Damn it. I knew this would come eventually.
“What about her?”
“Who is she?”
“Nobody,” I say. “She doesn’t matter.”
“It’s just . . . you seemed pretty freaked about it, and Stella thought she might be—”
I shove my helmet back on my head.
“I said she’s nobody. Leave it alone, McClain.”
“You took off so fast after she showed, and next thing I know you’re calling me to pick you up from a police station—”
“Listen. I’m grateful that you came to get my sorry ass Friday night. I am. But I’m not Ryan. We’re not gonna talk about my shit while we lift or whatever the hell it is you two do. You and I will just play ball, okay? That’s how this friendship works. All you need to know is . . . I’m fine. I’m good. Same as I always am.”
Or I will be. As soon as I get rid of this f**king hangover.
I spin to walk away, but not before adding, “And tell Stella to mind her own f**king business, too.”
The rest of practice doesn’t get any better. In fact, it just continues to get worse because now my head is as out of it as my body. When Coach blows the whistle calling it quits, all I want to do is hit the showers and get high again, but that would be the stupidest thing I could do.
Not that I’m above stupid. Stupid and I go way back.
And bad decisions are apparently what I do best. I sure as hell wasn’t at my best in anything else today.
I’m only thinking about getting to the shower and getting out of here when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
It’s the freshman. Keyon Williams. I might not have been sure of his name before today, but I know it now. He’s shorter than I am, and a little bit stockier. The guy’s got a pretty good sprint, but no real endurance. Not that I can really talk about endurance at the moment.
“What?” I bark.
“We didn’t really get introduced at the party Friday. Just wanted to say hey. Tell you good practice.”
I shrug his hand off. “Is that a f**king joke?”
He holds his hands up. “Nah, man. Didn’t mean anything by it. We all piss the bed some days.”
I lose it. Completely. I shove him up against the wall right outside the locker room and get in his face. “Listen, fish. You don’t know shit about me.” I said those same words to Levi, and now this asshat is f**king grinning, just like he did. It takes everything in me not to bash his teeth in. Carson steps into the doorway, and I catch his eye. I force out a breath and take my hands off the kid. Mouthy f**king freshman.
“Just stay out of my way.”
I turn and head for McClain when the dick opens his mouth again. “It’s you that’s in my way. But not for long. Not how you’re playing. I’m sure you’ll be heading Abrams’s way before long.”
I’m almost to the door, but those last words tug me back and his too white smile is all the extra motivation I need. I drop my helmet and ram him into the wall. He clips me on the healing bruise on my jaw, and my teeth rattle. But I hit him with a perfect uppercut, and blood starts pouring out of his mouth. He shoves me back and we both go tumbling to the ground. We struggle for control, rolling a few times, and just when I’ve got the upper hand and am about to lay into him, multiple sets of hands grip and pull me back.
I struggle for a couple of seconds, but there are at least three people holding me back. And now that I get a good look at the guy lying on the floor, blood all down the front of his shirt, I don’t really feel the need to get back at him.
In fact, I don’t feel much of anything except my stomach dropping to the ground.
Then the coaches are there. Gallt and Oz are down by Keyon, and Coach Cole slides into my vision. I’ve never seen him so livid. His face is purpling, and his eyes have that psycho look to them, like he might flay me alive. I brace for him to yell but he doesn’t.
Instead, in this quiet, intense, f**king terrifying voice, he says, “My office. Right now.”
I open my mouth to say something. An apology, maybe.
“Now, Moore.”
My teammates let me go, and I turn to face them. There’s McClain, Brookes, and Carter. I wouldn’t have expected Carter to jump in. He’s usually one of the instigators, but I give them all a nod that will have to do for a thanks.
I shouldn’t have let that dude get to me. I don’t know why he did. It’s not like I can’t handle a little talking shit. When I was a freshman, I was the biggest ass**le of them all. I head through the locker room, where everyone is silent and still, paused in the middle of getting undressed for their showers. They stare as I walk through the room and toward the lounge area that opens up into the offices.
For the second time today I enter Coach Cole’s office, but this time I’m alone. The room is dark, and I don’t turn on the lights. I just take a seat and bury my head in my hands, and I listen to the silence. I listen to it like it’s going to tell me the answer, going to explain why I can’t keep my head on straight. After a little while it starts to sound like music. The muffled sounds from the locker room, the ticking of coach’s clock, the low whirring sound of his computer. There’s a hell of a lot of noise to be found in the silence, almost as much as there is in my head.
The door opens, and I keep my head down. I hear Coach pause by the door, and I know he’s looking at me. I think for a second that maybe he’ll leave the lights off. That he’ll let me get away with not looking at him during this. But then the moment passes, and he flips on the light.
He crosses the room and slams my helmet down onto the middle of his desk. He stands behind his chair and grips the back until his knuckles turn white.
“You better have a damn good explanation for what I just saw out there, Moore.”
I sit up straight in my chair and face him head-on. I owe him that much.
“I don’t, sir. I’m sorry.”
Coach presses his lips together like he wants to yell and curse, but is trying to stay calm. He runs a hand roughly through his hair.
“Damn it, Moore. McClain filled me in. Told me what Williams said. He’s a freshman. You know how this game goes. You’ve been there. You have thicker skin than this.”
I nod because I do. I did, anyway.
“You’ve got to give something here, son. Help me understand.”