“Please, take my place, I’m begging you.” These sessions feel less like practices and more like pure torture.
“He can’t be that bad,” Kelli says. Her rose colored glasses are showing.
“He’s implementing a dry season. Say goodbye to drinking and partying and general fun. He plans to talk to Paxton about it today.”
“Can he do that?” five of my teammates ask in unison.
I shrug. Then a plan forms in my head. “I guess we should live it up tonight before Coach tells the rest of us about it next week.”
It’s summer and the semester hasn’t even started yet. Just because Tatum told me he was going to suggest it to Coach, doesn’t mean it’s set in stone. We’re going to go big tonight and we have Coach Trevino to thank for it.
Chapter Five
Tatum
“What exactly are you getting me into?” My buddy Chance stopped by since his wife is visiting her mom in Chicago with their son for a week. Unfortunately, he brought his pet with him, which would be okay if it were a dog or even a cat and not a fucking goat.
“What am I getting you into? Dude, you brought your fucking goat to my house. At this point, you owe me.”
Chance and I go way back. We played together in Australia for a year when I was a rookie, back before his injury. Now we both live in California and we keep in touch more frequently, especially now with my leave of absence from my pro team.
He laughs and scratches the creature named Pixy under its neck. “Leave the bugger alone; he’s not hurting anyone. Tell me about this soccer team.”
I asked Chance to come guest coach with me next week since Paxton is on a week-long family vacation.
“The girls are great. There’s a lot of talent and they’re all respectful and open to learning. Well, except for one.”
“There’s always one.” He chuckles, but he doesn’t know Bria.
“Not like this one. She’s a real brat and she’s the captain. Her name is Bria Campbell. She’s the star forward, a real mouthy piece and undermines me at every opportunity. She’s the most frustrating girl I’ve ever met.”
He throws his head back and laughs. It’s loud and unexpected and the goat agrees with me. It freezes and topples over and I jump out of my seat. Chance warned me this could happen, but it’s freaky to see firsthand.
“He’s fine, but you’re fucked.”
Since I’m up, I head to the kitchen and grab us a couple beers.
“How do you figure?” I hand him a bottle and sit back down on the couch and he looks at me like I’m stupid.
“You’re totally into this chick.”
I scoff and down a large sip of my drink. “Your kid must have you sleep deprived because you’re talking crazy.”
“Whatever you say, man. The sooner you admit it to yourself and to her, the happier you’ll be. You don’t want to let her get away, trust me.” Chance and his wife, Aubrey, had a tough go for a while there. It took her a long time to admit she even wanted to be with him.
“Even if I did like her—which I don’t—she hates me. You’ll see on Monday.”
We drink beer and order pizza. The goat gets up and wanders around my house, leaving hair and who knows what else in its wake. Sports Center is on the TV and an elephant appears in the room the minute the sportscaster mentions my team.
“Are you going to fill me in on what’s going on or are we going to continue to ignore it?”
I sigh and take a drink of my beer. Chance has been through a lot in his life. An injury took away his soccer career, but a stupid, drunken decision has taken mine. He’s spent time in jail, which is likely where I’m headed. Yet, despite his criminal record, he is one of the best people I know. Hell, because of his criminal record, for hurting the person who hurt his sister, it makes him one of the best people I know.
Which is why I can’t tell him what really happened and why I’m off the team.
“I’m good ignoring it for now.”
“Wow, so it’s bad then.” I pick up my bottle for another sip but come up empty. “You know you can always ask Aubrey for help if you need it.”
His wife is a lawyer, though I don’t think she handles this type of situation, but the offer is nice nonetheless.
“Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”
I change the channel, opting to watch the Dodgers play the Phillies instead of listening to ESPN rave about my soccer team’s winning streak even without their star player.
I’m about to crack open another beer when my phone rings. The caller ID has me gritting my teeth and Chance notices.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Bria.” My words are pure grit and my friend has the audacity to laugh before rubbing a hand over his mouth to stop himself. “What—” I start talking into the phone. I’m not even able to finish the word before loud, drunken ramblings flow into my ear.
“Tatum, Tatum, Tatum. Guess what? I’m drunk. And guess who I’m with?” Her voice is further away as if she’d pulled the phone away from her mouth. “Tell him. Just say your name. No, it’s not my boyfriend or my dad. Stop being annoying and say your name.”
“Um, this is Tim.”
“TIM! I’m here with Tim and he’s going to take me home and have his wicked way with me. I thought you should know—you’re not the boss of me and you can’t control me.” Her inflections are all messed up because she’s drunk and screaming and I’m downright pissed.
“Jesus Christ, Bria. You need to go home.”
“What I need is to have fun and take Tom home.”
“It’s Tim.”
“Oh, who cares?” she mutters under her breath.
I don’t know whether to laugh or scream at her. It’s obvious she wants nothing to do with this guy and is using him to get under my skin.
“Bria, you should get home and go to bed. Don’t forget about practice tomorrow.”
“If you’re concerned about me going to bed maybe you should be the one to take me home.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and Chance chokes on his beer. It seems he heard her shriek through the phone.
“Where are you?” I doubt she even registers the level of annoyance in my tone.
“Who are you talking to?”
“No one.”
“Are they hot? Give me the phone.” There’s an obvious struggle on the other end as another girl tries to steal Bria’s phone. “Hello? If you’re hot you can come meet us at The Rooftop. If you’re not hot then forget I said anything.” Giggles erupt while Bria yells and next thing I know, the line goes dead.
I put the name of the bar into my phone’s GPS and find out it’s only a few minutes off campus. I’m sure the girls all walked there, but it’ll take me about twenty-five minutes to get to them and drag the spoiled little brat home.
I grab my keys, but Chance stops me. “You drank a lot tonight. Let me drive.” I’m in no position to argue, so I don’t. I grab my hat and we head out.
We get there and, as the name proclaims, it’s a rooftop bar and there’s a line of half-dressed women waiting outside beside equally as many douchebag guys.