47. Salem
SALEM
I drown out the noise and crash into my locker room chair as the guys pour in, amped up. We listen as Coach schools us on what worked and what to fix for the second half.
“Jones, how’s your foot?” a trainer asks as she works on Cillian’s shoulders.
“I’m good,” I reply, jumping to my feet and peeling out of my wet jersey and shorts for a dry set.
Two more quarters and then I can get the hell outta this town and away from the constant gnawing in my gut to be near him.
He asked for just five minutes.
Like fixing whatever this is can be done in five minutes.
And that fucker… Aiden .
I could see him being Blue’s type. Why does he look close to our age? He’s got to be the youngest assistant coach in the league.
My stomach tightens.
I’m the first on my team to return to the court to warm up, but I’m not alone. He’s there, getting fed practice shots by none other than his ex-crush or whatever.
I turn and signal for a ball. I dribble and shoot a mid-range three. It misses.
I try again from a different angle. That one circles the rim and rolls out.
I shake my head.
I’m dribbling the ball between my legs when a loud murmur filters from the crowd, catching my attention. I turn to find Blue glaring into the stands, his ball anchored under his arm.
I try to track his gaze, but I can’t tell what he’s looking at.
He shakes off whatever it is and returns to practicing shots.
I’m running in a layup when the crowd’s rumble thunders through the arena.
I spin around as Blue charges for the stands.
The hell?
I take off as Aiden’s knocked flat on his ass when he tries to hold Blue back.
Blue barrels through the first row, then the second, before I lose track of him as security swarms in his direction.
I rip past them, hopping over the empty floor seats, when I spot him six rows up, not losing steam.
Where’s he going?
My gaze angles above him, scanning the stands, and that’s when I see…Darius and Todd.
Todd, with his phone out, pointed at Blue, and Darius, mouth moving, no doubt saying some foul shit.
“Jones,” I hear someone yell as I rip through the stands, following the lane that Blue cleared.
I’m gaining on him fast when a hand comes down hard on my shoulder. I whip around and glare at the security guard. “Get off me!” I growl. My elbow crashes down on his arm, breaking his hold.
Two more close in, but I turn and tear through the lane until I’m an arm’s length away and can hear that piece of shit Darius.
“…coming to his boyfriend’s rescue.”
I lunge forward but am lodged in place as my jersey is tugged hard from behind.
My vision whites out as I push forward, but I’m locked in place.
I claw at my jersey as Blue scales the final barrier and squares up, two against one.
My hands tear through the fabric, and I break free, closing the distance.
Blue cocks his fist and hammers it toward Darius, whose knees buckle in anticipation, crashing between the seats.
“I’m here,” I say from behind him as he releases a dark laugh, standing over Darius, who’s folded in a fetal position. “You good?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he replies, a cold chill in his tone. “Never been better.”
I glare at Todd, who lowers his phone and backs away.
Blue kneels down, swiping away one of the phones pointed at him. “Look at me.” His voice drops just enough for Darius to hear.
“This is your final warning. Remember this moment. You speak my name or his again, and nowhere, not even a game surrounded by ten thousand people, will be safe for you. Get a life, you homophobic dipshit.”
There’s commotion at my back, most likely security closing in.
Blue rises to his feet, a wall of phones pointed at him. He turns to Todd. “That goes for you too.”
“I t-told him to lay off,” Todd stutters.
I signal for Blue to go first, but he nods for me to move.
The next thing that happens is a blur.
There’s a loud “Watch out” from behind us, and I turn and catch Blue before he falls face-first into the stands.
“That muthafucka,” he sneers as he holds the back of his head.
I rip toward Darius, then I’m yanked to the side as a light blue and gold jersey pushes past. Before I can right myself, Easton’s there blocking Darius’s blow before he hammers a right hook of his own that drops the fucker.
Sid and Cillian close in as Darius sputters, “What was that for?”
“I’m gay, fucker!” Easton fires back, launching another blow, this one against the floor alongside Darius’s head. “You talk about them, you’re talking about all of us.”
Blue and I lock eyes, his murderous glint softened with amusement.
A security guard who has a death wish pushes Cillian hard down the stands.
“What the fuck?” I shout as the guard turns and goes for Sid, who gut checks him as soon as he grabs his jersey.
“Stay down,” Sid warns before we’re escorted out of the game.