“Aw, come on now, Quaid. You can’t blame a guy for admiring the view,” Brooklyn continues to provoke as he tries to get the guys back on his side. When none of them dare to look at Val again, he realizes he’s shit out of luck. My teammates know I don’t throw around idle threats. If I tell them I’ll beat their ass if they continue to gawk over my girl, they know I’ll deliver.
Brooklyn scowls for less than ten seconds, a sinister smirk replacing his frustration.
“How about you let us have a taste of her, too? I heard she’s into being passed around.”
“The fuck did you say to me, asshole?!” I yell, launching myself at the arrogant bastard.
“You heard me!” he growls, pushing back. “Everyone knows she likes to be tag teamed. So why keep her to yourself and your buddies? We can show her a good time too,” he goads, cupping his dick to drive the point home.
All I see is red from then on out, I swing at his smug face until I feel bone break from beneath my knuckles. I keep punching him ferociously, unsatisfied with the damage I’m causing until I hear the little bitch cry. It takes four guys to pull me away from Brooklyn, and still I struggle in their grip, unhappy they won’t let me end this fucker once and for all.
The only thing that freezes me in place is Coach’s loud whistle ringing in my ear.
“Enough!” Coach shouts, hoping his loud stern voice is enough to simmer my blood that is currently fueled with unbridled rage.
The minute I feel the restraints of my teammates loosen on me, I pounce on Brooklyn once again and head butt the asshole. Little bitch falls like a ton of bricks on the field—out like a motherfucking light. That should shut him up for a while.
“Are you satisfied?” Coach hurls at me, pushing me away from the unconscious body on the ground.
“Pretty much, yeah.” I smile, wiping my busted lip with my forearm. I didn’t feel it, but apparently, the fucker still got a few shots in, if my bloody lip is any indication.
“Oh, you think you’re smart, huh? Well this little show just cost you the game on Friday.”
My eyes go wide, and my heart stops.
“Coach, you have to be kidding!”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” he replies with a stern expression on his face, before turning to the two teammates closest to a knocked-out Brooklyn. “Rory! Donavan! You two take Brooklyn to the nurse’s station. Suicides, for the rest of you! I can’t even look at any of you right now,” he adds, turning his back to me, pissed beyond measure.
“Coach, you can’t bench me. You need me in the game,” I say, trying to reason with his logic, running after him.
“I can put Rory in your place.”
“Rory? But he’s a dud!” I shout, throwing my hands in the air in frustration.
“Careful now,” Coach grunts, slowing his step for me to keep up. “If your teammates hear you talk trash about them that way, you won’t have many friends on the team.”
“I’ve got friends. I don’t need any of them to like me,” I mumble under my breath.
“Spoken like a true asshole. Word of advice, Quaid, no one likes a cocky shit.”
“Coach, I’m sorry, okay?” I huff, frustrated. “I’ll do better. I’ll be better. But you have got to let me play!” I insist, pulling the ends of my hair disgruntledly.
“I don’t have to do jack shit. I told you I’d give you a chance, but you needed to show me that you are the type of captain this team needs. That means having a clear head and not falling for every baited word an opponent says to you.”
“He was talking shit about my girl, coach. A real man defends his woman,” I seethe.
“Boy, don’t talk to me like your balls didn’t just drop yesterday. You’re a kid—a talented one, but still a fucking kid. So Brooklyn talked smack about your girlfriend? Big fucking deal. You’ll hear far worse on the field. Besides, you’re seventeen. Do you think that’s the only girlfriend you’ll ever have?”
Now it’s my turn to look stern at him.
“Yes, Coach. She is. I’m marrying Val the minute we graduate.”
His brows rise to the top of his bald head, making him look like a deformed Mr. Potato head.
“Is that so?” he scoffs.
“Yes, sir, I am. Going to tell her pops, too and make it official.”
“Maybe Brooklyn got a few good shots in, because you are talking nonsense.”
“No offense, sir, but you don’t know Val like I do. She’s the kind of girl you don’t let get away.”
“Okay. I’ll indulge you, boy. So this girl is the one. Great for you. That still doesn’t mean you can jam your fist into every guy’s face who talks smack about her. This is football. Players will use any leverage they can find to weaken your game. That means nothing is off the table, including your precious girlfriend. You need thicker skin, boy, and until you have it, I can’t have you on the front lines leading my team.” He points a threatening finger at me.
“Coach, I can deal with whatever anyone has to say. I’m focused. You just need to give me a shot,” I plead.
He lets out an exaggerated exhale and looks me deep in the eye.
“I want to, Quaid, but you’re making it impossible for me to trust you.”
“It’s the Winter Formal game, Coach. I’ll even apologize to Brooklyn if I have to. Pay his hospital bills if he needs it, but give me this game, Coach, and I’ll prove to you that I’m right for the job.”
He looks me up and down, rubbing his chin as he does it.
“Fine. I’ll deny I said this, but Rory really can’t throw a ball for shit. You’re in the game. But if there is a repeat of what just happened on the field, then not only are you out of the game, but off my team. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll talk to Principal Williams about this little incident and say you boys were just rough housing. But you will have to man up and apologize to Brooklyn. I don’t want any bad blood between you come game night.”
Too late for that.
“Consider it done,” I lie.
“Good. Now go take a shower and get out of my face.”
I don’t even ask if I can go back to practice. It’s obvious he’s done with me for the day, and since I don’t want him to change his mind about letting me play our next game, I run over to the boys’ locker room to do as he says, praying that a long, cold ass shower will be enough to control my temper. I really shouldn’t have let Brooklyn toy with me like that. He’s known the coach longer than I have, so he must have suspected that if I lost my shit with him, that Coach would lose his shit with me.
Lesson learned.
I’m not going to fall for Brooklyn’s dirty tricks a second time, that’s for goddamn sure.
Yet his words still linger in my ear. Is that what the school thinks of Val? That Logan, Carter, and I just pass her along amongst us like some cheap groupie? I try to put myself in their shoes and think of how they must see us. Her holding hands with Logan in the hallway. Her running off to the library to have intimate lunches with Carter. Me toying with her raven hair in class and sneaking in kisses whenever I can, not worried who will see it.