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I glanced up and met his gaze, knowing the only thing he’d just seen was me body-slamming one of his precious offensive players.
Shit.
Lifting my hands, I stepped back, surrendering, while everyone else on the team poured in behind him: players, coaches, and water boys. Nicholl’s boys helped their injured pal to his feet, and together they limped to the opposite side of the locker room to get as far away from me as possible.
A hand gripped my arm. Knowing it was Cannon, I looked at him and realized I was screwed the moment he shook his head to warn me the scene looked as bad as I feared it might.
“Just what the hell is going on here?” the coach demanded.
When no one spoke up, he pointed at me. “You,” he charged. “You’re out the next game.”
I closed my eyes. Dammit.
As my heart plummeted into my gut, Cannon, along with a few of my other defensive players cried an outraged, “What?”
Letting go of me, my best friend gaped at the coach. “Jesus, Coach. It was five against one.” His voice was incredulous as he added, “What do you think happened? That Webster jumped five guys all by himself? Come on, man.”
“I don’t know what happened. I’m not even going to pretend to guess. But I do know what I saw when I walked in. And I know he has a history of violent outbursts. Since no one is saying anything, this is my final decision.” He glanced at me, his expression grim. “You’re suspended from Saturday’s game. And if this happens again, you’re off my team completely. Learn how to keep your temper in check, Webster.”
He stormed from the room with a smirking Nicholl and his minions trailing along behind him. Fucking brownnosers. It was nice to know that sucking up and kissing the coach’s ass got you out of trouble, no matter what, while being an honest, hard-working player landed you on the sidelines.
As soon as they were gone, leaving only Cannon, Bear, José, Roark, and Polansky behind, a moment of complete silence filled the locker room. My friends eyed each other in shock before they started in.
“History of violent outbursts?” José repeated in utter confusion. “Webster? We sure he was talking to the right guy?”
“Dude, didn’t you hear about what he did his freshman year?” Polansky said. “Tore up the entire fucking locker room in a fit of rage. People were still talking about it two years later when I was a freshman.”
Meanwhile, Roark cried, “Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re out the next game. Now we’re going to lose to Northwest. We’re going to lose to fucking Northwest! How is this happening?”
Bear, who never said much, just shook his head sadly and crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing me with sympathy, while Cannon got right into my face and demanded, “What the hell, man? Why didn’t you tell Coach what happened? I wasn’t even here and I know you didn’t start that. We all know you didn’t, so why didn’t you just fucking say something?”
“There goes our shot at making it to the playoffs,” Roark kept mourning. “The whole fucking season is going to be over. Holy fucking shit, man.”
“Will you shut up,” Cannon hissed at him. “We’re not going to lose to Northwest. Because Webster’s not getting suspended.” Turning back to me and staring me straight in the eye, he kept talking to Roark. “Because he’s going to go to Coach right now and tell him what fucking happened. Right?”
“And what do you think that’s going to solve?” I asked. “He’s going to ask Nicholl to confirm my story, except he won’t. So, it’ll come down to who Coach is more willing to believe, which isn’t me. And even if he did buy my story, worst-case scenario is he’ll suspend all six of us, and then where will we be against Northwest?”
“Shit, man. We’ll lose. We’ll lose for sure. Please don’t let that happen,” Roark begged.
“Is this because we helped you take Nicholl’s girl last night?” José finally asked.
“I didn’t take his girl,” I snapped, glaring at him and causing the freshman safety to back away from me with wide, worried eyes. Forcing my shoulders to relax, I shook my head. “She wanted to get away from him, so my sister and I helped her do that. That’s all.”
“What’d you do with her after y’all drove off?” Polansky asked.
I shrugged. “Nothing. Izzy took us to my place. And then her parents came for her.” Glancing toward Cannon, I watched his jaw tighten as he listened to my bit of untruth. But he
didn’t rat me out, so I turned back to the others. “I didn’t take her anywhere against her will. I didn’t steal her maliciously from Nicholl. I didn’t do anything fucking wrong.”
No one answered for a moment, and then Bear finally spoke up. “Did you ever learn what he did to her?”
I glanced away. “Yeah. She caught him cheating with her roommate. It rattled her a little. That’s all.”
“Rattled her a little?” José squawked incredulously. Then he snorted. “That’s one way of putting it, I guess.”
“So then, Nicholl and his ass-Os just jumped you because…why?” Polansky pressed.
“Because they’re assholes,” I muttered. With a sigh, I wiped a hand across my face, only to come away with blood on my palm. Shit. I hadn’t realized I was bleeding. “I guess he was convinced I knew more about his—about her than I really did.”
