Chapter 17
KC
I stretched my pleasantly sore muscles and grinned as the noise of football practice burst around me. The late December afternoon air smelled of snow and burning wood, and I breathed it in.
Finals were finished, Christmas was in just over a week, and we had one more game this season, but we probably wouldn’t make the playoffs no matter what happened.
It hadn’t been our year. It was an away game, and we were heading to New York City.
As much as I hated leaving for the weekend, I was oddly excited about it, too.
This morning had been the perfect kind to wake up to, the ache of being fucked the night before spreading across my muscles.
Ren had pounded me so hard I’d seen stars, then moved to Oli as if he was a goddamned sex god.
Unlike with me, he’d been a lot gentler with Oli, taking his time with smooth, deep strokes that had Oli whining for more.
Last weekend, we’d met Ripley fucking Thorne, and while he hadn’t stayed long—choosing to go bang puck bunnies—he was as spectacular as I’d imagined.
He was big and strong and cocky. I could certainly see why he and Ren were friends.
Ren had told us later that night that they barely hung out anymore, though, because Ripley’s hockey career kept him busy.
Ren’s game that night had been amazing. They had a crowd they hadn’t expected, but that wasn’t surprising, considering word had gotten out Ripley was going to be there.
New Gothenburg was known for two things, crime and their love of hockey.
People showed up, even for a beer league, and especially when a pro put in an appearance.
Ren had played his heart out, and I’d never been prouder. Pa and Barber were there, too, and even though Pa didn’t like the sport, he reluctantly admitted Ren was good.
“I didn’t know Ren enjoyed hockey,” Barber said during the last period, a sadness taking over. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe I left him behind. I didn’t even try to contact him when I moved in with Uncle Errol.”
I’d patted him on the shoulder. “Make it up to him. Give Ren a family again.”
Now it was Thursday and I was at football practice. Coach had called for a break, and I was squeezing water into my mouth from my NGU Riders drink bottle.
Ozzie was beside me, panting, his dark hair dripping with sweat. The cold air fluttered around us and he shivered. “Fuckin’ hate winter.”
I laughed. “I love it.”
“ ’Course you do,” he muttered. “You’re a goddamned freak. I should pack my stuff and move to Australia like Mom wanted to. She begged Dad, you know? Told him we could move back to Brisbane.”
“Is that where you and Kari were born?” I asked, referring to his twin brother.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Mom’s Aussie, Dad’s American. They foolishly decided to live here. We could’ve been suntanned surfers, man.”
My laughter doubled. “I doubt you’d be Chris Hemsworth.”
“You never know!” He flicked his hair dramatically, like he was in a L’Oréal ad. “I could’ve been the next Thor.”
“Doesn’t he have blond hair?” I squeezed more water into my mouth as our coaches approached us.
The asshole quarterback, Hudson, was a few guys down and kept sending me leering stares that made my skin crawl. I had half a mind to tell Pa to finish him off, but Hudson was a good quarterback and we needed him, as much as it pained me to admit.
“Ever heard of a dye job, Beaumont?” Ozzie shook his head.
“There’s no hope for you, buddy. I don’t have the accent, though, but I can fake one and I have some of the lingo down.
You should hear the weird shit Mom says even though she’s been in the US for over twenty years.
I blame Nana. They always video chat and I swear, I need a fucking dictionary, man. ”
I snorted. I could almost imagine.
“That isn’t the half of it. Because Mom says things the Aussie way, sometimes me and Kari catch on and when we’re talking to people, it can get strange.
Like pasta.” The way he said it was more with an r after the a—parsta.
He looked at me helplessly. “I can’t stop and people give me shit about it. ”
I pressed my lips together to stop more laughter from spilling out. I’d always thought he said it weird, but I’d never said a thing because I knew he was half Australian.
The coaches stopped in front of us and Coach Kroll glared at Ozzie.
“Ozzie, stop blabbing and listen.” Coach Kroll crossed his massive arms. For a man in his late fifties, Coach was fit as fuck with bulging arms and dark silver hair.
There were girls in the school who panted after him and I didn’t blame them.
Not one bit. I was pretty sure they had a fan club for him, too.
He sat straighter. “Yes, Coach.”
Coach Kroll perused his team, his green eyes sharp and lips pursed. “I’m proud of you boys. You’ve put in the work and I can tell. But let’s finish off with a W, huh? Especially against those elite snobs in New York.”
We cheered, pumping our fists.
Coach grinned. “All right, get to the locker room and scrub up. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
We stood, but before I could get far, Coach stopped me.
“Beaumont, after you shower and get dressed, come see me in my office, all right?”
I stared at him for a moment, worry worming into my stomach, but I nodded. “Yes, Coach.”
I rushed after my teammates and got into the showers as quickly as I could.
Hudson was along the far wall of showers and glanced over his shoulder. “Are you in a hurry to see our dicks?” He winked at me, which made me furious.
My entire body clenched for a few seconds. I let out a long breath.
A few of the guys chuckled, but mostly everyone let it go. Hudson being an asshole wasn’t new.
“I’d have to be pretty desperate to do that,” I mumbled.
Ozzie snickered.
“What was that?” Hudson called over with a scowl.
“KC and I were just discussing how you aren’t fucking funny. Homophobia as a joke died in the nineties.” Ozzie gave Hudson the middle finger.
Hudson rolled his eyes and hissed as he got soap in them, then turned around to finish his shower.
I ignored Hudson. He wasn’t worth my time.
My mind was too busy coming up with scenarios of what Coach would want.
I’d been working hard with Coach Nairn and Hawthorn, the defensive coach and trainer, to figure out my diet, but I was still struggling.
I’d cut out the smoothies, but the food within my meal plan tasted like shit to the point I barely ate.
Food outside of the plan was nonexistent. I couldn’t look at it without gagging. I was starting to feel the effects, too. Lethargy and muscle weakness crept up on me daily, getting worse as the weeks went by.
Ren and Oli tried to make me eat, and I did, when I could pretend the food was good, but otherwise I avoided it all together. It was easier on my brain.
Lying to Hawthorn was difficult. He’d been with me from the beginning of my college football career. He was dedicated and smart as hell, which made me wonder if he knew I wasn’t telling the truth.
I rushed out of the showers and dressed in warm clothes, then raced to Coach’s office with my backpack slung over my shoulder. When I reached the door, I took a deep breath and rapped my knuckles against the wood.
“Come in, Beaumont.”
I slipped inside, listening to the door close with a loud click, an echoing death sentence. Coach Kroll sat behind his large desk, shoulders hunched as he tapped on his iPad. When he saw me, he sat up straighter and waved at the chair in front of the desk.
“Sit.”
I exhaled shakily, lungs shuddering, and forced my feet to move. I fell into the seat with heavy limbs. “Am I in trouble?”
He laughed then, and it was booming in the otherwise quiet room. “No, kid. Of course you’re not. You’re an upstanding student and player. No one’s had trouble with you.”
I sighed in relief, shoulders slumping, but then tensed again when his face turned serious and he leaned forward on his elbows. The lines in his cheeks deepened with remorse I didn’t want to see. Not now. Not ever.
“But?” I asked.
“But, Nairn, Hawthorn, and I are worried about you. We think—”
“I can get better,” I said in a rush, sitting forward on the chair. “I could start drinking the smoothies again. They’ll help build muscle. I’ll get stronger.” I petered out, staring at the sympathetic expression on Coach’s face. “Coach?”
“I’m sorry, KC. You’re a good linebacker, but it’s my duty as your coach to take care of your health over football.
You’re struggling. You’re not eating. You’re slowly killing yourself and I won’t be part of the reason.
You deserve to get well, first and foremost.” He clasped his hands together.
“That’s why I’ve made the decision to bench you until you prove you’re better.
That means I want reports from doctors and medical professionals. ”
“Other coaches wouldn’t care,” I snapped, surprising myself at how angry I sounded.
Coach frowned. “I’m not other coaches. My players’ health comes first. Always.”
“This is fucked.” I shot to my feet, the back of my knees hitting the chair and rocking it backward until it clattered to the floor. I jabbed my chest. “I’m the best linebacker you have. Rodman and Petersen have nothing on me. You’re going to lose over something so stupid?”
“Watch it, Beaumont.” His voice sharpened. “I’ve had a long and tedious talk with Nairn and Hawthorn and they agree. It’s in your best interest.”
“Bullshit.” I shot him a mean glare before I stormed toward the door.
As I exited, Coach called my name, but I ignored him.
I stomped down the hallway and outside. I headed straight to my Jeep, blood roaring in my veins and heart thundering.
My fingers itched to punch something, but my eyes prickled with furious tears I tried hard to keep at bay.
My hands shook as I drove home to Ren’s place, my chest heaving through stammering breaths. I was choking on air, my throat closing around the urge to scream in anguish.
By the time I arrived and managed to get to the front door, the tears had broken the waterline and dripped down my cheeks. As soon as I was inside, Ren’s happy voice came from the kitchen.
“Kansas, is that you? How did practice go?”
My gaze slid to his back. He was shirtless, standing in front of the fridge as he searched inside.
He scratched his hip, but the moment he straightened and turned to look at me, my world shattered.
Having his eyes on me, bright and happy, was the kind of tackle I couldn’t come back from.
It was rough and breath stealing. I fucking crumbled like a weak-ass cookie.
“Kansas?”
Tears flooded my cheeks as I collapsed there in the living room, my knees giving out from under me.
I curled into a fetal position, every ounce of pain and agony and disappointment drowning me until all I wanted to do was lie there and never get up.
I was a failure. I was ashamed. I was everything Hudson implied.
Somewhere near me, voices closed in. They were distant, like I was underwater, and I recognized Oli’s distraught tone.
“KC? KC!”
Hands touched me. I think. I wasn’t sure. My eyes closed and I clenched them tight, praying to see only darkness.