“Yes.” My reply was sheepish, and I watched as he pulled out his phone. His thumbs were quick across the screen. I didn’t envy whoever was gettingthattext.
Dante put his phone back in his pocket and looked at me. “So?”
“I’m sorry I accused you of being in on it.” I came right out and said it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my dad wanted me to report to him.” I shuffled up the bed until I was leaning against the wall. “I’m... I’m just sorry.”
“And.”
I shook my head a little, not understanding. “And?”
“This afternoon?”
I let out a sigh. “Your coach is a dick, did you know that?”
“I found out recently.” He sounded bitter. “What was it about?”
The heater rattled against the wall, the only sound in the room besides the sound of us breathing.
Dante sat sprawled across the chair by my desk like he owned it, hood pulled back, one ankle balanced on his knee. He looked like he could’ve been anywhere else, but his eyes tracked me every time I shifted.
“He said...” I swallowed. My father’s voice had been bad enough. Coach’s had been worse — cool, clipped, warning without sounding like one. “He said you were the quarterback of the Alabama Lions, and that practice and playing come first, no distractions.”
Dante didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. He just leaned back farther in the chair, hands lacing behind his head like I’d just told him tomorrow’s weather. “That all?”
“He asked if we understood each other.”
“What’d you say?”
I looked down at my lap. “I told him that I knew you were in danger of failing a class and in doing so, you would be ineligible to play, so therefore I was exactly thedistractionyou needed.”
Dante couldn’t hide his smirk as he ran his hand over his hair. “Damn, you have balls, Savage.”
I smiled a little as he looked at me in appreciation. “I don’t think I should have been so rude, but the way he looked at me, he’s kind of intimidating.”
Dante grunted in agreement. “He’s reminding us all he’s in charge.” His mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. “As if we ever get a chance to forget.”
I didn’t know what to say, but Dustin and Noah were worried about him, and so was I. Especially after his coach fixed me with that dead stare.
“I watched a little of your practice,” I told him quietly. “You were ready for a fight today, or at least you looked like it.”
“Well, it fucking sucks to know that a program you believed in is a pile of shit.” He looked away from me.
“Thereisshit,” I agreed. “But that doesn’t mean everything is corrupt. You won that championship fair and square. I’ve looked at your academic records; your GPA got you here as well as your skills with a football, before they got their claws in you.” I let that sink in. “I told you from the first time we met that I knew you didn’t need a tutor. So—” I looked away — “You got here on your own. So did Noah. So did Dustin. Don't let their shit touch that.”
He was watching me but said nothing.
“I mean, do you know how smart Dustin is?” I asked him. “He’s straight A’s. Noah’s—”
“Mostly B’s,” Dante answered. “He told me.”
“And you are a mix of both, except for one crappy class,” I reminded him. “You don’t need to let your coach, my dad,andtheirshitty ways touch you, Dante. You guys are doing it yourselves.”
“And how many of my teammates aren’t?”
I broke the stare. “I don’t know.”
“How come you’re so fearless when it comes to everything but telling your dad you want to do art?”
I looked at him sharply at the unexpected change of subject. “It’s just a hobby.”
