AN ANGRY STARTER
Marcus’s POV
“Since more than half the team was missing from team lift this morning, I’ll assume you all know about Holt flying to Miami this morning,” Coach announces to the team.
“Let it be a reminder that heart and determination can open even the heaviest of doors. So let’s hit the field and train hard, and put everything we have out there. ”
The team breaks from the huddle and heads toward the field to line up for drills.
I hang back just a second, noticing another key player is missing.
I take another scan of everyone here to verify that Gio is markedly absent.
For the fleetest of seconds, I wonder if maybe Gio followed Holt to Miami, but the thought crashes almost as soon as it’s had.
Gio’s sense of duty to his team and his future would never allow him to make such a move.
Maybe once he gets his affairs in order, he might go, but not this suddenly.
“Bauer, Donovan, hold back,” Coach pulls my attention from looking for Gio to him.
“Gio’s sick. I need you to take his place as starting quarterback this week, most likely for the game too,” he tells Tristan.
Tristan’s brow furrows at the news. “Is he alright?”
“Yeah, his frat president just said he’s laid up with some sort of bug,” he says.
I keep my mouth shut, but I’m pretty damn sure that ‘bug’ is probably ‘heartbroken’ because Holt left. “And Bauer, you’re taking Holt’s place as one of the starting wide receivers, so look alive out there and don’t make me regret it,” he barks, pulling me out of my musings.
His words halt me for a second as the reality of what he just said hits me.
Tristan’s beaming smile in my direction only solidifies it.
I’ve been bumped up to first string to take over Holt’s position.
As long as I don’t fuck it up, I’m no longer just a fill-in, but a permanent starter.
No more sitting out on the bench or only hitting the field so that the starters can take a break.
The grin on my face is huge as I shout out a “Thanks, Coach.”
He just looks back at his trusty clipboard. “Don’t thank me, just make damn sure to show everyone why you deserve to be there,” he says before turning towards the team and hollering at them to get into positions. “You too,” he says pointedly to Tristan.
Tristan wraps his massive arm around my shoulder and hauls me into his side for a quick side hug before taking off for the field.
First, waking up this morning to Qiang’s body nestled perfectly in my arms, their pretty face full of sweet smiles that led to a hot makeout that ended happily for both of us.
Then, heading out to the field and making starter, and getting to celebrate that feat with a bro-hug from my best bro.
This, right here, is why lucky durags are essential!
“Meet you out by the car,” Tristan hollers at me when he finally makes it into the locker room about twenty minutes after everyone else.
Coach held him back to catch him up on everything Gio knows since he’s temporarily taking Gio’s place. The thought of Gio makes me think I should probably text him to check on him. Not sure he’ll want the noise, but at least he’d know people cared.
I’m already showered and ready to head out when Derrick comes up and claps me on the shoulder.
“Good job, man, just don’t slow me down out there.”
“I think you should be less worried about me slowing you down and focus on not slowing me down, old man,” I tease him.
“Old man? You just try to keep up with this old man, little pup,” he gives it right back.
I laugh at that. “By the way, I gotta thank you and Imani for being all hot and heavy at the Zeta Tau Xi House on Friday.”
“Yeah?” he asks in a tone that’s curious as to why he should need to be thanked for something so obscure.
I chuckle to myself at how such a small misunderstanding made all the difference for me.
“Yeah, Qiang thought Imani and I were a thing, and that she was cheating on me. Now, after a heavy conversation, Qiang and I are finally together.”
“No, shit. Like together together?” he asks with wide eyes.
I nod in response, the joy of it cracking through and spreading my mouth into a ridiculously huge smile.
He claps me on the shoulder again. “That’s awesome, man. I know you’ve been holding out for them for a while,” he says, and I know he gets it because he just went through all the pining and finally winning his love with Imani.
“Yeah, it’s pretty great.”
“So shit’s really coming up in roses for you right now? We should celebrate,” he throws out there.
I shrug. “Let’s see how this weekend’s game goes first, and if we win, I’ll throw an afterparty at our place,” I tell him.
As much as a celebration seems in order, between wanting to spend as much time with Qiang as possible and fitting in training and gearing up for my first starting game, I don’t need the distraction of a party quite yet. Best to wait and see the outcome of the first game and then celebrate.
I get a few more pats on the back while I head out of the locker room and towards the car. Tristan shouldn’t be too far behind, and I could definitely catch some tunes to wind down a bit. All good emotions are flowing through me, but they are so fucking big and amazing that I’m a bit keyed up.
I notice someone leaning up against my car from a distance, but it takes me a few steps to recognize the figure. My stomach coils tightly when I realize it’s Kingston Adair.
This isn’t going to be fun.
I’ve done a good job of biting my tongue when he’s around; however, the urge to knock his head in for everything he did to Qiang is never zero.
The fact that we don’t get along is well-known throughout the team.
But they mostly brush it off because they don’t get along with Kingston either.
He’s an arrogant prick who gets under most people’s skin.
Cade has been slowly sniffing around the Adairs, and after Qiang’s bombshell, he wasn’t even surprised when I told him.
He said he hadn’t gotten explicit proof of it, but he’d been following a couple of rabbit holes that seemed headed in that very direction.
However, absolutely nothing could be found on Kingston outside of evident abuse and neglect from father to son.
While that doesn’t absolve Kingston of being a first-class asshole, it might actually mean he isn’t nearly the villain his father is.
Coupling that in with my suspicion that Qiang’s trauma is more deeply rooted in knowing what Kingston’s father is, more than anything Kingston ever did to them, makes me feel like Kingston may be nothing more than a distraction to the real problem.
However, none of that changes the fact that the guy is a disdainful, arrogant jerk who hurt Qiang–and who knows how many others–and seriously needs to get knocked down several pegs. And the sneer on his face when I get close to him tells me this isn’t gonna be a pleasant conversation at all.
“Whose dick did you suck?” he challenges me as a way of greeting, his body rocking forward from leaning on my car to hovering in my space.
I roll my eyes at the alpha vibes he’s trying to send. I’m not about to back down from this idiot.
“We both know I earned the spot fair and square.”
The snort that comes from him is so viscerally disdainful, I honestly don’t know how that shit didn’t get stuck in his throat on the way out.
“It’s not possible, Marcus. There’s no way someone like me could lose out against someone like you,” he says, shoving his finger into my chest and crowding in close enough to bump me.
I’m not the most violent person ever, but this fucker is testing my patience already. I don’t know where the hell he’s going with this whole ‘he’s better than me bullshit’, but it better not be coming from where I think it’s coming from.
“You’re gonna have to take a serious step back and explain to me what the fuck you mean by that before I fuck your shit up, man,” I tell him, lightly shoving him a step out of my space.
He stares at where my hands just were, and I can see the flash of irritation, the slow mull in his eyes as to whether he’s gonna explain his ire, or just throw a punch. Luckily, I know for a fact there are cameras out here, so if he throws the first punch, I can rock his shit afterward.
His eyes flicker to the camera above us and back to me. He must have the same revelation because while the sneer doesn’t drop from his face at all, he does take an extra step back to put space between us.
“You don’t deserve the spot, I do. You think I didn’t do my fucking homework on you.
You didn’t step on a football field until you were ten, and it was for some program designed to keep poor kids off the streets; it wasn’t even a real fucking team.
You played on a middle school team, but didn’t go to a legit training program until you were thirteen.
Your family comes from the fucking ghetto and couldn’t afford the time, the training, or the equipment to properly train you until I’d already been out there for fucking years,” he says, gesturing wildly with his hands to express his ire.
“I was on a field at five years old, being sent to training camps before I was ten. I already had championships under my belt before you ever stepped on the fucking field. I have the training, the education, the fucking equipment, and your poor ass waltzes in and takes what should have been mine right out from under my feet with half the fucking training. It’s not yours.
You didn’t fucking earn it,” he screams, spit flying from his mouth as he screams with rage.
I would roll my eyes if it weren’t for the reality that he is this delusional, that he truly thinks how much money someone spends has anything to do with talent and heart. It’s fucking obnoxious.