28. Chapter 28
Chapter 28
TEAGAN
Practice kicked my ass.
Every single one of us is still catching our breath when we head through the tunnel into the locker room.
Tommy sidles up next to me, jogging to keep up.
“Shit, Nichols, where’s the fire?”
“Sorry, man. I’m in kind of a hurry.”
“You going to the party at Beta Tau tonight?”
I shake my head.
“Seriously, bro? You’ve barely hung out with any of us in the last month,” Tommy whines.
I glance over at him. “Isn’t Melissa going to be with you?”
“Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “So?”
“So, you won’t miss me.” I clap him on the back with a laugh.
Tommy rolls his eyes. “You got a chick you’re after or something?” he asks, and I can’t blame him for the inquisition. We may not be as tight as my friends back home, but we get along well and are certainly closer than we’ve been lately. I have no doubt he’s starting to wonder what the hell’s going on.
“Something like that,” I mutter.
“Oh shit.” He sucks in a breath. “It’s Turner’s daughter, isn’t it?” he whispers. “I mean, I should’ve known, what with the whole bracelet thing last week, but I guess I thought you valued your life a little more than that.”
I snort at the same time Chance appears from behind, his blue eyes glacial on the side of my face before he slams into my shoulders and walks past.
Fucking asshole.
My eyes narrow like knives on his back as Tommy whistles. “You steal his Wheaties or something?”
Or something . . .
“Lockhart’s a dick,” I say, not giving a shit if anyone hears me.
Tommy’s eyes widen, and I break away from him before he can ask any more questions, making a beeline for my locker. I have no more than ten minutes to get my ass out of here and to the Turner residence or I’ll be late.
I enter the combination into the lock at the same time Coach’s voice calls out behind us. “Oh, boys, really quick.” I glance behind me, hoping this doesn’t take long. “Chance made a suggestion I agree with. Tomorrow we’re watching game tape for twice as long, so we start at one. If you have class, you’re excused. Otherwise, I expect you to be there. We’re this close”?he holds his forefinger and thumb an inch apart?“to taking the number ten spot. So, we’re going to give it our all on Saturday. That, and if you get wasted tonight at that Beta Tau party, it’s on you. I happen to have extra bleacher runs scheduled tomorrow.”
Everyone groans, including me, not because of the warning about bleachers or partying too hard, but because the extra session watching game tape means I won’t get to see Lane.
Shit. This keeping our distance fucking sucks when all I wanna do is spend every waking moment with her.
Too much too soon? Probably. But I can’t seem to help myself.
I turn away from Coach but not before I catch a glimpse of Chance, a smirk aimed in my direction. “Coach, can I have a word?” he asks, then turns away from me and to Turner while I try and push my paranoia aside.
Whatever he wants to talk to Coach about, it can’t possibly involve me.
I turn to face my locker, cradling the combination lock in my hands and quickly scroll through the numbers, then pop it open at the same time something falls off the top shelf. In a blur, the object careens toward me, hitting my mouth and crashing to the ground.
“Fuck!” I jump back at the sound and the sharp stab of pain in my lower lip.
The acrid sting of alcohol fills my nose. The room falls silent, and when I glance down, I’m shocked at the sight of a shattered whiskey bottle.
The hell?
“Nichols!” Coach yells. “You better have a damn good explanation for what that’s doing in your locker.”
My head snaps up and my eyes widen as I take in Coach’s pointed gaze, his face red with anger. I open my mouth to protest, to tell him I have no idea how it got there, but the words won’t come. I’m too stunned.
My ears ring in the quiet that follows as I try and grapple with what the hell just happened.
I take a step forward, and my cleats crunch over what I assume is the shattered glass, but when I glance down at the floor, I discover it’s my phone. It must’ve fallen out of my locker, along with the bottle.
“Oh shit.” Someone nearby chuckles.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
My nostrils flare, but I tamp down my quickly rising emotions as I glance back up at Coach. “Sir, I swear I didn’t—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about your excuses. Get that shit cleaned up, you hear me?” He moves toward me, his stride clipped as he points in my face. “This is strike two.”
“Coach—”
“We’ll handle this on the field tomorrow,” he snaps with a stab of a finger in my face. “You wanna drink on my watch? You want to use your locker as your personal wet bar? Then you can run everyone’s extra bleachers.”
I shake my head. “Coach, I swear—”
“I said, we’ll handle this tomorrow.” Then he turns and walks out the door, slamming it closed with an ominous thud.
“Fuck,” I hiss, raking my hands through my hair as I stare down at the mess.
Everyone eyes me with varying degrees of surprise, humor, and irritation as Tommy moves in front of me, blocking me from view. “That’s not yours,” he says.
Tommy knows me well enough by now to know I don’t drink in-season, let alone during practice, and I’m sure as shit not dumb enough to keep the evidence in my locker even if I did.
“No shit.” I exhale, placing my hands on my hips while my mind whirrs.
It’s a trick, a prank; it has to be.
Unless someone stashed it here with the intention to come back for it, but the possibility doesn’t compute.
“Who would have your combination?” he asks, reading my thoughts.
I glance up at him, my teeth clenched so hard they feel as if they might crack. “Hell if I know.”
“Damn, bro. This shit is fucked up. Coach’s car and now this?” Tommy whistles, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Thanks for the reminder,” I say between gritted teeth.
I know exactly how screwed I am. Particularly because this will make it all that much worse when he finds out I want more from Lane than friendship.
Tommy turns toward his locker, and my gaze focuses on Chance who hasn’t budged an inch since Coach left. My eyes narrow.
He was the one to suggest the extra strategy session tomorrow, coincidentally during my time with Lane. Just like he was the one to stop Coach before leaving the locker room. If it weren’t for him, Turner never would’ve been in here when the bottle fell. But Chance gave him ample time.
As if sensing the scrutiny, Chance lifts his head and when our eyes lock, his answering smirk curdles my blood.
His fingerprints are all over this; I’m fucking sure of it.
I don’t know how he knows Lane and I spend time together on my lunch break, or how he got into my locker. But I have places to be, so rather than dwelling on it, I turn away from him and bend down to start cleaning the mess beneath my feet.
I pocket my phone first, then hurry to gather the shattered glass. Piece by piece, I pick it up and collect it in the palm of my left when a large chunk slices clean through my flesh to the bone. “Shit!” I hiss and drop it as the coppery tang of blood scents the air, the red substance bubbling to the surface of my skin, quickly coating my palm and dripping down my arm.
I shoot to my feet and kick my locker with a bang, startling everyone around. “Fucking hell!”
I yank a clean T-shirt from my locker and wrap it around my palm to stanch the bleeding while Tommy’s eyes flare. “Dude, that’s a lot of blood.”
Bryce peeks over my shoulder. “Fuck, man. You need stitches.”
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
I lean my forehead against the cold metal of my locker as I try to come to terms with the situation. The simple fact is I’m supposed to be at Lane’s in less than ten minutes and if I stop for stitches, I’ll never make it. I don’t have time to clean up this mess, let alone get myself to the ER and back.
I inhale, hoping clearer thoughts will prevail as I debate my options. I can’t even text Lane to let her know what happened because my phone is shit, and I don’t have her number memorized.
Fucking technology.
I curse as I envision Lane waiting for me at her house with Sophie dressed in her costume, and then I imagine her disappointment when I don’t show.
She’ll think I don’t give a shit.
She’ll think I forgot or chose to do something else instead.
I know Lane well enough to realize all her defenses will rise, and it won’t matter how much I reassure her after the fact that it couldn’t have been prevented, my not showing up for her when I told her I’d be there will plant a seed of doubt.
I glance over my shoulder to the back of Chance fucking Lockhart’s head as he chats with Manzetti.
I have no idea how the hell he would know I have plans with Lane tonight. Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe it was carefully calculated. Either way, I’ll be damned if I let him win.
I grind my molars and crouch back over the glass, this time, taking it a little slower as I pick up the glass with my good hand, keeping the now blood-covered shirt clenched in my other.
Once I finish cleaning up the glass, I quickly set off to find Mark and try to convince him to help me use some butterfly bandages to help close the wound.
“It needs stitches,” he insists.
I nod, my mouth tight. It hurts like a bitch and if the fucking gallon of blood I’ve lost is any indication, it’s obvious I need stitches but I don’t much care. “I know. But I have somewhere to be, so if you could just help me and take care of it, that would be great.”
“Man, you really need to go to the ER.”
“Please.” I clench my jaw, breathing through my nose as I try to calm myself. “Just . . . do this now and I promise I’ll get stitches in an hour or two, as soon as I’m able.”
He stares at me for a moment before he sighs, and I know I have him. “Fine,” he says, “but if Coach finds out about this and asks, I did no such thing. I’m not taking responsibility if you don’t make good on your word and your hand is fucked up in the morning.”
I nod as he unwinds the T-shirt wrapped around my palm. “Absolutely. It’s all on me, but I’ll take care of it, I promise.”