30. Chapter 30
Chapter 30
TEAGAN
Silence surrounds us as I collect my thoughts, and though I appreciate her giving me the time and space to explain without rushing me, I’m not sure where to start because I don’t have any real answers.
“After practice, we entered the locker room like usual, except Coach came to tell us there’s a change in schedule for tomorrow, courtesy of the Chancelor.” I grit my teeth and move on. “At the same time as Chance pulled him aside, I opened my locker, and something fell from the top shelf. It caught me off guard, cracking me in the mouth, then falling to the ground by my feet. Turns out, it was a booze bottle. And of course, your father was there to witness the whole thing. Needless to say, he was pissed.”
I huff out a breath, still frustrated as hell with the situation. “You know he runs a tight ship. A lot of other coaches in the league turn a blind eye to half the shit their players do, but not him. Anyway, add this to the hazing prank incident last month, and I have two strikes against me, as he so kindly reminded me. I think it’s safe to say I’m on his shit list right now and I won’t be getting off it any time soon.”
Lane’s brow furrows and she shakes her head as if trying to make sense of it.
Join the fucking club.
“I don’t understand. If it wasn’t yours, who would’ve put it there?”
“Hell if I know.” I growl, pulling my hand from hers and shoving it through my hair. “Someone must’ve stashed it there, but the question is how?”
“Who all has access to your combination?”
“I assume Coach does and maybe the janitor in case there’s a problem? Fuck, I don’t know.” I knead the back of my neck, and the muscles tense even thinking about it. “It’s possible someone watched me put the combo in and kept it, but if that’s the case—”
“You think someone set you up?” She frowns.
I exhale and drop my hand. “I don’t know.”
I’m not sure of anything.
“Maybe? Or maybe they literally stashed it there for themselves and never thought I’d see it. Maybe they planned to come back for it, then couldn’t?” It’s not plausible, but it’s possible. I shrug. “All I know is your father is only going to give me so many chances, and who knows what he’s thinking now. For all I know, he thinks I have a drinking problem. At the very least, he thinks I broke the law and violated team policy. I can’t imagine the reminder that we’re friends and I’ve been hanging around Sophie will go over well with him.”
“I can explain. I can—”
“No.” I shake my head, adamant. “You can’t fight my battles. It’s not fair, and I’m not sure how much it’ll help, anyway. Defending me might piss him off even more.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
I sigh. “Lay low. Keep my head down and work hard, all while keeping my eyes open for trouble until I can somehow earn back his good graces.”
“I hate that this happened to you.”
I snort. You’re telling me.
I scratch the edge of my jaw. “With you and I seeing each other more often, the timing isn’t the best, I’ll give you that.”
She leans back in her chair and grunts. “And I thought my night was bad.”
I glance over at her with a frown, searching her face for clues as to what she might be referring to. “How was your night bad? I know I was late, but—”
“It was nothing. Just . . .” She groans and bites her lip, and I can sense her hesitation when she says, “It’s Chance.”
I stiffen at the name.
“What about him?”
“He showed up at my parents’ place looking for my father before he got home, and my mother made him go out with us since you weren’t there yet. I think she felt bad for me or—what?” she asks, taking in my murderous expression.
A prickling heat I recognize as jealousy floods my veins and shimmies up my spine. Every muscle in my arms coils at the thought of Chance fucking Lockhart rushing to take my place.
The fact that he knew I was running late tonight and showed up on Lane’s doorstep is more than a little telling, and it settles in the pit of my stomach like a rock. “Nothing. Go on.”
“Well, I didn’t want him to come with us but I was stuck. Then to make matters worse, my mother said she’d tell you where I was if you showed up, so he knew I’d been waiting on you, and he said something that pissed me off.”
“What did he say?”
She fiddles with the hem of her shirt. “Just something about how you weren’t good for me and a bad influence.” She winces. “Now that I know what happened tonight, I assume that’s where he was coming from, but I told him in no uncertain terms that he didn’t know what he was talking about and to get lost.”
My good hand fists, my mind churning.
Interesting that he thought Coach would be there, when he knows damn well he stays after practice for more than an hour each night. Also interesting is the fact that he waited to speak with Coach until we were in the locker room. Normally, he’d do it right on the field after practice.
Come to think of it, he’s never stopped him in the locker room before. Yet he did tonight. The same night someone planted booze in my locker, poised to fall out when I opened the door conveniently in front of Coach.
The timing is suspect at best, made more suspicious by the fact he busted ass to get to Lane’s house in search of Coach when he knew damn well he wouldn’t be there, then bad-mouthed me to her.
My jaw hardens.
Suddenly, it’s looking a lot less like the booze bottle was some kind of honest mistake or a prank gone wrong and a lot more like someone put it there.
And I’d bet anything that someone was Chance.
I’m not surprised when Coach asks to see me after practice.
I jog off the field, hit the locker room quickly, then make my way into his office. The stitches tug and pull at the palm of my hand as I give the door a quick knock before entering.
Coach’s tanned face lifts and he waves me in, folding his arms over the desk in front of him while he studies me like one of the plays in his playbook.
“Nichols,” he nods toward the chair across from him, “have a seat.”
I do as he asks, watching as he leans back in his chair. “How’s the hand?”
“Fine, sir,” I say, silently cursing the way my stomach ties itself in knots. I might have known this was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Hell, he had me do ten extra sets of bleacher runs and one hundred push-ups after practice, and I’d do it all thrice more if it meant I could skip this confrontation altogether.
Coach sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Listen, Nichols, this isn’t personal. Most coaches in the league would give you a warning and move on. Maybe that’s what I should do, too, but I like to think I’m different. I care about my team. I value respect and hard work and personal responsibility. I’m not just trying to grow great football players, but great young men, too, and I don’t think I need to remind you that you shouldn’t be drinking during the in-season. And you sure as hell shouldn’t have alcohol in your locker, especially when you’re underage.”
I clear my throat, sensing this is my cue to say something. “With all due respect, sir, the booze wasn’t mine. I know that’s hard to believe. It makes little to no sense considering very few people have access to our combinations, so I know how bad this looks, but it’s the truth.”
He stares at me for a moment like he’s trying to decide whether to believe me. “I’ve seen drugs and alcohol ruin lives. I’ve also seen a lot of people in my time claim they didn’t have a problem when they did. Denial can be a very powerful mental game you play with yourself.”
I scoff. “You think I’m lying?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Only you know the truth, but what I do know is that this is your second warning this season” He leans forward in his chair and picks a pen up off his desk, tapping it on the smooth hard surface. “And if you get another, well, it won’t bode well for you. I’ve seen this happen before. A kid with talent starts getting in trouble here or there, just minor things, but each one worse than the last. Next thing you know, they’re getting busted for something they can’t crawl out of, and their ass is off the team. I’d hate to see that happen here. You have a lot of talent, Nichols. I don’t want to see you waste it, and I’d like to be the one to help you reach your full potential. With a QB like Lockhart at your disposal”?he shakes his head? “well, the sky’s the limit.”
I grind my teeth. Fucking Lockhart. If Coach only knew what a dirty rat I suspect him to be. I’d love nothing more than to burst his bubble, but I suspect it would take a lot to make him doubt his protégé.
I’ve stewed over everything that happened since last night, and now more than ever, I’m certain it must’ve been him who planted the booze in my locker. The only thing I can’t seem to piece together is why he did it. I’m not a threat to his spot on the team and I haven’t given him any trouble on the field. The only thing I’m guilty of is spending time with Lane, so I have to assume there’s a connection. He must know we’re seeing each other and he’s jealous.
But why not simply rat me out to Coach?
It’s the only part of the argument I don’t have an answer for.
I clear my throat, sensing Coach wants acknowledgment. “Yes, sir. I can assure you nothing else will happen.”
He taps the pen on the desk again, eyeing me over a stack of papers. “On a personal note, I know you’ve been spending time with Lane and Sophie.”
Oh shit.
I stiffen, every muscle in my body rigid as I wait to see where this is going.
“She seems to value your friendship,” he says, and the tight line of his mouth tells me he’s none too pleased about it. “Lane doesn’t trust easily, so I can only assume by inviting you into Sophie’s life she trusts you. Don’t break that trust. And keep it . . . friendly. As long as you can do that and remain respectful, no drinking or funny business, we shouldn’t have a problem.”
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.
I’m fucking falling for this girl, and her father—my coach—loathes me so much he feels the need to issue me a warning.
Fucking fantastic.
“I can assure you, I have nothing but the best of intentions where your daughter and granddaughter are concerned.”
He leans back in his chair once more, eyeing me beneath a knitted brow. “I’m glad to hear that.” Another couple taps on his desk and he says, “I think we’re finished here.”
“Yes, sir.” I rise to my feet and exit Coach’s office so fast, my head spins.
I’m not more than a few feet down when a hand clamps over my shoulder. I glance up to find Tommy hovering outside, his features twisted in concern. With a lift of his chin, he says, “Hey, a bunch of us are headed to Slice. You wanna join?”
I glance behind me, then back to him again and shrug. “I’ll hang for a bit.” The truth is the only place I want to be is wherever Lane is, but that isn’t an option. Not with her at her parents’ house tonight and me on Coach’s shit list, so pizza with the boys is about as good as it’s going to get. If I go back to the dorm, all I’ll do is either miss her or stew over the whole booze-in-my-locker thing.
“Come on.” We exit the tunnels and step out into the cool evening air when I feel Tommy glancing my way. “I haven’t seen you since yesterday.” He hooks a thumb back the way we just came. “How’d that go?”
“It wasn’t fucking mine, man.” I shove my hands in my pockets as I try to smother the urge to defend myself further.
Tommy raises his hands, eyes wide. “Hey, I didn’t think it was. We’ve been rooming together since the beginning of summer. You think I don’t at least know you well enough by now to know you wouldn’t be caught dead with a bottle of liquor in your locker? Shit.” He shakes his head and scratches the side of his stubble-covered cheek. I exhale, my muscles loosening.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, staring at the courtyard as we pass through it toward the edge of campus.
“Shoot.”
“What are your thoughts on Lockhart?”
Until now, I’ve pretty been tight-lipped about the dude, mostly because everyone and their mother seems to fucking worship the ground he walks on. Unless they’re from a rival team, and even then, they’re begrudgingly in awe of his talent.
“As a quarterback or a person?”
“A person, I guess?” After all, his character off the field isn’t necessarily tied to his character on the field. Unless you take into consideration our last away game against Alabama where he barely gave me the ball.
“I think he’s an arrogant asshole.” Tommy shrugs. “But I guess I figure that comes with the territory of being great.”
I grimace. I don’t trust Lockhart as far as I can throw him, and it bugs the shit out of me a dick like that is so good at what he does.
“I think maybe he stashed the booze.”
Tommy chokes. “For real, dude?”
I nod, saying nothing as we pass the Bowman Center and take the walkway toward the sidewalk that leads into town. “If I tell you something, will you keep it between us?”
“Of course, man. Look, I know most of my free time is spent with Melissa, but I’m here for you if you need me. I just gotta prioritize in my downtime, you know?”
I wave him off. “Dude, I get it. Trust me. That’s actually kind of what this is about.”
Tommy frowns. “I’m not following.”
“I’m . . .” Shit. How do I explain this to him. Technically, I’m not seeing Lane yet, at least not like that, but I want to be. I will be.
I run a hand over the scruff on my jaw. “Well, I’ve kind of been talking to Lane Turner and—”
“No fucking way.” Tommy’s eyes bulge and he halts in his tracks. “You have a thing for Lane? But on the bus, you insisted it was nothing, that you just had class together.”
I shrug. “I lied.”
Wasn’t it obvious?
“Wait.” Tommy frowns. “She’s not the chick from the park, is she?”
“The one and only.”
Tommy groans. “Damn, bro. You sure about this?”
“I mean, technically we’re only friends. We haven’t crossed any lines, if you catch my drift, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“You sure about this, dude?”
“Never been surer of anything in my life.”
He stares at me for a moment, then starts to walk again, taking the sidewalk that leads into town. “Does Coach know?”
“He knows we’re friends.”
Tommy whistles. “He doesn’t play around. I bet he wasn’t happy about the booze on top of you and Lane hanging out.”
“You could say that,” I grind out.
“So, where’s Lockhart come into all this?”
“You know how tight they are, right? Him and Coach?”
“Sure. It’s pretty common knowledge among the team, and they don’t exactly try to hide it. He coached him in high school, right?”
“Right. And maybe I’m paranoid, but I can’t help but feel that ever since Lane and I have started hanging out, he’s had a huge problem with it.”
“Did he say anything to you?” Tommy arches a brow.
“Not specifically. But there are signs. Like the entire game at Alabama where he didn’t give me the ball once. Some comments he made about the bracelet her daughter made me. Confronting Lane about hanging out with me. Extending game tape hours today so that I can’t see her.”
“You think he planted the whiskey in your locker, don’t you?”
“I think it’s a definite possibility,” I say.
We cross the street and Tommy pauses on the sidewalk in front of Slice. “You really think he’d fuck with you like that over Turner’s daughter?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but after I cleaned the glass up, changed, and had Mark bandage my hand, I busted ass to get to her place last night because I’d promised I’d go trick or treating with them, but guess who beat me there, ‘looking for coach’?” I make air quotes with my hands.
Tommy’s brows rise. “No shit.”
The muscle in my jaw twitches. “And, according to Lane, when he found out she was waiting for me, he laid into her about how bad he thought I was for her.”
Tommy whistles. “So, you think he has a thing for her? Or is it more like a brotherly, overprotective thing?”
Do I think he’s interested in Lane? I don’t know. The fucking pieces don’t quite fit; it’s like I’m missing something, but I’m not sure what. Then again, maybe he’s an overbearing douchebag when it comes to Lane because of what she went through in high school. He would’ve been around when she was pregnant. It’s possible he’s worried I’m just another egotistical asshole that only cares about himself.
I want this theory to fit, and logically it makes sense, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel right, like a pair of shrunken jeans. “I’m not sure,” I say after a while.
My gaze finds the large window of Slice. I can already see several of the guys from the team inside, waiting to be seated.
Tommy follows my gaze, his brow knotted as he says, “It’s gotta be the overprotective bit, right? Or maybe he’s just pissed that you disregarded Coach’s orders? I mean, it would be weird to go to such lengths just because he was into her when the dude could, literally, have any chick in the tri-state if he wanted.”
Not Lane; never Lane.
“Right,” I say.
Tommy claps me on the shoulder. “Maybe you should just talk to him, clear the air and let him know your intentions. It can’t hurt, right?”