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9
Kane
As I walked out of the school and onto the field where the pack of boys was huddled, fighting over the ball, I paused to call Savannah. She had to get me out of this.
I pressed the phone to my ear as if that would make her answer faster. “Damn it, Savi,” I muttered. Where in the hell was she? She knew I had been sentenced to this shit. She should be here for me.
She answered before I was dumped into her voicemail.
“Aren’t you supposed to be saving the world’s children?” she mocked.
“Savi, look, you have to do something. I want out of this.”
“Not happening. You got in a bar fight. This is your only chance of redemption. So suck it up and do the time.”
I looked out on the field. How in the hell was this supposed to work?
“I’m one week away from playoffs. I don’t have time for this shit. You know it. I know it. What’s more important?” I asked, appealing to the sports side of her. If there was anything I knew about that woman it was that she loved to represent a champion.
I heard her groan. “Hawk, you either get your ass at that center every day and work with those kids or you heard the judge—he’s going to release the court statements and make your case public.”
“It’s already public.”
“You know what I mean. He’ll put you in jail. At least this way it’s not officially a sentence. You are volunteering. And the league is ok with this situation if you volunteer. Volunteer work makes you redeemable in their eyes.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m not fucking volunteering. It’s blackmail.”
“Damn it, Hawk. I don’t have time to waste on a guy who wants to sink his career. The judge threw you a life raft. Take it and work with the kids.”
“You know it’s bullshit, Savi.”
“Doesn’t matter what I think. If I’m going to continue to represent you I need to know you’re going to volunteer there every day. You have to put the hours in there if you want them on the field. Can I trust you?”
“Does anyone care I was defending a woman? She was being attacked.”
“One of your regular whores?” she asked.
I felt the anger sweep through me again. Julie was anything but a whore. I knew she didn’t fit in at the bar. The fact that she was now the one supervising my time at the center only cemented what I knew in my gut—she was a good girl. A good girl I wanted to hold and kiss. I wasn’t done exploring her body. I wasn’t done tasting her. I needed more.
But this situation was fucked up. The way she looked at me five minutes ago, I was going to be lucky if she let me within ten feet of her. At the bar, she was a different person.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Get your hours in. Go to practice. Call me tomorrow. Ok?”
Savannah was such a hard ass. “Fine.”
I hung up and stuffed the phone in my back pocket. I couldn’t help but feel as if I had zero people in my corner. No one thought Kane Hawkins could do this.
I shouldn’t even be here. I should be on the field practicing with the Sharks, but because some drunken asshole decided it was ok to put his hands on Julie’s ass, after being told time and time again to stop, I had to save her. It damn sure didn’t look like anyone else planned on helping her out.
Everything would have been fine still, if the dumbass would have just paid his tab and left the bar, but no. He had to get riled up and take a swing at me.
He couldn’t walk away.
He couldn’t take no for an answer.
Even after I knocked him back the first time with an uppercut to the jaw, he still kept coming back for more. I just wanted to relax and enjoy a night out with my team. Drink a few beers. Score a little action.
