"Yeah, you're done. You are completely, one hundred percent over. You'd better hope you and Seager did the job. Because if this school renews my contract, I wouldn’t keep youas the team water boy next year."
"I'd say that's a pretty big 'if' right now, Tom." A tall man wearing a maroon Booster blazer stepped into Kenbrough's office. Scott the trainer and Seager trailed after him.
"Not now, Jake," Coach barked and patted his white board. "I've got a million and one things to sort out before the championship game." He pressed his eyes closed andscratched at his forehead. "Mick's arm's in bad shape.” He opened his eyes and shook his head. “We just can't risk?—"
"I already heard…everything, Tom." Jake's palms slid against each other. A large square-shaped band on his right hand looked like the national championship rings in the trophy case.
"And keep me honest, Scott, Mick, Beaux, but it sounded to me like Tom, here, has been tolerating…” His hands moved to lean on the coach’s desk, eyes narrowing as he fixed Kenbrough with a dark look. “hazing."
Coach straightened. His eyes widened.
"Yeah, he knew about those losers on the offensive line threatening Mick." Seager's voice sounded relatively subdued away from the field. “Walked right by while it was happening.”
"The tape from that game, when Mick's arm was broken,” Scott spoke from his position at the back of the room. “Lindsom didn't just release his mark, he stomped on Mick's arm when he was already down."
Jake pivoted to look at his son.
"Even if Coach didn't know Mick was being threatened, the film was obvious."
"Mm, that's what I was afraid of,” Jake tsked and turned his attention back to the coach. "You remember what happened to Penn Southern a few years back, don't you, Tom?"
His face turned white and it was like someone pulled the fight out of him by his toes. He sunk down into his chair. "Jake, I. This isn't a big deal, right? We win the championship, we can just brush all this?—"
"Nah, I think we gotta make it a big deal," Seager said with a laugh. "You know me, such aloose cannon,and this guy, with the fucking hero complex." He glanced at me outof the side of his eye. "Probably got more student athletes to save."
I squared my shoulders and looked Coach dead in the eyes. "Semper fi."
Seager rubbed a hand over his face, but I caught the smirk he was trying to hide. "Damned Marine.”
Jake patted Seager's shoulder as he pivoted toward the exit. "Beaux, Mick, hell of a game. Made me proud this weekend—proud of this Strikers team." He grasped the edge of the door like he was holding it open for us. "You boys get going. Let me finish my talk with Tom."
"Yes, sir," I said as I filed past him into the locker room. The rush of air cooled my skin.
"Do you still have that tape?" I turned in time to see Jake with his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Yeah. I should’ve come to you earlier. I just knew”—Scott lowered his head—“you wanted them to win."
"Not when the cost of…" Jake paused and let out a breath. "You did the right thing coming forward."
Scott nodded, but wouldn’t look up.
"Make sure you cover Mick's return-to-play protocol before he goes." Jake pivoted to shut the door.
“Sure, Dad. I’ve got it.”
We followed him out of the locker room, into the hallway. "We already did your eval. So just take it easy the rest of the weekend. Check in at the training facility before practice on Monday."
I stretched out my hand. "Thanks."
He shook it. "That's my dad."
“We figured that one out, junior.” Seager crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.
“Not sure what happens from here, but I did what I could to help," Scott said. His mouth turned down on the side and he frowned. "Sorry I?—"
"You do more for this team every day than that narcissistic asshat who calls himself 'coach.' You’re a Striker. A real one.” Seager shook his hand and Scott grinned like someone lit him up from the inside out.
“Thanks Beaux,” he said, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.
