He sucks on his teeth. “I grabbed you. Harder than I should have. I get why you got all jumpy after that when I tugged on your hand. I,” He pauses. “It wasn’t on purpose. I mean, leaving that mark. Hurting you.” He hangs his head. “I am not that guy. I’mtryingnot to be that guy.”
“Have you ever been that guy before?” I ask, needing to know if he’s safe. If he’s someone I should be careful around.
He shakes his head, and I exhale a relieved breath. "No. My old man was. But I won't ever allow myself to become a monster the way he was." There is steely determination in his voice. "I'm sorry. We're getting into deep shit when we barely know each other." He chuckles, but it’s forced.
“It’s all good. And thanks. For the apology, I mean.”
He nods.
“I still want that play by play, though,” I remind him.
I wait. He tips back his beer, his throat working as he takes a long pull.
“Stalling will get you nowhere.”
He grunts and then shakes his head. “We had some words. It’s over now.”
“Hey, Reed?” I call out. I stand and scan the backyard, looking for Deacon’s frat brother who brought this all up in the first place.
Deacon hisses. “Kasey, drop it.”
“Yo!” Reed hollars.
“I have questions.” I nod my head and indicate for him to come over. He says a few more words to the guys he was talking to before slapping one on the back and heading our way.
“Kasey—” There’s a warning in Deacon’s voice. It’s cute. I mean if I don’t listen when Dominique gets all growly, why would I listen now?
“You’re welcome to tell me yourself,” I remind him.
He presses his lips into a firm line. Alrighty then.
As soon as Reed is close I say, “What happened with Deacon and Dominique Price?”
Reed whistles. “Aw, man. That was some rough shit.” He ignores the death stare Deacon is giving him and dives into his recount of Tuesday’s events. Dominique getting in Deacon’s face. Choking him. How Deacon nearly passed out.
Deacon is quiet the entire time, chin down and shoulders slumped.
“And then the other guy, what’s his name again?” He snaps his fingers before answering his own question. “E! That’s what all the jocks call him. So Dominique is walking away, point made, am I right?” He wiggles his brows. “When his buddy, E, starts talking in Spanish and punches Deacon while he’s still on the ground. It was fucking savage.”
Deacon groans. “Thanks for the recount, man. Appreciate it.”
Reeds misses the sarcasm in Deacon’s voice.
“Emilio punched you?” I askThat surprised me the most.
Deacon sighs. “Yeah. I don’t think he or Valdez knew why Dominique was in my face. They were trying to haul him off me at first. Talk him down and shit.” His mouth tightens. “After Dominique made his point, he warned me off you and mentioned that,” he points his beer toward my arm, “Chavez blew a gasket and clocked me. Now that I see it, can’t say I really blame him. I’d be pissed too if someone hurt a girl I cared about.”
“I’m sorry. The guys can be overprotective.”
“It’s all good now. Like I said. It’s done.”
“Fuck no, it’s not. D, you haven’t told her about practices, man.”
“Shut the fuck up, bro,” he grinds out, but Reed is drunk, making him oblivious to Deacon’s warning.
“What’s going on in practice?”
It’s Reed who answers. “Deacon is getting his ass handed to him. All day, every day. Left tackles aren’t protecting him. He’s getting sacked damn near every play he runs. It’s fucking brutal.”
