my room to spit gossip? Bro, save that for the cheer squad.”

Tanner smirked, tilting his head. “I’m just saying… You're looking a bit fragile, like you're one hit away from calling it a wraps. Me? I'm ready, roaring to go. You won these guys a Natty and got yourself a nice little Heisman trophy, but I'm not impressed that you're "the" guy you think you are."

The words stung because Trey had said something similar hours earlier. But Dale wasn’t about to let Tanner see that.

“Wait, wait... I know you didn't come all the way from Florida to just say that, did you?” Dale asked, stepping closer until the doorframe wasn’t between them anymore. “Or was letting your running back outshine you too much for you that you had to come play QB2 behind me?”

Tanner’s smile faltered just a little, but he covered it quick. “We’ll see about that.” He pushed off the doorframe and walked away without another word.

Dale shut the door, chest tight. He hated how Tanner purposely approached him like he had something over him. "One hit away, my ass," Dale murmured. But that was somewhat the truth of it. And the truth had a way of sticking, no matter how much bravado you tried to cover it with.

is phone buzzed again. This time, Addy calling. He stared at the screen, thumb hovering. A part of him wanted to hit decline and bury himself in film study. But the other part? The part that remembered her laugh on that camping trip, the heat of her skin against his under the stars… that part pressed accept.

“Hey stranger,” her voice poured through the speaker, smooth and sweet. “You up?”

“Yeah, I’m up,” Dale said, sinking into the chair as he tried to mask his slightly lit fuse of new animosity he just acquired. His eyes drifted to the football sitting on his desk, laces worn from hours of throws. “What’s up with you?”

“Thought maybe you’d wanna come through. Chill. Watch a couple movies, nothing crazy.”

He exhaled. He knew better, but damn, he wanted to. Balance had been slipping through his hands since day one here at Washington. And right now, balance was the last thing on his mind.

“Yeah,” Dale said finally. “I’ll slide.”

As he grabbed his hoodie and keys, the QB1 mask slipped off for a moment. Underneath the lights, under the accolades, Dale was still a kid trying to outrun doubt, expectations, and temptation. But the game never slept. And neither did the people trying to take his spot.

[The JZA]

Wear and tear?

djp73, Yes sir. May have to pull back on his game some

[djp73]

“Yeah,” Dale said finally. “I’ll slide.”

what he needa do is learn to slide on the field

[Captain Canada]

This man banging his man's crush? That's kind crazy. Heisman winner stops for nobody.

[The JZA]

Chapter II: Fleeting Moments

Minutes later he was at her off-campus apartment. The place smelled like sage and vanilla candles, soft dialogue humming low from the TV's surround speakers. Addy lounged on the couch in biker shorts that accentuated her firm but bubbly ass, and an oversized tee, her long legs stretched out like she owned the whole world. “You look beat,” she teased, eyes roaming over him as he dropped into the seat beside her.

“Practice. Classes. Gym, same old,” he muttered, flopping on the couch next to her, leaning back.

Addy slid closer, her hand brushing his arm. “You don’t know how to slow down, do you? Always grinding.”

He smirked, though inside her words hit. Grinding was all he knew. But part of him craved the escape Addy offered—the way she laughed easy, the way she touched like he wasn’t just another meal ticket waiting to be punched, but just Dale. They sat close, too close for it to stay innocent. Her leg thrown over his, and his arm naturally draped along the back of the couch, casual but not casual. Conversation came easy. Jokes. Teasing. That playful energy where one word could tip everything over the edge. Her laugh was soft, but her eyes? Hungry. Addy leans her head on his shoulder, nuzzling her face against the side of peck. The slight musk from Dale's workout enthralled Addy's senses, awakening something primitive for the carnal flesh. The movie played on, forgotten. His fingers traced idle circles along her arm, the kind of touch that carried unspoken promises.

"What's this you found on TV?"

"I don't know," she responded. "Just threw on something."

But Dale’s mind wasn’t clear, but far off from caring what's on TV. Every kiss he thought about landing was checked by the voice in his head: (Should you be checking her down, or the passes you left open for big plays?)

Addy could be comfort. She made him forget the playbook, forget the whispers about Tanner Applewhite gunning for his spot. She could also be chaos. He remembered Trey bragging about chasing her. He remembered the headlines warning how quick a star QB could lose everything over women, parties, scandals. He didn't know. Yet right there, once again, with her lips inches from his, Dale wanted to forget all that. Just be nineteen, reckless, human.

The air between them thickened and hung heavy, the kind of heat that needed no words. She shifted, lips brushing close to his jaw, tingling his chinstrap facial, temptation humming in her movements. He turned toward her, eyes burning with lust, meeting her returning brown eyes. Lips inches away, as his hand slid across her thigh.

The air between them was molten now, silence dripping with everything unspoken. Dale didn’t overthink it—he reached, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled Addy onto his lap. She slid into place with a smile like she’d been waiting for it all night, her thighs tightening around him as she straddled his frame. Her oversized tee rode up just enough to tease skin, and suddenly there was no “casual,” no “just watching TV.” Their mouths crashed together, lips locked in a hungry collision.

Passion didn’t creep in—it detonated.

Addy kissed him like she was starving, her hands tangled in his curls, tugging him closer, while Dale’s palms roamed with reckless claim. He traced her back, felt the curve of her spine under cotton, before sliding down to grab two full handfuls of her ass. He pulled her tighter against his chest, the heat between them rising like a flame too wild to tame. Her hips shifted against him, grinding slow, teasing, the thin fabric of her shorts a barrier doing little to stop the pulse of want radiating between them. His breath grew ragged, lips breaking from hers only to find her neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to her collarbone. Addy let out a soft moan, the kind of sound that made his self-control tremble.

In that moment, the playbook, Tanner Applewhite, NIL deals, all of it disappeared. It was just her weight pressing into him, her taste, her scent, the fire sparking everywhere they touched. Dale’s heart slammed in his chest, not from football, not from pressure—but from raw desire.

Her hands cupped his jaw, pulling his face back up to hers, eyes glazed with lust. Their lips collided again, hungrier, faster, like if they stopped the world might catch up and rip it all away. His grip on her tightened, fingertips digging into her hips, sliding lower as the couch creaked beneath them.

Then—his phone buzzed.

At first, he ignored it. But then the second buzz came. And the third. He sighed, pulling it up, ready to silence whoever dared interrupt.

Clarissa.

His stomach tightened. He swiped to answer.

“Hello?” Dale croaked while Addy nuzzled kisses on his neck, loudly enough, hoping the caller would hear what's going on and take a hint.

All he heard was sobbing.

“Dale?” Her voice cracked, trembling. “I-I don’t know what to do…”

“About what? Something's wrong?” The stark abruption of his attention from Addy to Clarissa shifted, holding off Addy's advances at bay. Addy shifted off his lap, sensing the shift in energy.

On the other end, Clarissa’s breath hitched, panic dripping from every word. “I just… I can’t… I don’t feel—I didn’t know who else to call.” Her voice broke again, raw, shaking.

Dale’s chest went cold. The tension with Addy dissolved instantly, replaced by a storm of worry.

“What happened? Where you at?” Dale’s voice was sharp now, urgent.

“Home,” she whimpered. “Can you… can you come? I'll send you the address. Please?”

“Everything okay?” Addy asked, voice tight.

Dale’s jaw flexed. He couldn’t explain, not right then. Couldn’t stay either. Clarissa’s voice was too raw, too wrecked.

“Alright, I’m coming,” he said firmly. “Stay where you are. Keep your phone on.”

“Dale—” Addy started, reaching for his arm, but he was already on his feet, sliding his hoodie back on.

“I’ll call you later,” he told her, his tone clipped but his eyes soft, almost apologetic. Dale slipped on his sneakers in one motion, jaw clenched. Addy watched from the couch, confusion and disappointment painting her face.

“You really leaving? Right now?” she asked, voice tinged with frustration but softer when she saw the look in his eyes.

“I gotta.” He didn’t explain, didn’t elaborate. Just tapped his phone to request an Uber, already on his feet.

The tension in the room twisted into something new—unresolved heat colliding with a sudden storm. He gave Addy one last look, the weight of what almost happened thick between them, then walked out the door, the night air hitting him like a slap. As the car rolled up, Dale leaned against the curb, mind caught between two worlds. Addy’s warmth still lingered on his skin, but Clarissa’s sobs echoed louder in his ear. Football, romance, friendship, responsibility—they were all colliding, and for once, there was no playbook to follow.

He slid into the backseat, reconfirming Clarissa’s address to the driver. The ride pulled off into the night, and Dale stared out the window, jaw tight, already bracing for whatever waited on the other side...

[The JZA]

“Yeah,” Dale said finally. “I’ll slide.”

what he needa do is learn to slide on the field

djp73, If it's turf, we surf

This man banging his man's crush? That's kind crazy. Heisman winner stops for nobody.

Captain Canada, Dale Jr. said:

[Captain Canada]

Oh damn, this boy busy juggling

[redsox907]

letting the volleyball baddie go to chase some kick with a man at home?

I thought our boy was better than that

[The JZA]

Oh damn, this boy busy juggling

Captain Canada,

letting the volleyball baddie go to chase some kick with a man at home?

I thought our boy was better than that

redsox907,