“We’re the Bruisers. We have a reputation to uphold.” I elbow Grey, who’s been on the team the longest. “Tell him.”
The coach’s shrug is tight. His expression, unyielding. “Starky wants you to clean up, learn some manners, and prove that you’re well-behaved gentlemen.”
Grey snorts like that’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard.
“Think of it like a reform camp. You’ll be there a month.”
The room falls silent until Hammer clears his throat. “You’ll attend several classes for your betterment. I hope I’ve made my point and you’ve learned your lesson. No mooning the commissioner’s daughter, or anyone else for that matter.”
We erupt with protests.
“What about training camp?” I ask because I live for football. Nothing can sideline me.
“OTAs?” Chase asks.
“The program you’ll be attending is the only organized team activity you’ll be completing if you want to attend training in August.” Hammer, ever the picture of calm, grits his teeth.
“So, if we want to go to training camp, first we have to attend this camp?” Chase asks.
“That’s right. Your midpoint and final reviews will determine whether you hit the field with the rest of the team before the season starts.”
All at once, we each voice objections and try to talk him out of it. I’m not proud to say so, but I even try puppy dog eyes.
Hammer only hears one word among the chatter. “Unfair? Poor Elyse cannot wipe the sight of four pasty rear ends from her mind—neither can the rest of the country.” Hammer points at the newspaper, which features the photo, blurred in select areas. One of the officials must’ve snapped it with their phone.
“Hey, my rear end is not pasty. It’s muscular and tan,” Declan says.
“For an Irishman,” Grey mutters.
“Listen, my hands are tied. It’s this or walk, boys.” Hammer shuffles folders around on his desk.
“This team is my life,” Grey says softly.
“All of our lives,” Declan echoes.
For half a second, I feel like I’m in the center of a tunnel—can’t see one end or the other. The room blurs, but I snap myself out of it, not willing to give up.
“Consider this probation.”
“Did you meanwalkas in leave the team?” Chase asks. “Considering the only thing I know how to do is play football, I’ll do it. I’ll go to the finishing school or whatever.”
“Can’t you have your father talk to the commissioner?” I ask Chase, trying for a Hail Mary.
“You know the answer to that.” Grey sighs.
“Which is—?” I ask.
“If he did, whatever the deal, would be worse, much worse.” They must know something about Mr. Collins that I don’t.
Declan gazes toward the ceiling as though asking for help.
“You’ll each be assigned a personal etiquette coach. And if you screw up, you’re off the team.” Hammer cocks an eyebrow because he means business.
It’s a group case of whiplash because I don’t think any of us could imagine our punishment being worse.
“All of you,” Hammer says with finality.
“What do you mean? If one of us screws up, we’ll all be let go?”
