Before I could answer, he leaned down and spit at his trash, then righted himself. "Just put some distance there for the time being. Give this season your best shot." He patted the whiteboard beside his desk. "You put W’s on the board, these guys won’t care what you do in the offseason. Elope with a Vegas showgirl, marry Drakes's sister, whatever you want. But the next twelve games, that’s the time tomake your mark. If you want a chance at the pros."
The heat in my lungs caught fire and the flames hollowed out my chest. "I'll think about it."
"Heard the news," Seager's voice echoed from his side of the locker room aisle. I didn't reply. Didn't look up. Just stared at my knuckles as they knotted into fists.The one thing I miss…
"Yeah, so did we." Lindsom and Mackey, still wearing their pads and cleats, tromped into view. Lindsom, the largest of the over-sized tackles slammed my locker shut and leaned into my face. He pointed at me. "We're gonna make sure Seager gets the starting job this year."
I snarled. "Remove that. Now.”Or I'll break it off your fucking hand.My heart pounded in my ears.
"May as well transfer," Mackey said as he bowed up. I was boxed between the two with the locker at my back. “Unless you like pain."
"Uh." A grunt sounded from Seager’s direction.
"You should keep your nose clean in all this. Just go back to using that eggbeater on your hair, fresh fish."
"You want your ribs broken first?" Lindsom sneered at me. Sweat coated his skin from his hairline to his neck. "Or should we stick to your arm?"
I seethed through clenched teeth. "Back off. Last warning."Three on one isn't good odds. And I can't over?—
“We could try reopening that pretty scar of yours.”
My stomach turned to lead; cold pricked my skin.
A growl sounded from Seager's corner of the room. "Are you fuckingkiddingme right now?"
I shifted to gain sight of him in my peripheral. Kept my stance wide. Fighting would get me kicked off the team, but not fighting back wasn't an option.
Seager stepped forward. “You losers think I needyour helpto beat him on the field? You're dumber than two boxes of rocks sharing the slow brain cell only on fucking Tuesdays." His voice pitched lower. "And you’re uglier too."
Wait, is he— I turned to look at him; Lindsom struck out. His fist burned into the hollow between my ribs. The air rushed from my lungs. I clutched a hand to my chest and sunk to one knee, acting like he got me in the solar plexus as I tried to stall; find an advantage—or an escape route.
"Shut that one up," Lindsom hissed. Mackey spun on his heel.
"Yo, Coach!" Seager called out. Mackey and Lindsom'sheads whipped toward the door so fast they probably loosened whatever screws were still holding the things onto their thick necks.
"Gotta question about this play." Seager raised his hand as he stepped up onto the bench. He paused for a moment before hopping back down to the tile. The creak and squeal of door hinges sounded in the distance.
"You're weak." Mackey advanced toward Seager.
Lindsom grumbled. “We can’t touch him, remember?”
“Hey, Beaux, you in here?” A voice called out. The team trainer moved into the room. He stopped at the bench and glanced around.“Brought the tape you asked for." He tossed a roll of athletic tape to Seager. "You need some help with the wrap?”
Lindsom moved away. I sat on the end of the bench, shoulders tense, the air alive all around me. The trainer's carotid artery visibly pulsed in his neck as sweat beaded across his forehead.
Mackey cracked his knuckles one at a time from his position leaning against the locker on the opposite side of the aisle.
“Saw Coach with some of the boosters.” The trainer’s voice pitched louder. “Probably heading back to his office.” His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.
Is he lying?
“You know, in case you want to meet my—er, some of the, you know, boosters?” He glanced at me. “Mick, you and…” His hand trembled as he folded it into a fist. “You could all, um, meet with?—"
"Hey, kid,” Seager said. “Could use your help with this wrap."
The trainer blinked. "Oh, right, yeah." He hurried down the aisle to where Seager stood—a few feet behind me, on my six.
I stood and opened my locker again, like nothing was wrong. "Sounds like we're about to have an audience." I kept my voice low as I pulled my duffel off the hook. Mackey jerked his head toward Coach's office.
