21 | Henry
“SHE TOLD YOU that you’d regret it.”
I repeat Todd Watson’s words in my head, again and again, as I attempt to shower with a freshly bruised and dislocated shoulder. He had sneered them at me, his voice just above a whisper, as I lay flattened against the turf. Nobody had come to help yet, nobody else had heard him.
Natalia told him to hit Georgia.
Blood rushes to my ears with the realization, my cheeks becoming flushed with anger.
She had her Dad set Georgia’s table so far back on purpose, so she had no choice but to stand on the sideline. Directly in Watson’s path. But why the fuck would he agree to do that?
Then it hits me. I already knew why Natalia hated me – she can’t handle rejection, can’t stand the thought that I’d choose another girl over drunken one-night-stands with her whenever she decides she wants them. But, Watson is a different story.
He was captain of the team last season, his junior year. We played well, but the team was held back a ton when Watson showed up drunk to almost every one of our games. The turning point was when the Mavericks approached me about the draft. After my deal with them, my teammates, as well as Coach Bryer, booted him in favor of making me captain, instead.
It’s almost unheard of for a captain to be replaced for their final year of college. I’m realizing, just now, how embarrassing that must have been, how much it must have hurt – and how excited he probably was when Natalia complained to him about wanting revenge on me.
But what kind of sick person would want to hurt Georgia?
“Henry?” A voice echoes quietly through the empty locker room.
I glance down, realizing I’m clad in only a TU Titans towel wrapped loosely around my waist. I tighten it around myself quickly, just in time for Georgia to round the comer.
“Oh my god, um, sorry. I’m leaving,” she stutters, covering her eyes dramatically with her palms and turning back towards the way she came.
“Wait,” I exclaim, before quickly sucking air through my teeth as seething pain courses through the muscles of my shoulder.
She turns around slowly, setting her eyes carefully on the ceiling and not daring to venture any lower.
“I-I just want to say thank you for saving me. I mean, for, um, for taking the hit. I shouldn’t have been on the sideline like that…” She raises a light pink thumbnail to her lips and bites down gently.
“Georgia–” I start, but she quickly overrules me.
“I’m not done.” She sighs and gently pushes a loose curl away from her face. “I’m sorry I mentioned your girlfriend in a negative way. I have no right to control who you date, or to be mad about it. At all.” She glances around the room, attempting not to notice that I’m naked.Her cheeks are burning red.
From the heat or because of me?
As she looks behind her, I allow my eyes to linger on her flushed chest – her breasts rising and falling with each heavy breath. Her waist is noticeably delicate as her tight black tank top clings against her olive skin.
I look away, darting my eyes towards the posters of my teammates lining the locker room walls, my growing erection thankfully subsiding beneath the thin towel around my waist.
“Henry? Are you going to respond?” Her quiet voice snaps me back into reality, and I allow my eyes to meet hers.
“Y-Yes,” I stammer. “I’m sorry… I’m really confused. Natalia is not my girlfriend. She’s not my anything.”
“She’s not?” She shoots me a look of confusion, her brows creasing slightly as she thinks.
“No… why would you think that?” My breathing is heavy as a wave of stinging pain courses through my upper arm and into my injured shoulder.
“Eleanor told me that, after I left your house a few weeks back, Natalia went up to your room. She says you’ve been with her for a few years, and that Natalia was bragging about your, um—” she glances down towards my dick, which awakens under her gaze, “— abilities,” she concludes, shuffling awkwardly on her feet.
I shake my head, my heart pounding with realization.
“No, Georgia,” I whisper, my voice slightly breaking. I clear my throat and take a step towards her, closing the gap between us. The scent of vanilla fills my senses as I draw near to her, and I sigh with relief.
I thought I’d never smell her perfume again.
“I–”
“What the fuck is she doing in here?” Watson growls as he enters the locker room, his gaze trailing from Georgia’s face down to her breasts. He smirks.
“I-I’ve gotta go,” Georgia stutters. “Meet me at the Tribune office tomorrow. 8 o’clock.”
I nod in her direction as she hastily exits the room, my jaw tightened.
“Watson,” I grunt, slipping on a t-shirt and shorts from the bench beside me.
“Yes, captain?” he remarks sarcastically, his voice strained to an octave higher than normal.
I turn towards him, arms crossed against my chest. Burning soreness climbs up my aching shoulder as I move, and I breathe deeply to help subside the pain.
“I know what your plan was, and if I were you I’d back the fuck off. Quickly.”
He stops fiddling with his locker and glances back at me, his brows creased and eyes narrowed.
“Yeah? Or what?” he snarls.
I step closer to him, narrowing the space between us.
“Did you forget that I’m the team captain now? Clearly you haven’t, since you’re trying to get back at me for a choice I had no control over–”
“You could’ve turned down the position, dickhead.”
I inhale through my teeth, the air sharp and cold.
“Listen, Watson. If you ever wanna step on that field again – or keep all your teeth in your fucking face – you’ll leave Georgia alone. You’ll never touch her, never even look at her.”
He lets out a low whistle and chuckles maliciously.
“Watch it, captain. Or else Natalia may not be the only girlfriend I steal from you.”
Drops of rain moisten the top of my hair as I make my way up the steps of the Texas University library, practice gear in hand. Coach Bryer had kept me behind this morning to berate me for not wearing proper gear on the field. Thanks to that prick Watson, my shoulder is dislocated and I’m benched for the next few games while it heals.
“What kind of captain doesn’t wear his helmet?” Coach had asked me, his face set in a permanent sun-damaged scowl.
“My head didn’t get hurt, Coach. It’s my shoulder.”
“I don’t give a damn, Anderson. Point is, you’re out – and you better hope the position of captain is still there for you when you’re back.”
A dull headache pangs against my temples as I rush up the steps, knowing Georgia has been waiting for me upstairs.
The “office” of the TU Tribune is unremarkable: two desks and a dingy filing cabinet. The cinder block walls are covered from floor to ceiling in past editions of the Tribune; some are framed, while others are pinned up crookedly with bright blue putty. I notice the small name plaques on either desk, with GEORGIA CAMPBELL and ELEANOR ADLER written in bold, white lettering. Stacks of papers are strewn about the small room, which can’t be any bigger than a large closet.
I set my gear down on the worn gray carpet and settle into Eleanor’s desk chair. Her table is covered with figurines and knick-knacks, brightly-colored and cluttered around her keyboard and the stacks of papers. I check to make sure the coast is clear before picking up the tiny baseball player balancing on the edge of her computer monitor. It’s only about an inch tall, with TU Titans plastered across the figurine’s chest in maroon lettering.
I'm holding it for less than two seconds before the door opens suddenly and, in my surprise, I toss the figurine back into the mess on Eleanor’s desk.
“I told her not to wear her white sneakers to party on Southgate, Georgie, but she didn’t liste– HENRY! I’m so happy to see you!”
Eleanor greets me with a smile from ear to ear. Enveloping me in a rough hug around my head, she shoots Georgia a soft smirk. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”
She wiggles her eyebrows at us both as she exits, and I laugh.
“She’s quite the character, isn’t she?” I remark, breaking the silence between the two of us.
“You could say that.” Georgia speaks quietly, her plump lips forming into a soft smile.
“So, about yesterday–”
“Thank you again, Henry,” she interrupts, turning her body towards mine as she sits at her own desk. “I-I’m sorry you got hurt. I didn’t realize the sideline could be so dangerous.”
She gestures towards my injured shoulder, which now sits in a sling. Her expression is soft and sympathetic.
Do I tell her Watson tried to hit her on purpose? I don’t want to scare her… I don’t want her to think being around me will hurt her.
I clear my throat and shoot her a confident smirk. “It’s no problem, Campbell. I’m built to take a hit.”
She smiles at me but says nothing. The room is quiet aside from the air conditioning unit above us, which kicks on with a large crashing noise.
“It does that,” Georgia explains, raising her voice practically to a yell so I can hear her. “I guess we should get started with the questions?”
“Sure!” I shout back, glancing up at the deafening AC.
This is where they do all the work for the newspaper? I can barely think in here.
“Okay – um!” She giggles as the roaring sound of the unit seems to get louder and louder. She’s practically screaming when she finally gets to the questions. “QUESTION 1: HAVE YOU ALWAYS WANTED TO PLAY FOOTBALL?”
“WHAT?!” I yell, holding my ear towards her.
“I SAID HAVE YOU ALWAYS WANTED TO PLAY FOOTBALL?”
I scoot my chair until the arms of my own are touching hers.
“YES,” I answer, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. “MY DAD PLAYED FOR THE TITANS. I ALWAYS KNEW I WOULD, TOO.”
She smiles at me, chuckling as the AC unit continues to blast.
“HE MUST BE VERY PROUD OF YOU!” she replies.
“HE WAS!”
“WAS?” Georgia raises an eyebrow at me, jotting down a few notes on a page in front of her.
“HE DIED WHEN I WAS 18. CANCER.”
The air conditioning shuts off suddenly, and my ears ring in the silence.
“I-I’m really sorry, Henry,” Georgia says, her smile fading.
“It’s okay.” I shrug and give her a reassuring look. “It was a long time ago.”
She nods slowly and her voice softens.
“Is your Mom around? Or any siblings?”
“My mom’s alive, but I wouldn’t say she’s ‘around.’ I have a little sister, Sarah. She’s not so little anymore, though. She’s about to graduate – and she watches every one of my games on TV.”
“That’s really sweet.” Georgia smiles at me, her toughened exterior made gentle in the intimate conversation.
“Yeah, I try to make her proud. So,” I glance around the room, taking in the various newspaper headlines that plaster the walls. “This is the headquarters of the famous TU Tribune? Not quite as glamorous as I’d imagined. I pictured a 1950’s boss in a mahogany office, wearing a pinstriped suit and talking like James Stewart.”
She chuckles softly, but I notice a flash of concern in her eyes.
“Everything okay?” I ask her, my brows furrowing.
She tightens her lips and jaw, as if debating if she should respond truthfully or not.
“Yes, it’s just… are you sure you’re okay? That looks like it hurts.” She points to the top of my sling, where a dark purple bruise is just barely visible beneath the collar of my t-shirt.
“Well, it does hurt. But I’m okay, Georgia – don’t worry about me.”
“But I do.” She pauses, a nervous expression on her face, as if she’s said too much.
“Lucky me.”