AN ANGRY STARTER #2
“I’m so sick of privileged assholes always putting color before integrity.
Football doesn’t give a fuck what color I am, or what color you are, and it takes a lot more than just training.
It takes training, talent, and heart. You can’t be the best without all three.
You have the training, and we all know you have the talent, but you’ve lost the heart, Kingston.
You bought your way onto the team, bully half the team members, and clash heads with the other half.
You aren’t a team player; you aren’t even giving yourself a chance.
You’re trying so hard to stand out that you’re sabotaging yourself.
There’s no love of the game there. There's no heart. There’s just you and your delusions of greatness,” I point out.
Kingston’s face turns red, and he steps back into my space, not touching me, but still using his presence to challenge me.
“I don’t have heart? I’ve shed my blood, sweat, and tears for more than half my life on this game. That position is mine. Don’t tell me I haven’t got heart. What would you even know about me or what I have in this game? You don’t know shit about me, Bauer!”
“Declaring a position is yours is possession; it’s not heart.
It’s believing the training and the money that’s been put in owes you a place.
You forget to remember what the game gives you.
You think you’re owed, but you take for granted what’s been given.
That’s why you lack the heart. You’ve lost sight of what’s important.
It’s not about positions, stats, or scores.
It’s about the game, about the team, about the freedom of nothing existing outside of the ball in your hands and your cleats pounding in the turf.
You’re good, great even, but you’ll never be the best so long as you let the possessiveness of what’s owed to you hold you back,” I let the frustration go, because really, he does have the talent, but he’s relying on stupid shit to propel him forward when it’s only holding him back.
He sneers at me. “You’re so fucking smug because you think you’ve won, but this isn’t over, Bauer,” he growls, only proving that he didn’t hear a damn word I said.
“Good! Prove it and put your heart on the field where it belongs!” I shout back, frustrated and trying to get through his thick fucking skull.
He takes another step in my face and starts yelling.
“Don’t talk to me like you think you’re better than me, Bauer. You’re fucking nothing compared to me. I don’t know who the fuck you paid off to get the position, but don’t stand there all high and mighty when everyone knows you fucking cheated!”
“Cheated? I’m the one who cheated? I didn’t have to buy my way on the team!
If anyone cheated, it’s you! Why didn’t you make sure ‘Daddy’ didn’t secure your position on the field while he secured your position on the team?
Huh? Or would Coach not allow it? You couldn’t cheat, so now you’re pissed off because you got outplayed!
” I yell back, my ire building fast because I hate this fucking clown to begin with.
Despite the intel I’m getting on the guy that says he may not be as terrible as his father, after what he’s done to Qiang, he’s at the very least still a raging asshole, and right now he’s fucking proving it through and through.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about! You think you know me, but you don’t know jack shit. You’re just a thug from the ghetto who made a buck and figured out who to bribe the right way to get what you wanted. Everyone knows it, Marcus,” he growls at me.
There isn’t even any reasoning in his eyes, just fucking anger. It crosses my mind again that I have no clue how Qiang could have ever fallen for this douche canoe.
“Sorry, Kingston, you’re the only one on the team who seems to think color is more important than integrity, and you sure as fuck don’t constitute as everyone to me.
So you can either take the advice or keep playing second-string.
Choice is yours, but I’d watch the classist, racist bullshit in the locker rooms if I were you,” I grate out, needing to end this before I end up throwing that first punch.
I have a feeling that the alpha posturing is his way of trying to provoke me, and sadly, it’s working. I can feel the urge to rearrange his face itching in my fingers, and it’s taking everything I’ve got to keep my hands to myself.
I take two steps back to get out of his space before heading towards my car, making damn sure to keep him in my line of sight as I go. I’m not stupid enough to turn my back on this fucker.
Like a viper, his hand strikes out and grabs my arm, wrenching it in a way that has me stumbling back a step without dislodging his hold on me.
“Don’t fucking walk away from me,” he screams, spit flying everywhere.
And that was really it for me; my free fist clenches, and I wind up to swing.
“Marcus, don’t.” Tristan’s voice sounds right next to my ear.
I was so fucking focused on Kingston that I didn’t even see him come up. Tristan’s hand grabs my clenched fist, and his arm wraps around my chest, hauling me back.
Derrick is mirroring Tristan, only he’s hauling Kingston back. Kingston is trying to throw him off, ready to throw punches and fight, but I’m relaxing into Tristan.
“I get it, but he doesn’t deserve your compassion, nor your position. Let it go and get in the car,” Tristan says close to my ear, and I know he’s right.
I’m about to throw hands and blow my position right after earning it for this fucker.
Not only would I never forgive myself for doing it, but Qiang would never get over it either.
They’d blame themself because, of all people, it would be throwing a punch at Kingston Adair, whether Qiang had had anything to do with the altercation or not.
It would be amusing that Tristan is the voice of reason when usually it’s the other way around. Usually, he’s the one ready to throw hands, and Darryl and I have to step in. And if I weren’t so fucking pissed off, then maybe I would find it amusing, but at the moment, I’m only seeing red.
“That’s right, Marcus. Be a good little bitch and ride off with your bestie,” Kingston sneers, wrenching against Derrick.
Derrick wrenches him back.
“Check yourself, man, don’t cost yourself your place on the team,” he grates out.
Kingston throws a shoulder to shrug out of Derrick’s hold, but Tristan’s already hauled me far enough away to be well out of the fray.
“Fuck you!” Kingston hisses at Derrick before turning and glaring in my direction. “Fuck you, Bauer! Fuck you all for cowtowing to a fucking cheater,” he spits out before turning on his heel and storming off.
“Just blow it off, Marcus. We all know he’s a dick, and he’s not worth you getting kicked off the team,” Derrick reminds me. “Don’t let him ruin your roses, man.”
“Keys,” Tristan says simply, holding out his hand.
I huff because yeah, I’m pissed, but I can drive.
“I can–”
“I said keys, Marcus. You may be willing to lead-foot your way home because you’re pissed off, but I’m not willing to die over one bad mood.”
I huff out angrily and slam the keys into Tristan’s hand before crawling into the passenger seat and slamming my head against it. Today was going so fucking well, too.
Despite Tristan trying as hard as he can to calm me down on the drive home, despite how much affirmation comes out of his mouth, and how much he tries to hype up the wins of my day, that taste of metal stays in my mouth.
I know he’s right, but my hand almost aches for that punch I wasn’t able to throw.