T-Bone stops five feet from us. “What’s your problem, Rocket Boy? Losing make daddy look bad? You should be getting used to it by now. You’ll never be—”
“There’s only one reason we lost today, and if you say one more word about. . . ” Cole’s eyes are fierce, and he steps forward.
I slide in front of him. If anyone is taking this asswipe to his knees, it’s gonna be me.
This man is too loud. These threats are from a coward. Even though T-Bone is a bully of the worst kind, he’s a showy, obnoxious peacock and wants Cole to react just as loudly.
What the hell is this guy trying to do?
Another player I recognize stops behind T-Bone. His long hair is pulled back.
Matt Ricketts.
“Find your truck, T-Bone. It’s enough for today.” Ricketts shoves him away from us.
T-Bone laughs, retreating, but keeps his eyes on Cole.
“Get in the car, Matthews.” I keep my voice low, scanning the parking lot again, but also keeping my eye on the giant shithead.
It takes a second, but Cole finally moves toward the passenger side.
“Good boy. Listen to your girl.”
I wait for Cole to climb in, really wishing I could go after that guy and paralyze his vocal cords.
I round the car, ensuring T-Bone keeps moving, and survey the fence once more. I climb in and find Cole sitting with his eyes closed, head tipped back against the headrest. His hands are fisted on his knees, and I give him a second.
I back out of the parking spot and proceed to the exit, allowing him the time and space I imagine he needs.
As I proceed through the gate, a large male rushes the SUV and pounds on Cole’s window with his fist.
“What the fuck?!” Cole sits up straight, suddenly alert.
The man yells something about the loss and Cole being a “disgrace to The Rocket.” I ease forward, making sure not to hurt anyone, but needing this man to back off.
He hits the window again, and Cole yells, motioning for him to back off.
Once we’re clear, I hear him blow out a long breath as his head falls into his hands. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be him, to live in his world all the time. One where he’s never free from outside opinions and remarks. He’s constantly watched, reviewed, and critiqued.
I wonder if he ever gives himself a break. From what I’ve seen, that would be a big, fat no.
“I seriously don’t know how much more I can take of that asshole.” His voice is filled with exhaustion.
“I’m sorry. I know getting out didn’t help, but I couldn’t see—”
“Ryder. He can’t keep his mouth shut regardless of whether you’re there or not.”
“I know you’re pissed, but you can’t let them see it. If you throw a punch and break your hand or get benched. . . That might be exactly what he wants.”
“Punch him?! I wanted to rip his damn head off. It’s one thing to run his mouth about me, but he won’t talk about you or anyone else.”
I can’t blame him for being worked up, but he’s got to relax.
“I won’t just let him say stuff. If he wants me off the team, he’ll make that happen if he keeps this up.”
“He’s an asshole who wants to see how far he can push until you’ll break.”
Cole’s head whips in my direction. “After tonight, you sure he’s not the one?” His question is direct, and there’s a hint of doubt in it.
