AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The whistles blast as I yank my helmet off and scramble to my feet to go at him.
“That’s some dirty shit, man. You want to try that again? What’s your problem?” I smack the side of his helmet with my fist, my knuckles instantly throbbing from the impact. It was enough to knock him off balance, though, during his second lunge at me.
Within seconds, the field is overrun with players from both sides, all scrambling to get their hands on the two of us. Some guys are trying to tear us apart, but others are throwing jabs of their own. My lip splits open in the mix and the metallic taste fills my mouth.
Fists fly haphazardly, some landing on me, others missing wildly. My own fists make contact at least twice with my nemesis’s face. The satisfying crunch of his nose folding under the impact of my knuckles makes the sting under my wrapped fingers worth it. The brawl feels like it lasts for hours, but within minutes, the refs and coaching staffs have managed to untangle us from one another and usher us to our respective sides.
I spit blood on the ground and Mia throws me a towel from the ice water. Part of me wonders if she ran out there and got some good shots in, too.
“Take a knee! Now!”
I’ve heard Coach Fuentes yell plenty of times. Wrangling a bunch of teenage boys on a football field tries patience, and we can be real assholes. His butt-chewing is always well-deserved. His tone now, however? He’s livid. I might even be a tad scared to hear what he has to say.
“That is not how we settle things, you hear me? Unacceptable!” He walks up to me and points a finger in my face. My helmet no longer around to protect me.
“You have to keep it in check, Cam! I know you’re pissed. Hell, I know that asshole out there deserved it! But we were inches away after that. The penalties would have put us on the one-yard line. We take two knees then punch it in when the clock has mere seconds left. Now, it’s a break even. You get the spot, and that’s it. I’m glad we didn’t somehowloseyards in that fiasco!”
He backs away from me but offers one last thought before he lets his staff take over.
“Selfish! Gah!” Coach tosses his book out onto the field and yanks his headset from his neck as he walks away.
It’s clear I’m done for the day. I might be done for the rest of the season. And I understand. Coach managed to gut me with the one thing that I fear the most—becoming my mom and grandparents. If given the choice who I wanted to be most like in my family, I’d pick the convicted felon every single time. Today I acted like the single-minded status whores who fed, clothed, and educated me.
And now that the rush of it all is gone, I feel like shit.
* * *
There was no after-game speech. We pulled out the win thanks to the only play that scored for us all night—a short pass into the end zone from James to Theo.
All of the bruises and aches I feel were for nothing. My friends can lie to me all they want, and they have, telling me that I carried us down that field and made our win possible. I know the truth, though. When it really mattered? I lost my cool. I let the bear come out and thrash wildly instead of using my head.
Just like my dad would have.
I showered in silence, the guys thankfully sensing I wanted to be in my own head for a while. I dressed slowly, letting everyone empty the locker room so I could hang out in the dim light while Eddie, our equipment manager, collected dirty jerseys for the wash.
“It was a good game, Cam. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said on his way out.
He’s been gone for ten minutes now, but I have no intention of leaving this room. I can’t even bear to look at my phone. I’m sure there are missed calls and texts from Brooklyn waiting for me. I told Theo to let her know I needed some time alone.
I hope she wasn’t disappointed in the version of me she saw.
That’s the thought that I keep looping back to. I can handle those looks from anyone but her. For her, I want to be better. Iwasbetter. My goddamn temper, though! There are so many things I can handle, so many triggers that I’ve learned to shut down. Something about the constant beating tonight, though, felt personal. And I let it in.
When the locker room door pops open behind me, I jump to my feet. It’s late in the afternoon, and most everyone should be at Main Hall celebrating with pizza and loud music. My chest thumps with panic as I peer around the bank of lockers by the bench to see who’s come to visit, my brain split in two—one half wishing for Brooklyn, the other praying it’s anyone else.
My reality, though, is something I never would have predicted.
“Cameron, right? That’s you? Cameron Hass?”
Mr. Bennett files down the hallway toward me, his long coat slung over one arm as he takes his sunglasses off with his other hand.
“Yes, sir. That’s me. It’s . . . nice to see you again.” It isn’t really, but that’s what I think I’m supposed to say. I hold out my hand, and thankfully he shakes it. I half expect him to give it a short laugh and refuse.
“That was some game. You guys sure pulled out a tough one,” he says, propping one foot up on the bench. I remain on my feet because I can’t handle the idea of sitting and allowing him to talk down to me. He’s intimidating enough eye-to-eye.
“Thank you, sir. And yes. It was a little rough.” I touch my fingertips to my puffy cheek. The same spot Cole nailed me was hit about four more times.
“Lipson plays dirty. Always has. We have family friends who have a son who goes there. He doesn’t play ball, though. He’s more of a tennis-type kid.” His lip raises briefly on one side as our eyes meet, like making fun of tennis players is some silent inside joke between the two of us. I can’t tell if he’s aware of the history I have with the kid I’m pretty sure he’s talking about—Cole—or if it’s all one big coincidence. He’s that unreadable.
