Chapter 15
Jamal King
Road wins can be tricky after a game. We’re in Detroit, which means Lucky’s family is a problem, and Mr. Dimon hired extra security. I should’ve stayed in my room and avoided the crowded bar. The Detroit fans are heckling us, and Theo is drunk.
He’s unappreciative, surly, and reciprocates nothing. There are times when I’m sure I’ve cracked his steel walls only to be insulted later.
I’m trying to stay out of his business, but he makes it hard when he’s reckless. I shouldn’t care, but it’s got me feeling some type of way.
Benz has gone out of his way to include him, even after Theo accused him of being a racist. Benz shook it off and kept moving.
We’re in a private backroom of a bar, but since we didn’t reserve it, they don’t have a bartender.
It shouldn’t be a big deal. Not as if my guys are entitled.
But the Detroit fans are ruthless. Their insults are inches short of homophobic and racist. My skin is so itchy; it’s a warning that things are going to go down.
“Aw, shit,” Brant swears, and I track his gaze.
Theo’s in the main bar ordering a drink, and he’s got that look about him—the I’m-better-than-you look—and people have noticed.
“Should we…” I leave the statement hanging because an ass-whooping might do him some good. Knock him down a peg. But if he gets hurt, the team will suffer. “Some of those guys are big.”
Brant sets down his soda, and the vein in his forehead throbs. Helping me with Theo is the last thing he wants to do, but Theo is his D partner. Brant scans the room and notices who’s not here, then gives me a sharp nod as we push through the crowd to Theo.
Brant has it bad for a man he’ll never have a chance with. I’ve got my suspicions about who he is, but I’m keeping my mouth shut and opinions to myself until he tells me.
“Hey, man.” Brant throws an arm around Theo.
Fuck. Theo is not a guy you sneak up on and touch.
“Look, it’s the dynamic duo, pretending they don’t want to dick each other down in public,” Theo slurs.
“Ace wants to talk for a minute. Outside. Real quick.” We need to vacate before the “nice” men of Detroit teach us a lesson about getting dicked down. Theo is oblivious.
“Why didn’t he come get me?” Theo scowls.
“He wants to talk to both of us. About our line. And I said I’d grab you.” Brant uses his body to crowd Theo away from the bar.
“It’s a celebration. Not time for a captain lecture.” Theo grabs his beer bottle off the bar. Once his beer is in hand, it’s easier to guide him to the door. Of course, he tries to take it outside.
“It’s against the law. They might not arrest you, but someone will take a pic and throw it up on socials,” I try to reason with him.
“Fine.” He tilts his head back and finishes the bottle.
His Adam’s apple works up and down as he swallows fast. The fuck? He’s my stepbro. The stress must be getting to me.
It’s raining, and Theo puts up his hood. I didn’t bring rain gear, but I won’t melt.
“Where’s Ace?” Theo turns in a circle and moves to go back inside.
Brant steps in front of him, and I say, “We need to go. There’s a bunch of guys wanting to fight us.”
“You think I’m afraid?” He steps into my space, so we’re nose to nose.
“No, but nothing positive will come of it. Either you kick someone’s ass and the media headline is Sore winner, defenseman O’Keefe harms fan, or you get beat down and the headline is How tough is defenseman O’Keefe, suffering injuries from fans. Let’s go.”
I turn, but he yanks me back in place so we’re breathing the same air. He smells like cedarwood, musk, and beer, and it’s not repulsive. Not even a little. I’m frozen in place.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Both his hands fist my jacket and shove me away, but he pulls me right back.
A few men exit the bar behind me, and from their tone, they say something rude, but I can’t hear it. Everything happens so fast.
Brant snarls as a guy grabs for me and Theo. We’re so close, he gets a hand on both of us. I hear the spit and feel it drip down the back of my neck. Brant swings and connects with the culprit’s face, then gets hit in return.
Theo’s practically demonic, shoving and punching. But I purposefully keep my body between him and everyone else.
We hear sirens, and I freeze again. In the fight, flight, or freeze response, I’m a freezer. Theo snaps out of it and drags me and Brant into an alley, and we cut over to a cross street not far from our hotel.
“Are you happy now?” Theo grumbles. “You almost got me arrested.”
“Fuck off.” Brant uses his map app to ensure we’re going in the right direction.
“What’s it like to have a hero complex and need to save everyone? To always be the good guy,” he mocks. “I know who you are deep down, King. And it isn’t as pretty as you want everyone to believe.”
That’s it.
I snap.
Shoving Theo into a brick building, I pin him in place with my forearm to his chest. “You don’t know shit about me.
Can you be grateful for one minute in your life?
!” I’m shouting and drawing attention, but I’m beyond caring.
“You had to grow up with an abuser instead of a father, but it doesn’t give you the right to shit on other people. ”
Brant inhales with a surprised gasp.
Theo puffs up, but I’ve got pent-up rage simmering in my soul.
“We were concerned for your safety, and you repay us by telling a bar of drunk dudes who hate our team and are making veiled homophobic remarks that Brant and I are a couple. Which, you know we are not. Before that, I tracked you down, hoping your mom’s okay, and you insulted me.
I thought I was doing you a favor by banning my asshole sperm donor from the arena because he treats you like garbage.
Didn’t expect a thank you, but for Christ’s sake, could you not be a total asshole?
” I’m breathing hard, and my chest heaves, creating contact.
His green eyes spark, and I shut my eyes. I’m wasting my time with him.
“I knew I’d get you to show your violent side. Always on a leash, acting like you’re so perfect. Look at you now.” His smile stops my heart.
I let him go and turn away.
Their voices ring in the stillness as I try to remember which direction I should go.
“I should punch you myself,” Brant seethes.
Theo laughs. “Everyone knows you have a temper. It’s not fun to bait the redhead.”
I spin around. “Fun? This is fun for you!?” My nostrils flare as I inhale as much air as possible. I poke him in the chest, and he grabs my finger.
The worst part is, he’s right. My anxiety has been on high alert for days, weeks, but now that I’ve let my anger out, I can breathe. What does that say about me? Theo recognizes the deep-seated anger that I shove down. My therapist would call it repression.
“Not my problem,” I accidentally say out loud. “You’re not my problem.” I convince myself my words are true and take out my phone so I don’t make a dramatic exit in the wrong direction like my life is a sitcom.
“Never thought I was,” he states as an accusation, not letting go of my finger. It should piss me off. I should take my finger back. I don’t. Theo’s warm hand stokes my raging fire. He said I keep my anger on a leash, but it feels like he’s controlling it.
“J, dude.” Brant’s voice sounds horrified.
It breaks the hold Theo has over me, and I snatch my finger back. Brant reaches for the back of my hair, and I instinctively duck out of his reach.
“What?” I say harsher than I mean.
“I heard the guy spit …but…but…” His eyes widen with concern.
Theo pushes Brant out of the way and inspects my head. “Motherfucker.” He’s so fast I don’t have time to react before he pulls something from my braids. “Gum.”
“Don’t touch it.” There’s a strand from my head to his fingers. “Don’t touch it,” I say again as my mind runs through all the worst-case scenarios, making breathing difficult.
“Hold still.” Brant rips the gum about an inch from my head.
“Stay away from my hair.” I dial my mom, but it goes to voicemail, so I try the first name that pops into my head. “Tyrone, help me.” I’m standing on the corner, rolling my shoulders and tracking the tingling feeling in my arms.
“Sup? I’ll be right over.”
“No, I’m in Detroit.” If I have to cut my hair because of some dickhead… I force air into my lungs. I’ve had my braids for years.
“Do you need bail?”
“No,” I groan. “Is your sister there? A Detroit fan spit gum in my hair.”
“Say what? Oh, that little bitch did not. I’ll kick his ass.”
“He was gone before I realized what he’d done. Is Jada there?” His sister is a hairstylist, so she’ll know what to do.
Tyrone’s footsteps plod along, and I hear him whispering.
“Hi, baby, can you come to my shop?” she asks.
“I’m in Detroit. I can’t wait that long.” My frustration of having to explain leaks out as anger.
I walk away from them, going in the wrong direction, but at this point, I don’t care.
“Okay. Are you near a store or a gas station?”
“There’s a convenience store a couple of blocks away.” I jog toward it, focusing on a solution, already planning to get a rideshare back to the hotel.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get it out. I need you to buy peanut butter, a toothbrush, and a small-tooth comb if you don’t have one. Video call me when you’re ready. Do you have all that, or should I text you the list?”
“I got it. Thank you.” I sprint, not even questioning the need for peanut butter.