Chapter Twenty One - Asher
I walk into the locker room still damp. Leaving a trail of droplets from my car all the way here, like little crumbs giving away my exact location.
I’m not like slightly dewy damp.
I mean full-body, socks-squishing kind of damp.
The “Coach hosed me down after I slept with his daughter” kind. Aggressive, not the worst outcome and actually kind of funny, but maybe the worst is yet to come? Worth it.
But yeah, morale right now? Low.
The second I step through the door, Collins spots me. It’s like I have a beacon above my head the way his neck snaps after his double take. Here we go.
His eyes go wide. He drops his protein bar like it’s been replaced by a hot iron. He’s going to enjoy this, every minute.
“Yo, did someone just baptise you? You look like you got hit with a tidal wave.”
Jace turns from his locker, does a double take, and immediately starts cackling. “Bro. What. Did you shower in your hoodie?”
“Didn’t realise you had to swim here Ash.” Peyton, the usually quiet and shy Peyton cuts in.
“Fellas,” I mutter, yanking off the soaked hoodie and wringing it out like I’m starring in a wet T-shirt contest for emotionally repressed athletes who could possibly be on their last day—which given how calm coach was this morning I could very well be buried out the back of the stadium after training. “Not today.”
“Not today?” Collins repeats. “You say that like yesterday was normal. Did you fall in a pool? Get caught in a sprinkler? Or—wait—was it Scarlett?”
“Scarlett, what the fuck were you doing with Scarlett” snappy words from the corner of the dressing sheds belonging to you guessed it, Caleb.
Jace gasps like he just witnessed a plot twist in a soap opera. “Oh my God, was it coach, tell me it was coach?! I can see it now him sipping his coffee on the front veranda and hitting you with the sprinklers on full ball.”
I hang my hoodie on a hook, sighing. “Can we not do this right now?” I nod my head in the direction of snappy Caleb.
“We have to do this right now,” Collins says, already pulling out his phone. “This is locker room legend material. ‘Kingston Gets Rinsed by Coach’—I’m starting the group chat.”
“Hey, I never said this was coach or Scarlett related” I huff rubbing my hand down my face.
“Okay but you didn’t tell us why you look like you’ve walked through a car wash, and you haven’t denied it either sooo we are putting our few brain cells together and working it out, right boys?”
There’s more laughter and a few sounds I can’t make out from the guys but they’re all running on the same brain wave, and that is that it was Scarlett related, and well they aren’t wrong, are they?
Across the room, Caleb’s now sulking in silence like a villain in a YA drama. Arms crossed. Staring like he knows exactly why I’m wet and wants the whole damn locker room to know too.
The look on his face is priceless to say the least, and I can’t imagine the scenarios going through his head. I hope in every one of them I’m naked.
He doesn’t say anything, just glares at me.
But his silence is louder than Collins at a bar on karaoke night. Maybe the morning is looking back up again.
On the Field—9:15 AM
Coach is pacing.
And not his usual sideline strut. This is full dictator energy. Hands behind his back. Slow. Menacing. Like a lion preparing to maul a zebra, or a dad finding out his star fullback is canoodling with his daughter who is also now his manager. And canoodling is putting it lightly.
“Gentlemen,” he says, voice gravelly and low, “there are rules.”
We all straighten up like terrified kindergartners. I’ve got a funny feeling this lecture is about to be directed at me, and only me.
“Rules are what keep a team running. What builds structure. Discipline. Respect.”
I hear Collins whisper, “Is this about the wet hoodie?”
Coach snaps his head in our direction like a sniper spotting movement in enemy territory.
“Someone in this team broke those rules.”
We collectively stop breathing.
“So now? We all pay.”
And just like that—hell opens up in the grass below us and drags us all down, and I realise the impromptu morning shower was just the beginning, he knew Scarlett was watching. The old man went easy on me not for my sake but because he was bluffing his daughter.
Drills. Sprints. Pushups. Bear crawls across a field hot enough to fry a bacon and eggs breakfast on. I think Jace actually cries during the fourth round.
Halfway through a set of hill runs, someone finally breaks.
Of course, it’s Caleb.
He jogs beside me, smirking like a cat who just saw the canary get grounded.
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with you rocking up soaked this morning, would it?” he says, voice too casual.
“Back off, mate.”
“Oh, come on,” he taunts. “What was it, midnight swim? Early morning dip at Scarlett’s pool house, the one with blue and sand coloured wallpaper?
You don’t think you’re the only one who’s been in there do you?
” I know he’s trying to get under my skin, but I could punch his fucking face in for even insinuating what he is right now.
Before I can answer, Collins—God bless him—chimes in from the other side of the line.
“Didn’t you hear, Caleb?” he pants. “Asher signed with Maroon Management. Scarlett’s his now. Legally and all.”
That stops Caleb’s mouth moving cold.
He looks at me. Real slow.
“Oh yeah?” he says, lips twitching. “Guess she still doesn’t know the big secret then, huh? Wouldn’t have opened her legs knowing that.”
I pause for a beat.
The world slows.
And I don’t remember grabbing his jersey or slamming him to the ground. All I remember is the snap inside me. The spark that becomes a wildfire. Like flicking a lighter over a petrol doused bonfire.
Fists fly. Grass tears. People yell. Every ounce of hatred I’ve ever had for this cocky prick rears and pulses through my veins straight into my fists. I’ve laid a few on him, he fucking deserves it speaking about Scarlett like that the jealous dog.
And then—
“ENOUGH!”
Ted’s voice booms across the field.
We are both statues mid scuffle.
The silence is deafening.
“Kingston. My office. Now.”
I wish the field would actually open up into a sink hole and swallow me whole, this won’t be good.
Coach’s Office—11:03 AM
I sit, knuckles raw, breathing hard.
Coach closes the door behind him, leans against it, arms folded.
His brows furrow beneath the rim of his Ridgebacks hat as his eyes peer out from underneath their greying thickness.
Coach was a gun back in his day, now he’s getting on, but we all respect the fuck out of his wisdom.
He’s got that natural dad vibe going you know.
Like he’d give his heart and soul up for the people he loves, there’s been lots of moments these past two years that I’ve wished a man like coach was my dad instead of the ambiguous, arrogant prick I got for a father.
“Don’t let him get under your skin.” There it is, that dad vibe he oozes.
I stare at the floor. “He’s trying to get in my head, respectfully coach, he said things about Scarlett that—well he’s lucky he’s still fucking breathing.”
“He thinks he’s in love with my daughter, Asher. He’s had a crush on her since she wore pink glitter boots in the first grade. Scar turned him down her whole childhood and looks like she’s doing it now too then.”
I look up, startled. “Wait, seriously?” It’s all clicking, and my jealousy isn’t unwarranted Caleb the schemer has been hot for Scar the whole time.
“Dead serious. Drew a picture of their wedding in crayon and everything. Gave it to me when he was seven. Thought I’d keep it for the slideshow, I’m sure.”
I cough a laugh before I can stop it. The way he says things with a straight face, I’m not sure if the old man is pulling my leg or if he’s dead serious. I thought this chat was headed in a different direction. But fuck me I’m glad this is where we are headed.
Coach cracks the faintest smile. “It’s not about you. Not really. It’s jealousy. Pride. Caleb’s used to being the golden boy around here. He doesn’t like being replaced.”
I lean back in the chair. “I’m not trying to replace anyone.”
“You’re just trying to play footy, kiss my daughter, and not get murdered by a hose.”
“Exactly.”
He studies me for a beat, then sighs.
“Don’t give him a reason to doubt you. He’ll find one if you let him.”
I nod. “Got it.”
“Now get out of my office before I actually get mad,” he mutters.
As I stand to leave, he adds, “And tell Collins if he makes a meme out of this morning, I will revoke media privileges for the season.”
He clears his throat again “and Kingston, wipe that smile off your face, I can’t have my players thinking I’ve gone soft. You leave this room like you just got your ass handed to you, capiche?”
I give him a deadpan “Yes, sir”
Group Chat: The Dawg House
Collins: “KINGSTON’S BAPTISM: DAWSON’S EDITION”
Photo: Me mid-sprint, hoodie drenched, face furious
God help me.
Scarlett is going to love this.