Slam
I slam the medicine ball as hard as I can at the ground. I pick up the twenty-pound ball, lift it over my head, and slam it at the ground again. And again. And again.
It’s great for working out frustration, and I’ll be recovered enough by Sunday to throw the football with the accuracy I’m known for.
She made her fucking choice.
I slam the ball at the ground again.
But we still have to work together.
I slam the ball once more.
Day in and day out.
Slam.
I have to live next door to her.
Slam.
Ride the elevator withher.
Slam.
See her in the bleachers.Slam.The owner’s suite.Slam.My dreams.Slam.
Fuck her. Fuck her for choosing her criminal father in this mess. We had something, something big. Something important. Something worth fighting for. And she still chose him.
Fuck that goddamn statement they released today, too. It’s clearly a statement meant to control damage to make it seem like there’s no story to investigate, but to me it just feels like lies.
Mr. Jennings was in attendance last night at a private event that was interrupted by law enforcement. He was not charged with a crime and has been fully cooperative. We have no further comment at this time.
I still haven’t been formally charged, though I didn’t escape unscathed. A citation is still an accusation that I was doing something wrong.
I was. I shouldn’t have been there, and I fully take the blame for that. I knew it was wrong, but I went anyway. I wanted to blow off steam. I wanted a night of mindless fun. I’ve been there plenty of times, so I thought I’d be safe to do it again.
There are a lot of perks to these underground places. The taxes, yes. But also the fact that there are only people like me there. Everleigh wanted me to give her names, and I could have. Ben Olson got out just in the nick of time, but as for the others?
Lots of executives in suits, plenty of actors and musicians, a local news anchor, a bunch of tech guys. There was even a judge there. Ajudge. The police have all their names, and that judge is certainly more fucked than an NFL star with a questionable reputation to begin with.
But I won’t give those names up. It’s not my gossip to share.
I thought Ellie told her not to let me out of her sight, but I haven’t seen her since before lunch. I wonder where she went. I wish I didn’t care.
“Jennings, Mr. Dalton wants to see you in his office. Now,” Coach Nash tells me as I slam the ball at the ground again.
I nod, pick up the ball and stick it on the rack, and I follow him up to Jack’s office.
Everleigh is sitting in it when I arrive.
Everyone looks serious, and a tingle of nervousness dances up my spine.
“Have a seat,” Jack says. He looks between Everleigh and me. “We have a problem.”
Just one? I want to ask it, but I know better than to be sarcastic to the team owner.
“Tell me what happened last night,” Jack says to me.
