Chapter 30
GAbrIEL
“I’m going to murder him.” I recount the moment I found Austin looming over Cecilia in the halls. How he was pressed up against her. How her eyes were wide and filled with tears. He’s fucking terrorizing her.
That look of stark fear on her face. I don’t ever want to see that look in her eyes again.
My blood boils, and my fingers curl into a fist. “Austin is a problem. One that needs to be dealt with.”
Immediately. I’m sick of waiting around. I pulled back a little after Cecilia broke things off. I know she wants to fight her own battles, and with me out of the picture, it looked like Austin was laying off her, but fuck this. It’s like the guy has a death wish.
“You can’t retaliate,” Julio says with a grimace. “We’ve gone over this before. He’s provoking you for a reason. At his core, Austin is a bully. But he doesn’t put himself in the line of fire. He starts shit and lets his lackeys finish it. There’s a reason he was goading you today.”
“I know that,” I snap. I’ve been trying for weeks now to find a way to get Holt kicked off the team and I’ve come up with nothing, but his stunt in the halls today reminded me of Coach’s number one rule. No fighting off the field.
Best case scenario—if it’s a minor infraction, a small tussle or some shoving—you’re suspended from that week’s game.
But players have gotten into more serious fights before and it’s not uncommon in those situations for it to result in a player losing their spot on the team. Repeat offenders have even been expelled.
With my luck, my fate would be the latter.
Holt’s rich-ass parents would storm the pitch and demand I be removed. With how much money they throw at the University, Coach would have no choice but to do what they wanted, and it’d be my future up in smoke. Not Holt’s.
“I can’t stand by and do nothing, either, J.” From the moment Cecilia and I got together I’ve been trying to work out a solution, but short of her coming forward again and demanding some sort of justice—which there’s no way in hell of her doing—there isn’t anything we’ve been able to come up with.
Pursing his lips, he nods. “I know.”
Felix shifts closer, his eyes straying to Deacon’s who’s casually leaning against our lockers, pretending not to hear our conversation. “Are we pulling him in?”
The man in question quirks a brow but remains silent, waiting for our decision. I like that about him.
Silent communication passes between Julio, Felix, and I. We’ve shielded Atticus from most of this. He’s a freshman and his position on the field is goalie, so there’s not a lot of opportunity for anyone on the team to target him. Thus far, Austin and his cronies have left him alone.
I’d like to keep it that way.
Deacon won’t be so lucky, though. There’s no way to hide the fact he lives with us, and to be honest, it’s too much trouble to try.
Holt, along with everyone else on the team, is going to get an introduction today.
And it’s not like we’ve been hiding him on campus.
He’s been kicking it with Felix all day.
Austin will automatically mark him as an enemy the moment he lays his eyes on him. And with him open on the field … shit.
“It’s not something you should need to worry about,” I tell him, feeling like an absolute dick for dragging him into this.
“But we have problems with a few guys on the team. It doesn’t mean you need to be involved in our problems, though.
” Living with our crew doesn’t mean he has to take sides.
He can try and stay out of it if he wants to.
Keyword being try. “You’re new here. There’s no reason to rock the boat early on.
But you should have a heads up because there’s a chance you’ll be targeted for living in the house.
For being associated with us, whether you want to be involved or not.
” I tilt my chin toward Julio and Felix beside me.
“Holt and his friends may not give you a choice.”
Deacon’s expression darkens. “Petty bullshit problems or real shit?” he asks, taking me a little by surprise.
“Real shit,” Julio answers for me.
Deacon nods. “Alright. I’m taking sides. Pull me in.”
I snort. “You can’t make that decision without knowing what you’re getting yourself into. And I can’t give you all the details. Some shit isn’t mine to share.” Like what happened to Cecilia.
He shrugs. “Kasey and Dom vouched for you guys. That’s enough for me. I don’t need to play nice with anyone else. I’m here to play soccer. If people want to fuck with that, I know where my loyalty lies.”
I level him with a considering gaze. “Just like that?”
He nods, hazel eyes determined. “Just like that.”
Voices echo through the locker room as the door opens. We were the first ones here since most of us take morning classes, but it looks like the rest of our team has finally arrived.
“We’ll fill you in and figure things out after practice.
” Julio says, shutting his locker and turning to me.
“For now, focus. We don’t need any distractions with Holt on the field, and we have a game coming up against the Crown Point University Hawks.
They’ve had a killer season so far. We all need to have our heads on straight the moment we walk onto that field. Understood?”
We all mutter our agreements.
“Good. Now get dressed and get your asses on the pitch.”
With that, Julio heads out, probably to go talk to Jameia—our assistant coach—and see what the plan is for today.
“You good?” Felix asks as soon as Julio is out of earshot.
“I will be,” I tell him.
The corners of his mouth lift. “How are we playing today’s practice?” he asks with a glint in his eyes.
I swear, the guy lives for this shit, so it’s no surprise that his grin widens when I tell him, “Savage, my man. We wait for Holt to strike first,” and he will. “And then we play fucking Savage.”
Both my shins are bleeding, but Holt doesn’t look any better. He’s got a bruise forming on his left cheek, and a trail of blood drips down his right elbow. He’s been keeping that arm close to his side, too. A clear indication he doesn’t want it jostled, so I know it hurts like a bitch.
Good.
We’re halfway through practice, and shit is already ugly on the field. I can’t take credit for the shiner. That one was all Deacon. He’s been giving Holt a run for his money. From the moment Coach blew the whistle, Deacon’s been on him.
I’ve got to hand it to the guy. For a freshman, he’s a quick study.
Deacon Hunt analyzes the way each and every player plays, scrutinizing their position. How they move. Which direction they lean into when they move in for a steal or aim for a goal. It’s fascinating to watch, and it’s clear that no one on the field knows what to do with him.
The way his mind operates doesn’t come as a surprise. Not when you really think about it.
Hunt was a quarterback for Suncrest U before his transfer to PacNorth.
He’s used to taking in the entire field, making note of everyone’s position, the directions they’re moving in.
He’s had to get comfortable with taking in massive amounts of information before making split-second decisions and that skill of his shows.
Deacon will make the starting lineup before the season’s end. I have no doubt about it. Which is damn near unheard of for a freshman. This is only day one, and he’s already performing at a high level. The only question now will be where to put him.
Soccer isn’t like football. One player doesn’t determine the play. But there are certain positions that can play to his strengths. Positions like mine. Not that I’m concerned.
We usually play 4-4-2 or 4-3-2-1 formations, so there are anywhere from three to four midfielders on the pitch at any given time.
Watching the way Deacon’s mind works, he’d be a killer attacking midfielder like myself.
The only problem there is that an attacking midfielder provides support and opportunity for the striker to score, and right now, that person is Austin fucking Holt.
The division in the team is palpable, and I wish I could say it came from me, but Julio is right. We need our heads in the game if we’re going to have any shot at beating CPU.
During practice at least, me and my boys are making an effort. I’ve passed that asshole the ball multiple times but Holt doesn’t follow the play. He’s aggressive, causing us to respond in kind as he takes cheap shots that interfere with advances that should be resulting in goals.
In short, he’s turning practice into a mess, and Coach is pissed. We all are. The only thing improving my mood is that for every cheap shot Holt takes, I’m able to hit him back just as hard.
If he plays like this during our game, we’re going to lose, and while he might not care given that soccer is just a pastime for him, the rest of us do. Even a couple of his frat buddies are starting to look visibly pissed off.
Coach blows his whistle in the middle of one of our plays.
“Reset,” he shouts. “One-Two,” he calls out our next play.
My gaze flickers to Deacon. “You good?”
His mouth twists, and I curse. He doesn’t know this one. “I got it.” I tell him, getting into position.
Deacon’s rusty on the particulars of the game, and he’ll need to spend time outside of practice memorizing plays, but he’ll get there. All of that can be taught.
What comes naturally to the guy is his speed. He’s fast as fuck and he’s one hell of a good shot. He hasn’t missed a single goal he’s gone after. To say I’m impressed is putting it mildly.
“You gonna pull your fucking weight?” I yell at Holt. As the striker, that asshole is pivotal in a One-Two play.
“Fuck you,” he shouts back.
Awesome. New plan. I put my hand up asking Coach to give us a minute and jog over to Deacon. Coach curses but gives me the time.