Chapter 23
Ignoring the message from Marina, our mother, reminding me for the hundredth time that the Charity Ball was next month of September and I was required to attend. She worded it so it seemed I had no choice, but I did. I could not go, but I felt I was obliged to. Fuck it.
Even when I told her there was a criminal investigation on campus and I might receive permission to leave, she didn’t see that as a feasible excuse. Like my father, my mother wasn’t used to the word no.
Cole’s elbow jabbed me in the ribs to grab my attention as we waited for the tutor to start in our sports science class. He nodded toward a pretty brunette who smiled as soon as we locked eyes, as she found a seat in front of us, then turned back confidently.
“Hi, I’m Melrose,” she said, holding out her hand for me to shake. Confident girl who came straight over, and I felt like I should know who she was, at least both she and Cole expected me to know. “Just call me Rose or Mel. Either one.”
“Coach’s daughter,” Cole filled me in.
“Hey,” I replied, taking her hand and eyeing her up because she suddenly became more interesting. “Nic.”
“Yeah, I know,” she replied, then the tutor started, and she turned her back.
I cocked my eyebrows. “Was she transferred here for senior year?”
He nodded, then mouthed, “Daddy divorced.”
There was more to the story, obviously, but I didn’t care enough to ask. However, she could be a good fit for my date for the fucking charity ball. She was pretty and tidy enough, and more importantly, she was of low status; the daughter of a football coach would get my mother’s disapproval.
Anyway, the ball was six weeks away, so I didn’t need to worry about that yet, although taking the train all the way back to Morrisville, which was the drop-off point, then driving another four hours to Hartford just for one night of pretentious glitter and glam wasn’t worth it.
“Sensitive subject,” Cole mouthed. “Alimony.” He then leaned forward and tapped the girl on her shoulder, “Mel…Rose. I’m Cole, pleased to meet you.”
They shook hands, but it was me she was looking at, and Cole noticed as soon as her back was turned, he jabbed me in the ribs again with his elbow, then made the fucking motion with his fingers. “She’s all yours.”
I guess. I wasn’t really into her, though, but I’d manage to fuck her.
Mindless fucking was easy, actually; having a committed relationship was hard and avoidable, especially in football season.
Unlike my teammates, I preferred to remain single for the entire season as I couldn’t deal with the stress of women on my back.
My mind began to wander when the tutor reviewed the year's curriculum, and I started thinking about Lev and the police. Lev was good at keeping his mouth shut, but if they pressured him, he could snap. Then we had the problem with Maxwell’s kid.
She was in the right place at the wrong time, so we have to make sure she keeps her mouth shut when it’s her turn to be questioned by the cops.
My daydream was interrupted by Cole’s phone buzzing on the desk, and he apologized to our tutor, then quickly turned it off after reading the message. “That chick again,” he mumbled, exhausted as if he was getting hassled.
“Who?”
“That sophomore chick, Karen, no, Carrie,” he mumbled, but the tutor shot him a sharp look, and he waited until the tutor had turned away before adding, “wants to meet up.”
“Are you gonna?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he shrugged casually, like he wasn’t bothered either way, but I knew he wouldn’t turn down a hookup.
“Keep it in your room, bro,” I warned as he liked to fuck them all over the house, even caught him in my bedroom and kicked him in the shins for it.
My bedroom was off-limits, but I found it easy to forgive Cole because he was so likable, which is why he has a hundred girls chasing after him.
Unfortunately, a few of those girls used him to try to reach me.
Throughout the entire class, she kept glancing back at me, and Cole would stab me a cocky look to tell me that I had her in the bag.
When class ended, she walked beside us, trying to make conversation as we headed to the sports field behind the basketball stadium, as we had a meeting with our head coach on the upcoming season starting late August.
“Get her number,” Cole said out of the corner of his mouth, but I shook my head and mouthed, “Nah.”
Robbie whistled out to us, and we climbed the bleachers to sit next to him and Conrad, as the head coach was having a quiet conversation with the administrators.
The Castlehill Kings had a shit previous season with several injuries and a few inside dramas with problem players, but hopefully this season will be better after Coach cut away the dead wood.
I spotted the bright yellow head of Declan York, the older York brother, whom we thought we had eradicated from Castlehill, so I wondered if Coach’s insistence was one of the reasons they returned.
We’re both quarterbacks and have, on occasion, butted heads to the point that Coach had to separate us.
Despite his pretty boy appearance, he could pack a powerful punch that I had been on the receiving end of a few occasions.
“What’s that chick doing?” Cole nodded toward the edge of the bleachers, where Coach’s daughter was holding her phone up as if taking a pic of us.
“I thought we got rid of her,” I mumbled, and Cole snorted under his breath.
“Yeah, I don’t think that will be possible,” he challenged as Mel Rose, Rose Mel, whatever, took a seat at the bottom of the bleachers and kept looking up at us, becoming less attractive the more attention she gave me.
“Potential bunny boiler,” I decided, and looked away from her, so we didn’t accidentally lock eyes.
Cole snorted again. “How can you tell? We only just met her,” he challenged my analysis, narrowing his eyes at her as if searching for a sign, a red flag.
“My stalker radar is going off, bro,” I exaggerated, taking the piss, obviously. “Her head looks like a bright red siren.”
“You’re always like that, Sick,” he asserted as Coach cleared his throat to speak, and all eyes and focus were on him.
As Coach gave us a pep talk to raise our enthusiasm after a shit season, my mind kept pestering me over Cole’s comment. Until finally I had to ask, “What do you mean?”
“Huh?” he grunted, confused.
“What do you mean, I’m always like that?” I whispered, but I received a sharp, disapproving scowl from the administrator, so I clammed up and listened intently to Coach as the black cloud of negativity from last season soon started to lift, and fervor for our first game followed.
The excited energy peeled off my teammates as he spoke, riling us up, pushing last season behind us. “We learn from our mistakes,” he bellowed, pacing as the administrators nodded their heads in agreement, “Mistakes we must never repeat.”
Injuries weren’t mistakes, but who Coach chose to replace the injured players with was the problem.
There were better choices, but for some reason, he didn’t use them.
However, it wasn’t team spirit to outwardly blame one member of the team because all of us needed to take responsibility one way or another.
“Alright,” Coach announced, coming to the end of his rousing speech, clapping his hands twice, “Off you go to class, and I will see you back here at four PM tomorrow for first practice of the season.” Then shouted, “Warwick and York, down here. Now.” His tone told me everything I needed to know.
He waited until our teammates had left before he spoke, “Are you two going to piss around this year, or are you going to put your differences behind you for the team?”
“Yeah, I’ll do whatever you want,” I pressed, trying to convince him, “for the team.”
“And you?” he pointed his finger at the smirking fuck, Declan, who was slightly less of a dumbass than his younger brother.
“Yeah,” he nodded in agreement. We’d say anything to be on the team, and that included pretending to get along.
“Alright, now shake hands, you two, shake hands, go on,” he insisted, then shoved Declan to offer me his hand. “C’mon.”
I took his hand, and we shook as Coach as our witness, but don’t expect us to be friends.
“Good,” Coach cracked a smile. “Now, if I see either of you two brawling, whether it’s at practice or in the gym or anywhere, then I’m sitting you out.”
“What?” I was a little stunned, but suspected he might be joking. I was the best quarterback he had. If he took both of us out, then who would replace us? “Okay. Fine.” I didn’t bother arguing as he called the shots, whether I liked it or not.
“Off you go, Declan,” he gave his shoulder a friendly slap, but signaled to me that he wanted me to hang around. He waited until Declan was out of earshot before he added, “I’m relying on you to be the bigger man, Nicolae.”
“I will,” I nodded, but I could tell there was more he needed to get off his chest.
“I know that you and the Yorks don’t have a smooth history, but you need to put that aside for the game,” he explained, and I bit my tongue because this was the same speech he gave me last season.
Nothing had changed between the Warwicks and the Yorks, apart from the addition of the Boleyn girl, which might spice things up a bit.
His hand gripped my shoulder, “How is your father?”
My heart sank, and I held back a groan with the usual rise of anger that came with this particular subject. God, why did he have to bring up my father? “Good,” I replied, then shut down.
“Have you visited him lately?” he pressed, and tension rose in my chest.
“Yeah,” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling uneasy. There was a reputation that we had to uphold, and his star player having a crim dad in the clink didn’t help. The crim part wasn’t so bad; it was the getting caught part that was the failure.
“Can you deal with added pressure this year?” he enquired, looking me directly in the eye. “You’re in senior year and lot more studying on your plate-”
“What are you suggesting?” I spat hotly.
He was making me nervous, treating me like breakable glass.
I folded my arms across my chest to deflect whatever bad news he was about to throw at me.
“You think I can’t handle being on the team?
Robbie, Cole, and the York are seniors, too, what the fuck. I’m the best quarterback you’ve got.”
He croaked a laugh when he realized how I read his comments, “No, no,” he waved his hand dismissively. “No, I wanted to see if you were up for captain this year? But ah, maybe you’re not ready-”
“Hell yes,” I replied. “I’ll be captain this year.”
He grinned from ear to ear, “Good,” then held out his hand for me shake, looking directly into my eyes to show who’s the boss, “Remember, stay out of trouble,” he meant don’t fight with Declan York, “and keep up with the school work,” he meant don’t miss class and get good grades. “And make your father proud.”
“He already is, sir,” I told him. The last time I visited him in prison, he was excited for the upcoming football season and organized a TV in his cell to watch it, rather than watch in the communal TV room.
“Alright, I’ll let the administrators know that you agreed, and we’ll announce at practice tomorrow. Now, go to class.”
As I ran off to catch up with Cole and the boys, I carried myself more proudly, stoked that Coach chose me. It’s always a senior who took on the captain role, but I thought after the fights I got into last season, he might think I was too hot-headed.
He was right, though, I did have burdens heavy for a man of my age.