My dad cleared his throat. “Well, it’s not appropriate behavior—”
Chuck Harrington laughed loudly, and God, that man grated on my nerves.
“Teammates fight,” he boomed. “It’s agoodthing, wewanta team with fighting spirit.”
My fork paused halfway to my mouth. I had no idea what he was talking about. “What happened?” I asked my dad, who had gone rigid beside me.
The woman sitting across from me had heard my question. “It’s quite shocking,” she said as someone else tried to speakover the loudness of Chuck. I had to lean across the table to hear her.
“There was trouble on campus last night — a fight between the football team’s own players, can you imagine?”
“What players?” My voice was sharp, warning bells going off in my head.
“The quarterback. Dante Spence, isn’t it?” Her tone was gleeful, the kind of relish that comes from enjoying the downfall of someone’s golden boy. “Well, from what I heard, it was almost the whole team. Campus security was called to break it up.”
I looked at my dad, eyes wide as someone else spoke.
“Well, Dean, what are you going to do? Your star quarterback is messing up. Typical jocks. They can play ball, but they can’t keep their fists to themselves.”
Dad’s jaw clenched, his smile so stiff it seemed carved from granite. “I don’t talk about ongoing investigations,” he said sharply, cutting the conversation short.
But my ears were roaring. Dante. Fighting. Campus security.
Is that why he hadn’t replied?
I forced my hands to stay still on my lap, nails digging into the soft cream tweed. Outwardly composed, inwardly unraveling. Because the image of him laughing, teasing, alive in the library just nights ago was clashing with the picture of him throwing punches under the campus floodlights.
And... I couldn’t decide which version of him unsettled me more.
Despite Dad trying to shut it down, the table was still buzzing with theexcitementfrom last night’s skirmish, after the Benefactors Booster, too. Could you believe it?
Yes.
Dante was fighting with his own teammates, and for the campus police to be called, it must have been wild. I’d seen himfrustrated with me, but that was just words. Teasing. Needling. Not... fists.
What if he was hurt? My stomach flipped at the thought, quickly followed by the harsh reminder that he wasn’t the hero they made him out to be.
I gripped my knees, frantically telling myself not to show any reaction where they could all see me. Where my dad could see me.
But the truth was already coiled in my gut. Ididworry about him. Too much. Enough that the idea of him in handcuffs — or worse — made my throat tighten.
I knew my dad would be working with the media team to downplay this — these were the kind of headlines he wanted to avoid. What if the fight wasn’t the kind of thing that could be hidden behind a carefully crafted statement from the athletic department?
What if Dante Spence was the kind of danger I couldn’t afford to care about — but already did?
By the time brunch finally ended, my face was sore from fake smiling. For once, my dad was just as eager as I was for the event to finish, and the sight was enough to keep me on my best behavior so I wouldn’t draw any more attention to myself.
The second I got into my car, I pulled my phone out and stared at our thread.
I shouldn’t.Absolutelyshouldn’t. But my thumbs were already moving.
Me: I heard what happened. Are you okay?
The three dots appeared almost instantly, and I swore my pulse jumped into my throat.
QB10: Who told you?
I bit my lip, hesitating.
