8. Chapter 8
Bram
I hear Cole's voice through the locker room door, then the clang of a body hitting metal.
It's quarter past five on Wednesday, twenty minutes after practice.
For two days I've been walking this wing at different hours, coming in quietly, trying to find out what happens when the kids think I'm gone.
Now I stop outside the locker room and listen.
Cole is speaking too softly for me to make out the words. Nobody answers him.
I push the door open. The room runs three bays deep, and I can't see into the last one until I come around the second row of lockers.
Cole has Eli against the double-wide lockers at the end of the row.
One gray hand is fisted in the front of the kid's hoodie, knuckles up under his chin, holding him so high that his toes barely reach the floor.
The laundry bin lies tipped on its casters, towels fanned across the floor.
Eli has both hands around Cole's wrist. He looks so small next to the looming gargoyle teen, like they’re not the same age at all.
Cole is bent down into his face, still talking, and then he gives a short, hard shove, and five foot two of slight teenage boy bounces off the lockers.
The taped glasses jump crooked on his nose.
Heat burns through my chest. I cross the room with my wings drawn tight behind me and close my hand on Cole's shoulder. I haul him away from Eli, and his grip on the hoodie breaks. Eli's heels hit the floor. I step between them before Cole can turn back toward him.
Cole jerks around, his eyes wide. For a second he just stares at me. Then he offers me that familiar, easy smile.
"We were just messing around. Eli's fine. Tell him, Eli."
Eli stays flat against the lockers, his hands still raised in front of his chest. He looks at Cole, then drops his gaze to the floor and mutters something that vaguely resembles words but is more a jumble of nonsensical sounds.
"The bin's tipped," Cole tries, nodding at the towels. "We were horsing around and it went over. That's all this is."
He says it so easily. I have to take a breath before I trust myself to answer.
"I saw you. Don't tell me you were playing." I keep my hand on his shoulder until he looks at me. "You're benched Friday. I'm reporting this to the principal, and I'll get you removed from this roster."
Cole's smile falters. I let go of his shoulder, and he takes a step back, staring at me as if I'm the one who's done something wrong.
"You can't do this." His voice rises. "Friday's the playoff. Recruiters are coming to that game. That's my future, and you're going to burn it over some nothing kid?"
His jaw juts at Eli without his eyes ever bothering to make the trip. Behind me, Eli draws a quick breath. I want to put Cole through the fucking wall. Instead, I move a little farther into his line of sight, blocking his view of the smaller boy.
"His name is Eli. And you don't get to hurt him because you can throw a football."
Cole's mouth opens. I don't give him the chance.
"Friday's roster posts at three," I say. "Your name won't be on it. Go home."
He snatches his bag off the bench and shoulders past me, wings furled tight under his jacket. I turn with him and stay where I am until he's out of the room. The door bangs, and his footsteps carry down the corridor.
When I turn back, Eli is already on his knees gathering towels. His hands shake as he tries to drag the bin upright with a fistful of laundry still clutched in one of them.
"Leave the mess. I’ve got it."
"Coach, it's my..."
"Eli." I crouch beside him. "Let me see you."
He looks up through the crooked taped glasses. His collar has stretched low on one side, and he tugs it back into place, pulling the fabric close to his throat.
"Where did he hurt you?"
"It's okay. I'm okay." He looks past me toward the door Cole went through. "Please don't make me stop coming to practice."
I stare at him. He's still holding the towels. I realize this kid is afraid I'll take away the one thing he cares about. All this happened right under my nose, and I didn’t see it. Maybe I was blinded by my pride in my star player. My heart breaks and I hate myself for not seeing the signs sooner.
"You're not in trouble." I wait until his eyes come back to mine. "I should have caught this sooner. I'm sorry, Eli."
His face crumples for a second. He ducks his head, and I give him a moment before taking the towels from his hands and putting them on the bench.
"Come with me. We'll find Ms. Hale."
He gets up slowly. I rise with him and walk him out, keeping my pace to his as we head toward the guidance suite. The warmth spreading along my wings tells me Rory is still here before we reach the junction. For once, I'm simply relieved to feel it.
Her door stands wide on its worn doorstop. She's at her desk, pen in hand, and she comes up out of the chair the second she sees us. She puts the pen down and comes around the desk, her gaze on Eli's face.
"Cole had him against the lockers in the back bay. I walked in on it." Her hand finds the desk edge. "Eli says he's okay, but I'd like you to have a look at him."
She draws the visitor chair out for him, close to the couch. He sits without being asked, his hands tucked between his knees. Only then does she look up at me.
"And Cole?"
"He's benched Friday, and I'm taking a written report to Patricia tonight. I'll speak to Gene in the morning about removing him from the roster."
Her eyes hold mine. I wish I'd been standing here with her two days ago, putting my name beside hers when she asked.
"I should have listened to you."
Her mouth tightens, and she nods. Then she's crouching in front of Eli, asking him quietly where it hurts. He starts to answer, and I step back into the corridor, leaving the door open behind me.
At my desk, I write down what I saw and what Cole said. I have to stop for a moment when I get to what he called Eli. Even now, putting it in writing, I can hardly believe I heard those words out of his mouth. I finish the report, sign it, and take it to the admin suite.
The counter is dark, but Patricia Oakes is still in her office. She reads the report standing beside her desk, over the top of her glasses. When she reaches the end, she looks up at me.
"Where's Eli now?"
"With Rory. I'm taking him home when she's finished with him."
Patricia looks down at the page again. "Thank you for bringing this straight to me."
I nod and leave her with it. Gene will hear it from me first thing in the morning, before the building fills.
He'll back me, though he'll be sick about Friday, same as me.
We've both worked our asses off for that playoff, and now we'll go into it without Cole.
I don't like thinking about the game. I like thinking about Eli trying to get through another practice with him even less.
On the way back, I stop in the locker room. The towels are still where we left them. It takes me a minute to right the bin and gather them up, and I keep looking at the lockers at the end of the row. I've walked past them for years. I never thought of a kid being afraid to go back there.
By the time I get back to the guidance suite, Eli's on the little couch with the throw over his knees and a paper cup of water. Rory sits in the chair beside him, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. He has more color in his face, though he still won't quite meet my eyes.
"I'm fine, Ms. Hale." He pushes the taped glasses straight with one knuckle. "Really. I'm okay."
She reaches over and straightens the corner of the throw where it has slipped off his knee. "You don't have to convince us. Sit for a minute."
I stay by the door while he drinks his water. When he lowers the empty cup, Rory gets up to take it from him.
"Thank you," Rory says to me over his head, quiet. Her fingers touch my forearm as she passes. I look down at her hand, then at her face, and for a second I can't manage an answer.
"Get your coats," I say. "I'm driving you both home."
"Coach, I can walk, it's not..."
"It's November, it's dark, and I'm driving you home." I hold the door for him. "Come on. You've done enough for today."
Eli pulls on his coat, and Rory collects hers from behind the door.
We walk out together. My truck is in the staff lot because I've been hauling the team's cold-weather gear, and I open the back door for Eli before going around to the passenger side.
Rory eyes her own car two spaces down, keys already out.
"I'll walk in tomorrow," she says, to nobody in particular, and climbs into my truck like she's scaling a cliff. I keep a hand near her elbow until she's settled, then close the door. Having her in my truck pleases me far more than it should, considering how we got here.
By the time we leave, frost is shining in the headlights. Eli rides in the back and gives directions in a quiet voice, and I drive him to a narrow house with a bike against the steps and a yellow bulb burning over the door.
"Thanks, Coach." He hangs in the open door a second, hood up.
"I'll see you at practice tomorrow," I say. "My sideline doesn't run itself. We need our team manager."
That gets me something that's most of a smile, and then he's up the steps and inside. I wait for the door to close before pulling away.
Rory gives me her address. It's only a few minutes away, and once she's told me where to turn, neither of us says anything.
The heater ticks, and the streetlights slide over her profile.
Her hands rest in her lap, her keys caught between them.
At this range the bond is strong enough to make it hard to concentrate on driving, but it can't tell me what she's thinking.
I wish she'd look at me. Then she does, and I have to keep watching the road with my knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.
Her street is lined with maples and old porches. She points out the tall Victorian on the corner, bare branches over the roofline. I pull to the curb and put it in park, and the engine idles, and neither of us moves.
"Do you want to come in?"
I turn toward her. She's looking at me, her coat still buttoned, one hand resting on the door handle. She hasn't opened it.
"Yes," I say.
Her shoulders ease, and she gives me a small smile before getting out. I switch off the engine and follow her up the path, trying very hard not to think past getting through her front door.
Her front hall smells like old wood and lemon cleaner, and her staircase was built steep and narrow in a century that didn't plan for me, so I climb it sideways like furniture being delivered. Rory pauses on the landing and looks back.
"Can you get through?"
"I'll manage." I turn one shoulder, clear the banister with my folded wing, and look up at her. "Don't tell anyone about this."
That gets a smile out of her, a proper one this time, and I'd climb the damned thing twice for another. She unlocks her door, and I duck inside.
The apartment is warm, with sloped ceilings and string lights, plants on every sill, and a small yellow couch buried under a pile of pillows.
I can only stand upright along the center of the room, so I stop there while Rory closes the door.
She takes off her coat and hangs it up, then reaches for mine.
I unzip it and let her help ease it free of my wings.
Her hand brushes my shoulder, and I almost turn into the touch.
I want to stay here. Sit on her little couch, if it'll hold me. Find out what she does when she gets home from work. But she's already coming back toward me, and the look on her face makes me forget the couch.
She catches the front of my hoodie and pulls my mouth down onto hers. I bend willingly, my hand finding her waist as she presses close. Her lips are warm, and heat spreads beneath my skin, all the way to my wingtips. When she makes a soft sound against my mouth, I draw her closer.
I want to lift her. I want her arms around my neck and her feet off the floor, and I don't want to wake up alone afterward. That last thought is enough to make me stop. I draw back an inch, keeping my hand at her waist.
"What about your rule?" My voice is rough already. "About a coworker?"
Her breath is quick against my chin. She looks up at me, cheeks flushed, her fingers still curled in my hoodie. For a moment she doesn't answer. Then her grip tightens, and a small, unsteady smile lifts her mouth.
"Maybe you should spank some sense into me again."
The sound that comes out of me was never going to be a word.
"Brat," I growl, and kiss the smile right off her mouth.