Ryder, Orlando and I are the few people in the country who know what really happened, and the only people who would never speak up about it. You couldn’t pay us to tell anybody.
I’m the one who made that idiotic,soberchoice, and now people assume I have something to hide.
I am a closed book, but if there’s one thing you need to know about me, let it be this: I’m not one to be fucked with, and my family are an extension of me.
Consequences, be damned.
"Good. Now, listen." Coaches’ eyes sweep over the room. "The season is well and truly underway, which means I need everybody to keep their heads down, focus on their jobs and nothing else."
Coach pins me with a look that probably would’ve lit a match under my ass twelve months ago, but now has no effect on me.
"Our place of solace is being used to house a couple of pop stars over the next few days. During that time, the only thing I expect from you iswork.If it’s not paying you, your asses need to stay locked up in the place you call ‘home’. No funny business. Do you hear me? Names out of the tabloids. No drinking. Stick to your curfews. And for the love of the fucking team, keep your dicks in your pants."
Coach huffs, gripping his clipboard against his chest.
Good thing we weren’t expecting any praise after that win, or we would be sorely disappointed. "I said, do you hear me?" His voice roars so loud, the entire roster of boys nod quickly, with the words ‘yes, coach’being the only audible response.
"Good, now get the fuck out of here." His eyes land on me, and it feels like they’re burning a hole directly into the depths of my soul. Like the words he just spewed out weren’t enough, and that he still needs to tear me apart a little more than everybody else.
I always felt like I was undeserving of my spot as a professional basketball player. I worked hard to be here, I know that, but it’s always been a hard pill to swallow that this is my job, when it could’ve gone to somebody else.
Right now, I know Coach White feels the same way.
My brain even goes as far as telling me that Orlando only sticks by my side because I make him a shit load of money. Not because he, Ryder and I have all been inseparable since College.
"Jones," Coach White calls out over the sound of the team collecting their things, locker doors slamming as they scurry off to give us some much-needed space. "A word." My body stiffens.
"What’s up, Coach?" I ask, doing my best to keep my voice steady, grateful my hands are occupied by the t-shirt I was about to throw on.
He slams a magazine into my chest, and I know what’s on it before I even get the chance to look. I have the article almost memorized by now.
And while it was printed at the end of last season, the damage still feels raw, the heat in my wrist returning.
While I did everything in my power to protect Noelle from the onslaught and repercussions, she’s twenty-one.
There’s very little I can do to keep her safe.
New York nightlife for newly legal young women is dangerous territory. One, I encouraged Noelle to explore. Something I will forever regret.
"I want none of this shit this season." He pushes my chest slightly, and so badly I want to tell him that it won’t happen again.
That it was a misunderstanding. That the guy on the front cover isn’t who I am. That it was a lapse in judgment. A mistake.
But I don’t, because I’ve never felt comfortable lying to my coach, and I know if I were in the exact same position as last year right now, I would act the same as I did.
I know when to pick my battles. And if I want to continue to be on the starting five this year, having a disagreement with my coach isn’t the way to go about it.
He doesn’t offer another glance my way before stalking off to his office, leaving me as far behind him as possible.
"What did he want?" Ryder asks, and I shake my head in response, slamming the magazine into my bag, ready to be turned to ash the moment I get home.
"Eavesdropping isn’t a good look on you, York." I scowl at him over my shoulder.
"And neither is being a miserable prick all the time, but here you are. What did he want?" he asks again, resting his shoulder on the wall near the entrance, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Nothing new. Nothing I can’t handle." Ripping open my locker, I collect my things in a hurry and head for the door.
"You know we got you, right? Me and Orlando, whatever you need," he says, jogging to walk by my side as we head out to the car park. "I was there. I saw it all happen. All I have to do is leak it to the press, and your name is wiped clean. Noelle can move on. And maybe you can too. Or, maybe you’ll want to play another season."
