“Um…you mean Roughnecks?”
“No. I mean Rebels, kiddo. This football team was called the Raleigh Rebels for twenty-two years before Caleb Weaving showed up and made Jim change their name. He wanted an all-new brand for his son to rule over, but Jake isn’t here anymore, and neither is his fucking father. It’s about time this school remembered its roots. We’re going back to the Rebels. Now, I repeat. Do we understand each other, Silver?”
For someone who just reprimanded us for cursing, her language choice is a little colorful. I nod, though, answering her question. “I’m here to train and nothing else. You won’t get any trouble out of me.”
“What about that boyfriend of yours?”
“Sorry?”
“The new kid. I haven’t even seen him yet, but I’ve heard plenty. Sounds like he’s got trouble tattooed on his back.”
“The tattoo on his back actually says ‘Unbreakable’,” I tell her, my mouth aching around the smile that’s trying to bully its way onto my face.
Coach Foley gives me a wry sidelong look. “He’s been caught up with the cops before. And now he wants on the football team? I wanna know what to expect from him.”
I hide my surprise well. Nearly a month has passed since Ben’s funeral and things have been…well, they’ve been hard. Alex has dipped in and out of that scary dark recess in his mind, floundering every once in a while, as he struggles to overcome his grief. But at the same time, he’s been trying. He’s been studying ferociously, acing all of his assignments. Every day, he runs five miles in the cold sleet and snow before school. He works on his bike in the small garage at the back of the hardware store. He’s even started picking up some shifts when Henry needs to drive down to Seattle for supplies. He might not be working at the Rock anymore, but he’s found plenty of other ways to fill his time. Every single moment of his day is full. He’s always moving, always busy, always keeping his mind occupied. And now he wants on the football team again? He tried out at the beginning of the year, but Caleb Weaving had him booted not long after. I assumed he didn’t really give a shit, but that can’t be true if Coach Foley is right about him requesting his spot back.
“Uh…Alex is determined. Passionate. He works hard,” I tell Coach Foley. “He’s still a mess after his brother’s death, but…he probably needs this. He’s trying to stay afloat. He’s not gonna cause any issues for you, I promise.”
Creeeeaaaak.
“Quit flailing, Silver. It’s done. It’s fucking done.”
Jake’s vicious words taunt me on my approach to the gym. I’ve been walking around the outside of the school for long enough now; I know I can’t avoid the it forever. That doesn’t mean that my anxiety isn’t riding high, though. The last time I walked, or rather I was dragged down this hallway, I had broken ribs, my face had been mashed to a pulp and I was about to be hung by the neck from the rafters. Such violent memories are enough to make even the strongest person break out into a cold sweat.
Creeeeeeeeaaaaaak.
“You want the pain. You want the humiliation. You want to be degraded, hit and kicked and spit on. It’s all you know now. It breeds inside you like a plague.”
I can’t differentiate between my heartbeats. My pulse pounds at my temples like a drum. It throbs in the soles of my feet, dum, dum, dum, dum, out of control.
But…wait.
The pounding, it isn’t my pulse. It’s a sound, outside of my body. A repetitive banging, stomping…and it’s coming from inside the gym.
“Oh my god, he’s gonna fucking kill him!”
Coach Foley frowns, quickening her pace. “What the hell?”
I have a bad feeling about this. Too cold and snowy to practice outside right now, the Sirens and the Rebels are having to share the gym for their training sessions, which makes for seriously close quarters. A high-pitched scream splits the air in two just as Coach Foley slams the gym doors open and storms her way through the knot of students who have all formed a tight circle around—
Oh, great.
Around a very familiar looking senior with vine tattoos tangled around the column of his neck, and another student with a Dreadnaughts MC badge inked onto his upper right arm.
It’s Alex and Zander.
Of course it fucking is.
Coach Foley scowls at me over her shoulder. “No issues, huh? I’m assuming one of these morons belongs to you?”
My face hot with embarrassment, I nod, pointing to Alex. “The one who’s about to—” Ahhh crap. Too late. Alex slams his fist into Zander’s jaw, and his friend topples over backwards, landing hard on his ass.
“Next time he gives you a message to pass on, you know where you can tell him to shove it!” Alex roars.
Laboring for breath, Zander collapses flat on his back, hands resting on his ribcage, laughing at the top of his lungs. “One of these days, I’ll be done letting you use me as a punching bag, man. You’re not gonna like it when I start hitting back.”
“Please.” Alex looms over Zander, his face red from exertion. “Don’t act like a little bitch on my account. Feel free to fight back anytime.”
“As far as I can see, you’re both being little bitches,” Coach Foley snaps. Thirty heads turn in unison toward the sound of her voice, including Zander and Alex’s. The look on my boyfriend’s face when he sees me standing behind Coach Foley says plenty: he knows he’s fucked up, he knows I’m disappointed, and he immediately regrets the stunt he just pulled in front of an entire gymnasium full of our classmates. He scrubs his face with his hand, grimacing as he turns away from Coach Foley and begins pacing up and down like a caged lion.
“The Lord only knows what the hell this was about, but violence will not be tolerated here, and especially not in this goddamn gymnasium. You hear me?” Coach Foley hisses. “I’d have thought you’d know better, Alessandro, considering what went down the last time you were in this space.”
Alex shoots a pained look at me out of the corner of his eye, like he’s just remembered what happened here with Jacob himself and his guilt is eating him alive. “Alex,” he mutters softly.
Coach Foley shakes her head in confusion. “I’m sorry?”
“My name’s Alex.”
“I don’t give a good god damn what name you prefer to be called, Mr. Moretti,” she splutters. “Only people who act like civilized members of society get any respect from me. At this rate, I’ll be calling you fucking Susan for the rest of the year if I decide it fucking suits you.”
Still on the floor, except now with his hands beneath his head providing a pillow, Zander chuckles maniacally—probably a bad idea, since the sound draws Coach Foley’s attention. “And what the hell are you doing? Taking a siesta? What’s your name, princess?”
Zander’s smile dies. “Judging from the look on your face, it’s probably gonna be Mavis.”
“Perfect. Mavis and Susan. Off you go, ladies. Suicides. You stop when one of you can give me a good enough explanation for the carnage I just walked in on. What the hell are you still lying there for? Get your ass up off that floor right now!”