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“It’s nothing. I just…have to go.” No way can I tell her about this. She’s already had to deal with enough shit because of that stupid video; I’m not about to pile on.
“Okay…”
“Love you,” I murmur.
“Love you too.”
A smile touches my lips at the sound of those words, but then the call ends and my eyes drift back to my car. The smile drops.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I scroll through my contacts and select Cass’s number.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“You busy?”
“Just grading some tests.”
A wry smile tugs at my lips; only Cass would spend their Friday night gradings tests. Not that I can really talk, considering I stayed back late tonight to work through some practice drills for next week.
“Can you come meet me in the athletic center parking lot?” I ask.
“Ah, sure, I guess,” they say, clearly confused. “Now?”
“Yeah.”
We end the call and I spend the ten minutes I’m waiting for Cass to walk over from staff housing pacing by my car to keep warm and mulling over the situation. It’s hard to know whether this was a crime of opportunity, or if I was actually the target. On the one hand, I don’t usually work this late; but on the other, my car’s parked in the coach’s space, which is clearly marked… If I can be grateful for anything it’s that we didn’t have practice tonight; I would hate for the players to come out and see something like this.
“Jesus Christ,” I hear Cass exclaim from behind me. “When did this happen?”
I turn to face them, my expression grim. “Tonight I guess. I was working late in my office, came out into the parking lot about twenty minutes ago and found this.”
They shake their head. “Any idea who could have done it?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say some of the Westbourne kids. Pranks tend to happen in the lead up to a big grudge match.”
“This isn’t exactly a standard prank, Finn,” Cass points out as they round the car, examining the damage. “This is an actual crime. You need to call the police.”
I groan, running a hand through my hair. “I really don’t want to make a big thing about this. I was just hoping Aaron might have time to fix it this weekend,” I venture, referencing Cass’s brother, who runs an auto repairs shop about an hour away.
Cass lifts their gaze from the car and pins me with a sympathetic look. “I get it. I really do. But even if you don’t want to follow up on it or press charges you’ll need a police report for insurance. Trust me, the detailing on this one’s not going to be cheap.”
They’re right, of course. As much as I would just love to get this all fixed as quickly and quietly as possible , I’m not about to pay for the damage out of my own pocket. With a sigh of defeat, I draw my phone out of my pocket and dial 911.
I spent an incrediblyfrustrating weekend dealing with my vandalized car. Despite my insistence that I didn’t want to press charges, the police officers who arrived at the school insisted on investigating the matter anyway so my car and the surrounding area were treated like a crime scene for a further twenty-four hours, meaning I wasn’t able to get out to Aaron’s shop until Sunday. Of course it also meant that any hope of me keeping the incident under wraps were completely shot to hell.
By the time Monday afternoon’s practice comes around, it’s abundantly clear every single player has heard the news, and they’re all touchingly furious on my behalf.
“We need to go mess those assholes up!” our big tighthead prop, James Tupua—better known as Tups—declares from the back of the locker room.
“Yeah!” the other boys cry in support.
“No oneis messing anyone up,” I say sternly, casting my eyes around the room and fixing each of my charges with a hard look. “There is to benoretaliation.”
“But, coach, we need to get them back for messing with you,” KC argues, looking indignant.
Around him, the rest of the team nod their agreement.
“We’ll get them back on the field on Saturday,” I tell them. “That’s what we need to be focusing on right now.”
