9 - Phillip
Ten thirty on a Saturdaymorning is too early for this shit. My muscles are screaming and there’s not a damn thing to do about it. We won last night’s game but because we didn’t slaughter our biggest rival, it wasn’t good enough.
Coach’s whistle is hanging from his lips, but he won’t blow it until he’s satisfied. He hardly ever blows it. We’ve been at it for hours, having met at the field at eight o’clock this morning. Sit ups, crunches, side-to-sides. Drills he’s running over and over to punish us for the win we barely walked away with. It’s always the same with him. He pushes us hard, win or lose. But his pushing always turns to punishment.
It’s already damn-near eighty degrees! Sweat pours off us as we run in place, making us look like we’re running through a sprinkler. Scotty drops where he is and pukes. A sure sign Coach is pushing us too hard. In the side row, Landon also drops and even Knox next to him looks pale. This shit has to stop.
When Coach walks by, I break formation. I rip the whistle from his mouth to blow it myself, meeting his rage-filled eyes. His murderous glare says enough before he clears the field.
I’m in for it.
“You’re dancing brave today. Think that win gave you some kind of superpower?” Coach glares, spitting venom.
“You’re pushing them too hard.” I point to the guys dragging themselves away from the field, exhaustion in their profiles. “Why don’t you let them enjoy a win for once?”
“They’ll live. They need to condition. Barely isn’t good enough.”
“Just because Chase went along with your bullshit doesn’t mean I always will.” I’m so mad I can feel my nostrils flaring as I try to level my breathing.
“Leave your brother’s name out of this!”
“Right, because we can talk about all things football, but we can’t talk about him. Got it.”
Dad glares at me hard, his jaw set. “You have a gift.”
“No, he did. I’m only good at football.” My fists clench at my sides. “But they are not me. They can’t take this shit as well as I can!”
He lifts a smug chin. “They need to build more stamina. Look at how you turned out.”
“Enough!” I step closer and his eyes narrow. “You’ve built me this way!” My chest heaves with frustration, spit flying as I yell back at him. I get right up in his face. “What kind of sick bastard makes his son do an extra practice at home as punishment for winning? Who does that shit?” My mind goes back to all the times we’d ride home only for me to do another torturous workout before he’d give me shower or meal privileges.
He steps into my personal space, his voice lowering. “Sick bastard? Well, I’m here to inform you that’s exactly what you are on this field. You have no father here. I am your coach, and this is my universe! You have neither the power nor authority to call any shots.” He takes a step back and with a sick grin adds, “as your father, you will remain on the team and do as your coach advises.”
“Or else?”
His facial expression twists again. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll snap your future so fast you’ll wish I broke your neck.” He lifts his smug chin again and stretches his hand out for his whistle back. “And don’t think I don’t know about that sweet little thing across the street you’ve got your eyes on.”
“Leave her out of it.” My muscles tense with anger. I’m about to see red.
He laughs. “Yep, as I thought. She means something to you.” He steps close again. “Best lose that way of thinking and keep it in your pants.”
“Keep her out of this. I’m not gonna say it nicely again.” I roll my head and neck like I’m about to fight. “She’s not a football play, she doesn’t get discussed on the field. Or ever.”
Coach looks me over with disgust before smoothing his features. He reaches into his pocket for a piece of gum and puts it in his mouth to start chewing. Keeping up appearances, I snort. If only people knew. “Save that energy for the next game. Channel it. Harness it.” He makes a fist and I’m sickened that he’s back to coaching me as a football player.
“Practice is over.” I tense, rolling my neck again.
Coach pulls his sunglasses out of his pocket and cleans them with the corner of his shirt before putting them on as if nothing is going on. “Practice might be over, but you and I have plans when we get home.”
“The hell we do.”
“Make no mistake. We do.” He takes a step closer and holds his finger up, peering over the top of his glasses. “We’re taking your mother up to Aunt Betty’s for a visit while you and I help Uncle Paul with some things.”
I do the math in my head. They live over an hour away. This is going to be an all-day event.
“Whatever you’re thinking, just forget it. Your sister’s coming too.” He pushes his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. “And no, before you say anything, that boyfriend of hers is not coming.”
“He has a name.” You dick, I wanted to say.
“Trent Knoxville, I’m quite aware. However, this is a family affair. We’re taking your mother to lunch on the way up there. I’m not sure when we’ll be home.” He takes a step away and then turns back and points his finger again in my face. “And speaking of home, all will be well. You won’t go stressing your mother with this morning’s tantrum.”
“No sir.” I rip off my practice jersey, glaring with hostility. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
We start walking toward the parking lot. Several people have left by now, only my dad’s car and my truck are left. “Tomorrow, you’ve got appointment times over at the state college athletic department.”
“Why?”
“The athletic director is letting you use the facilities. You’ll be swimming and weight training over there. You can take Knox with you. I’ve cleared it for both of you.”
“Do I pick the time?”
“No. I said appointment times. They’re already set. We’ll discuss at home.” With that he ducks into his car concluding the conversation.
After he pulls away, I punch my seat, trying to let out the last of my frustration before pulling out my phone and texting Samantha. So much for making plans.