I clench my fists at my side. Punching this douchebag’s lights out might feel good, but his daddy is a district court judge and I suspect I’d have a harder time buying my way out of an assault charge backed by the Delacortes.
Last time I got in a fight at Astor, Dad threatened to ship the twins off to military school. We were able to smooth everything over because a few other kids were willing to swear that the other punk threw the first punch. I don’t remember if he did or not. All I remember is him saying my mom was a drugged-out whore who offed herself to get away from me and my brothers. After that, all I saw was red.
“Oh, and I heard your daddy got little orphan Ella pregnant,” Daniel crows, on a roll now. “Callum Royal, pedophile. Bet the board of directors of Atlantic Aviation love hearing that.”
“You’re gonna want to shut your trap,” I warn.
I surge toward him, but Wade appears suddenly at my side and yanks me backward.
“What you going to do, hit me?” Daniel taunts. “My dad’s a judge, don’t you remember? You’ll be hauled into juvie so fast your head will spin.”
“Your dad know that the only way you get any chicks is because you drug them?”
Wade shoves Daniel back. “Move on, Delacorte. No one wants you around.”
Daniel is dumb as rocks because he doesn’t listen. “You think he doesn’t know? He’s bought off chicks before. Your Ella won’t talk either because her mouth is so full of Royal dick.”
Wade’s arm shoots out to bar my attack, and if it was only Wade, I would’ve been able to shrug him off. But two other guys from my team appear and grab Daniel, and even as he’s dragged away, he still can’t shut up. “Your control over this school is slipping, Royal! You won’t be king here much longer.”
As if I give a fuck about that.
“Get your head straight,” Wade warns. “We’ve got a game tonight.”
I jerk out of his hold. “That piece of shit tried to rape my girl.”
Wade blinks. “Your girl…? Wait, you mean your sister?” His jaw drops. “Aw man, you’re macking on your sister?”
“She’s not my sister,” I growl. “We’re not even remotely related.”
I push Wade off and watch with narrowed eyes as Daniel gets into his car. I guess the asshole didn’t learn his lesson after Ella and a couple of her friends stripped him down and tied him up as revenge for what he did to Ella.
Next time we cross paths? He’s not getting away that easy.
As Coach goes over some last second changes with Wade, our QB, I methodically wrap one hand with tape and then the other. My pre-game ritual has been the same since I played Pop Warner ball, and usually the routine centers me, narrows my focus to only what’s going down on the field.
Dress, tape, listen to some beats. Today it’s 2 Chainz and Yeezy asking me to bury them next to their hoes.
Tonight, the ritual doesn’t work. All I can think about is Ella. Alone. Hungry. Terrorized by men at a strip club or on the street. The scenes Easton described at the bus station keep replaying themselves over and over. Ella violated. Ella crying. Ella needing help and no one there to answer her.
“You still with us, Royal?” A sharp bark catches my attention and I look up into the annoyed face of my coach.
Across from me, East makes a winding motion with his finger. Time to finish wrapping up and go.
“Yessir.”
We run down the short tunnel and onto the field behind polo-playing Gale Hardesty and his horse. It’s a miracle none of us have stepped in horse shit during this circus routine.
I slap one taped fist into another. Easton joins me.
“Let’s kill these motherfuckers.”
“Absolutely.”
We’re in complete agreement. Neither of us can take out our aggression on one another, but the game here and a fight afterward? Maybe both of us can work ourselves into a livable state.
Devlin High wins the toss and elects to receive. Easton and I crack our helmets together and run out on defense.
“How much did you pay the refs tonight?” the tight end chirps as I line up across from him. He’s a mouthy ass. I can’t remember his name. Betme. Bettinski. Bettman? Whatever. I’ll look at his jersey after I’ve smashed his ass into the turf on the way to his quarterback.
The ball snaps and Easton and I fly into the backfield. The tight end barely touches me, and East and I are there to greet the running back as he gets the handoff. I lower my head and drive my shoulder into his gut. The ball pops loose and the crowd releases a giant roar that extends long enough to let me know that someone from Astor Park is running it deep.
A teammate grabs me by my pads and hauls me to my feet as Easton crosses the goal line.
I look down at the running back and offer my hand. “Dude, head’s up—East and I are in a piss-poor mood and we’re gonna take it out on you tonight. Might want to spread the word.”
The little guy’s eyes widen in alarm.
Bettman shoulders his way over. “Lucky hit. Next time it’ll be your ass on the turf.”
I bare my teeth. “Bring it.”