Fuck. He actually expects an answer.
I take a steadying breath and force myself to look him in the eye. It’s moments like these when being the team captain really blows. “A few of the guys were watching the Bama game and things got a little tense, but it was no big deal.”
“No big deal?” Coach snorts. “The way I hear it, Reid, you went after one of their guys, so I ask you again, what the fuck happened?”
I grit my teeth, careful not to look at Kennedy. No need to drag her into this mess. “One of their guys had a little too much to drink and disrespected the team.” I shrug, doing my best to downplay the whole incident. It’s not like it was a legit fight. The cop was there for a noise complaint, a fact I’m sure Coach knows. Just like he knows there’s bad blood between the two teams. “I told them to leave.”
“Was that before or after you took a swing at him?”
Anger stirs in my gut at the memory of the shortstop’s words and the way he disrespected Kennedy. I tamp it down. Smith was right. Rearranging his face might have felt good, but it wasn’t worth our season. “Before, sir.”
Johnson and Tate turn their attention to Kennedy. I silently curse them for being assholes. Might as well have pointed at her and announced it was all her fault. Coach follows their line of sight, and I swear his face gets two shades darker. He stomps over to Kennedy, so they’re nearly toe to toe. “And what was your role in all this, Carter?”
“Me?” She scrunches up her nose. There’s a hint of annoyance in her tone. Can’t blame her given she’s totally innocent. “I wasn’t even there.”
Coach cuts his eyes at her, and I jump in before either of them says something we’ll all regret. “It’s true, Coach. It was just a few of the guys.”
And the underage recruits, but if he doesn’t already know they were drinking, I’m not about to volunteer the information. We’re in enough trouble thanks to Johnson and his boneheaded roommates.
Coach spins on his heel and returns to the front of the group, looking even less pleased than when we arrived. “What the hell is wrong with y’all? We’re six and one, and you’re throwing parties and getting in fights?”
“It wasn’t a party, sir. Just a few friends is all.” Fuckin’ Johnson. Bad enough he was hanging with the baseball team, now he’s going to try and justify it?
“Johnson, I don’t give a shit if it was Bible study.” Coach points a meaty finger at him. “Campus PD shows up at your door again, your ass will be riding the bench. You got me?”
Johnson pales, finally grasping the seriousness of the situation. “Yes, sir.”
Coach turns his attention to the rest of us, lips pressed into a flat line as he marches from one end of the group to the other, glaring at us. “Do y’all wanna win a national title or not?”
The question is met with a resounding, “Yes, sir.”
“Yeah? Then you’re going to have to be smarter. Use your goddamn heads once in a while. First Spellman. Now this?” He shakes his head. He’s getting really worked up now, his words coming fast and loud. “The next person on this team to step one goddamn toe out of line will be riding the bench.” His gaze pans the group, making it clear he’s not playing. “I mean it. One toe out of line and I will bench your ass. I don’t care who you are. We haven’t worked this hard to piss it all away because some asshole on the baseball team hurt your feelings!” He says the last part with disgust and shame washes over me.
I risked everything taking a swing at that kid, and for what? Because he was talking shit? Those taunts were nothing compared to the press I’d get for assault charges. Not to mention the team supplying alcohol to minors.
Coach is right. We’ve only got a few games left. I need to keep the team focused and out of trouble. For the title and my reputation. No one wants to draft a troublemaker. I’ve worked hard to keep my nose clean. I’m not about to throw it all away now.
Not when everything I’ve ever wanted is within my grasp.
Coach Collins turns to the rest of the coaching staff. “These boys have energy to burn, so let’s work ’em hard. I want ’em too tired to make trouble when they leave this field today.”
There’s a rumble of dissent, but one scathing look from Coach squashes it. We line up for warm-ups, and the staff puts us through the wringer. It’s the hardest workout of the year. By the time the practice is over, my muscles feel like Jell-O. I couldn’t do another burpee if I tried and sweat is pouring off me like a waterfall. All I want to do is hit the showers, but when the team is dismissed, Kennedy hangs back. The weight of her gaze is crushing, making it clear she wants to talk. Probably about the incident at the football house.
Damn. So much for the brutal workout squashing her curiosity.
I drag the back of my hand across my forehead and make my way to the thirty-yard line where she stands, helmet wedged against her hip, waiting expectantly. There’s a light breeze and despite the chill, it feels like heaven against my sweat-soaked skin. The wind catches the end of Kennedy’s ponytail, making it flutter around her head like a halo. Fitting, I suppose, since even sweat slicked and exhausted, she looks like an angel.
My angel.
For now anyway. We’ll see how long that lasts when she hears what went down at the football house. Something tells me she didn’t like being singled out by Coach today and there’s going to be hell to pay.
34
KENNEDY
“What happened Saturday night?”Judging by the way Johnson and Tate gave me the side-eye at practice, it has something to do with me, which just figures. You know, since I wasn’t even there. The last thing I need is Coach breathing down my neck. I haven’t forgotten his threat to bounce me out on my ass if I cause trouble.
Given the way he came down on me during practice, he’s more than happy to make good on the promise.
