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“You underestimate her. I wonder if you know her at all. Look, this is just as much of a surprise to me as it is you, but not for the reasons you think. In fact, you need to understand right now, I’m not going anywhere. I’m in it for the long haul with her.”
“I don’t want you on my team, in my life, or with my daughter and not because of what you’ve done in the past but because of the way you snuck around behind my back and had my daughter do the same.”
“You’re partly to blame for that, and that’s just tough shit, Coach. And before you object that this isn’t the field, you might want to remember that you’re the one who brought the personal shit into the locker room, not me.”
“So easy for you to say. You’re a punk-ass kid without a family.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I have a family, and it might not be identical to yours, but they depend on me just as much.”
“She might have fallen for the sick dad routine—”
“Wow, you’ve really gone off the fucking deep end, haven’t you? You think I need to make up stories about a sick daddy to get a girl into my bed?”
Murderous eyes meet mine, but my anger boils over.
“With you for a father, no wonder she’s starving for affection.”
“You’re done, Prescott!”
“I was done the minute I pulled up.”
“Fuck you, punk.” He walks towards his truck as I counter.
“With all due respect, sir, fuck you!”
He turns back to glare at me.
“Don’t bother showing up to the game on Friday.”
“Wouldn’t miss
it for the world. You’ll have to toss me out in front of everyone.”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you there.”
Lance
Troy tosses his helmet in my direction, his anger evident. Tonight, we fucked up, majorly. Both offense and defense. The team is completely at odds, everyone to blame. The whole game was a shitshow, and it had little to do with skill and everything to do with miscommunication. We’re on a losing streak. I shake my head in apology towards Troy, who has just as much riding on being drafted as I do, and tonight, I was benched for half of the game. Technically, I could go over his head if I wasn’t getting fair play and coach knows it, so he’s playing me the minimum which is costing us games. I’ll never understand how he could throw a season out of spite, but I do understand his love for Harper. Because it’s all I know anymore. We’re all circling the drain with morale alone, and that has the team screaming for answers. The village is demanding someone to crucify, and everyone’s house is being searched. Accusations are flying, but it’s the one flying to my right that grabs my attention.
“You,” someone says, and all of our heads snap up. “It’s you, isn’t it, Jenner? Can’t keep your fucking dick out of anyone.”
Troy shakes his head and slams his locker. “Fuck yourself, Altman, it’s not my fault you threw the game away.” This is something I’ve never seen, the quarterback and the wide receiver at each other’s throats. It’s gone too far.
“Chill out, man, don’t point fingers,” someone calls out. “We’re a team; therefore, we all fucked her.”
“Yeah, well I didn’t cum,” someone spits to my left as my pulse kicks up.
“Everybody knows Troy’s the yes man,” Altman mutters with disgust. “He’ll fuck anything.”
“Back off, man,” Troy grits out. “I’m with someone.”
News to me. From what I’ve seen he’s not been bringing anything in off the street for a hot minute. His room’s been a no-fly zone.
“Yeah? Who?”
“None of your fucking business,” Troy growls.
