“Thanks for your support,” East says sarcastically.
Wade decides to step in. “Reed’s a hothead. No offense, brother,” he says to me.
“None taken.” There’s no point in pretending I don’t like a little physical violence. But just because I like to punch a few people in the face doesn’t make me a killer. “But since I didn’t do it, then this will all go away.”
“In the meantime, there’s going to be a circus around here.” Ronnie decides to pick up Hunter’s train of thought and stupidly run with it. “We’ll constantly be asked questions about it when the focus should be on football. This is the last year for half of us starters. Is this the way we want to go out?”
More than a few of my teammates are nodding in agreement. Status is everything to a lot of these kids, and graduating with a football championship under their belts will give them some serious bragging rights.
But I never imagined that they’d hang me up by my nuts just so they can win a damn game.
I slowly unclench my fingers. No violence, I remind myself. None.
Sensing my patience is strained to the limit, Wade gets up. “Ronnie, we have all of a dozen reporters who cover our games, and most of them ride our jocks so hard, I don’t even need to get laid after the last whistle. Besides, Reed’s one of our best defensive players. Without him, I’m gonna need to score five, maybe six touchdowns, and I don’t wanna work that hard.” He turns to Hunter. “I hear what you’re saying, but Reed’s not gonna be a distraction, are you, man?”
I shake my head curtly. “No, I’m here to play football, nothing else.”
“Hope so,” the big man says.
And then it hits me, what Hunter’s really concerned about. He’s a scholarship student at Astor and needs a free ride for college. He’s worried my drama is going to scare colleges away.
“Scouts are still gonna come to the game to see you, Hunter,” I reassure him.
He looks doubtful, but Wade pipes up in support. “No doubt. They’re all salivating over you. Plus, the more wins, the better you look, right?”
That seems to satisfy Hunter, because he doesn’t voice another objection.
“See?” Wade says cheerfully. “’S’all good. So let’s just go practice our nuts off and compare notes about who we’re all taking to Winter Formal next month.”
One of our wide receivers snickers. “Seriously, Carlisle? What, are we a bunch of chicks now?”
With that, the mood in the locker room lightens.
“This is bullshit,” Ronnie snaps. “He shouldn’t freaking be here.”
Or maybe it doesn’t.
I stifle a sigh.
At Ronnie’s unhappy glare, East slaps his chest. “C’mon, Richmond, let’s do a few Oklahoma drills. Maybe if you can put me on my ass once, you won’t worry so much about the press.”
Ronnie flushes. The Oklahoma drill requires one player to take on another while the teammates huddle around in a circle. East hardly ever loses, and certainly never to Ronnie.
“Fuck you, Easton. That’s the problem with you Royals. You think violence solves everything.”
My brother takes a step forward. “It’s football. It’s supposed to be violent.”
“Gotcha. So killing a woman you don’t like is just natural for you guys, huh?” An ugly smile twists his mouth. “I guess that’s why your mother killed herself. She was tired of dealing with psychos.”
The thin thread of my self-control snaps as a red haze washes over my eyes. This piece of crap can say whatever he wants about me, but to drag my mother into this?
Oh. Hell. No.
I’m on him in a heartbeat, one fist slamming into his jaw as we both crash to the floor. Shouts break out all around us. Hands reach out and grab my collar and the back of my shirt, but nobody is able to haul me off him.
I hear a sickening crack. Primal satisfaction rushes through me when blood spurt out of Ronnie’s nostrils. I broke his nose and I don’t give a shit. I get one more blow in, a jab to his chin, before I’m suddenly wrenched away.
“Royal! Where’s your fucking head!”
Instantly, the anger in my gut is sucked away and replaced by a knot of anxiety. Coach is the one who pulled me to my feet, and now he’s standing there, his face red and his eyes glittering with fury.
“Come with me,” he growls, bunching his fist into the bottom of my practice jersey.
The locker room is as silent as a church. Ronnie is staggering to his feet and wiping his bloody nose. The other players are staring at me in apprehension. Before Coach drags me through the doorway, I catch a glimpse of East’s uneasy expression, Wade’s frustrated one, Hunter’s resigned one.
Shame churns inside me. Damn it. Here I am, trying to prove to these guys that Royals don’t answer every minor bit of bullshit with a fist, and what do I do? I bring out the fists.
Fuck.
6
Ella