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“Yes, sir.”
Ryder jogs to his place with the long stick as the other players line up to take turns to do the drills.
“McKinley, don’t be so hard on them,” Coach asks me.
I translate that as “let the poor guys score a couple of times.”
Smiling, I put the helmet on as I tilt my head.
“I can’t promise you that.”
The guys pass Ryder’s defense and make their shots. Once in a while, I let the ball go into the net, but not too often. I need to practice, and I can’t make Coach think that I’m slacking. However, when it’s Carter’s turn, I don’t let a single ball go in.
The impulse comes from a deep and dark place in my system. The bitter part of me doesn’t want John to win this time, not when I know that he had Bree’s attention before. If I can have an advantage over him, I’m going to fucking take it. Even if this makes me an asshole.
Carter, panting with rage, runs on his last shot and tackles Ryder with unnecessary force, knocking him to the ground. Ry’s head hits the field, and his helmet shakes off with the impact. A groan of pain emerges from him, echoing in the area. I throw my helmet to the ground as I jog towards my friend to make sure that he’s okay. The other guys do it too, including Coach.
Except for Carter.
He remains unbothered with a smug expression.
“Dude, what the fuck?” I ask him, pushing him away.
“Weiss, are you okay?” Coach questions Ryder. “Hey, knock it off, you two!”
I ignore him as I push Carter again, hoping to trigger his anger, to have an explanation. My feelings have been on edge since the weekend. This situation is fueling my fire, sending me to explode like a grenade.
“This is fucking practice, dumbass!” I sneer, and Carter’s fist connects with my jaw.
I stagger back, but the anger only triggers my adrenaline, spreading through my system like oxygen. I don’t feel the pain in the area—or the dull ache. Instinctually, I punch him back with the same strength.
Kaleb intervenes, getting between us before things escalate. Coach abandons Ryder—who’s now sitting with a pained expression—and grabs us by the collar of our shirts.
“What the hell is wrong with you two?” The rhetorical question comes out harshly. “If you want to get into boxing, do it out of my freaking field. You’re not kids, for fuck’s sake. You better not repeat this, or I’ll report you both.”
Coach turns and concludes the practice. He’s fuming, and I think that the only reason he’s not blowing fire is that he’s physically incapable.
Kaleb escorts me to the locker room to make sure that I’m not going back to fight Carter—again. His silence is unnerving while he stares at me cautiously.
I hit the lockers with my open hand, and reality hits me.Fuck, fuck, fuck.I acted like a complete douchebag. I allowed my instincts and my jealousy to get the best of me without thinking about the possible consequences. Leaning against the metal, I slide to the floor, breathing deep to ease the emotions.
“Where’s all this anger coming from?” Kaleb interrogates as he walks to his locker.
He’s allowed to be curious after that clusterfuck, but he doesn’t know anything about my life. We’re teammates, that’s all. So, Kaleb doesn’t need to find out about Bree and her past.
“Carter was an asshole,” I state, trying my best to keep it vague.
Kaleb snorts.
“That’s a shocker,” he mumbles sarcastically. “Tell me something new.”
I clench my jaw because I can’t tell him about all of the passive-aggressive comments that Carter has said during the weekend. Comments about Bree that are making me explode like a grenade.
“Today Carter was a bigger dick than he usually is,” I reply through gritted teeth.
Kaleb nods nonchalantly.
“Yeah, he’s been that way since the incident at Johns Hopkins.”
