With any luck, we can slip in unnoticed, but I won’t hold my breath.
Shoving the door open, I step inside, bracing myself for Coach’s reprimand, except he’s nowhere to be found. Tension hangs thick in the air, and the team is scattered about, everyone trying to get ready while the muffled shouts from Coach's office penetrate through the closed door.
I exchange a glance with Julio, both of us silently acknowledging the storm brewing there.
“Damn, what’s going on?” Julio mutters under his breath, his eyes darting towards the closed office door.
Deacon walks toward us. “It’s done,” he mutters.
My gaze jerks toward him. “It’s Holt in there?”
He nods, and a surge of satisfaction washes over me.
“Finally.”
With a smile curling my lips, we grab our gear. It’s obvious the team is trying to block out the escalating confrontation behind the door.
But the yelling grows louder, more volatile, making it impossible to ignore.
All eyes are on the door now.
My grip tightens on my duffel bag, muscles tense as I exchange uneasy glances with the guys around me. This is what I wanted, but why is Coach dragging the conversation out? Kick Holt off the team and be done with it. What the hell is there to still talk about?
With a suddenness that startles us all, the door bursts open, slamming against the wall with a reverberating crack.
Austin storms out, fury etched into every line of his face.
Before I can react, he shoves me hard, the impact sending me careening into the unforgiving metal of the lockers.
“What the hell, man?” I push myself up, muscles coiling with adrenaline and ready to retaliate, but Parker Benson is already between us, holding Austin back.
“Chill, man! It’s not worth it!” Benson’s voice is firm, but there’s an underlying tremor.
Chambers comes up beside them and asks, “What happened?”
“This isn’t over,” Holt seethes, shaking off his friend's hold. “You’re going to regret fucking with my life.”
“I didn’t do anything, asshole.” I glare at him. “So you can take your temper tantrum to someone else.”
“You got me kicked off the fucking team!” he shouts.
“What the fuck?” Parker and Chambers say in unison.
“No fucking way,” Parker says, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit. They can’t?—”
The unease in my gut twists into something darker. There’s no way for him to know the photos came from us. Coach doesn’t even know that. But it’s obvious Holt suspects me, and he’s not wrong.
“Come on, man. Let’s go cool off,” Gregory says, pulling Austin away. “This isn’t over. You can fight this.”
Holt’s nostrils flare, and with one last glare in my direction, Austin relents, allowing his friends to lead him out of the locker room. The tension eases slightly, but the unease remains, a nagging feeling at the back of my mind.
Before I can dwell on it further, Coach emerges from his office, his face flushed with anger. “Alright, everyone! Get your asses on the field, now!”
We scramble to comply, the chaos of the locker room fading into the background as we focus on the task at hand. But the unease lingers, a shadow over what should have been just another practice.
As I jog onto the field, I can’t shake the feeling that something is going to happen. Another shoe is going to drop. I grab my phone and type out a quick text.
“Herrera, put that away or you’ll be running laps the rest of practice,” Coach warns.
