She nods sadly. “Ace…he told me that I was a convenient hole and he didn’t care who I slept with, only that he figured he should go get checked out since I was such a slut.” Her mouth twists in pain.
I furtively look to the door, wishing for all the world that someone would come and save me, but it’s no use.
It’s just Stella and me and her uncomfortable confession.
“Ace was probably…” Shit, I have no idea what Ace was feeling but for Stella’s sake, I make something up. “Torn up and…” What would I do if Luce told me she slept with someone else? I’d go beat his ass and then ask her what the fuck. And then, I guess, maybe I’d go sleep with a dozen chicks to make me feel better? Because that’s apparently how Ace dealt with his heartbreak. “He didn’t take it well.”
She snorts. At least she’s not crying. “I think he took it just fine.” She swallows a couple of times. “Coach…he wants to stay here with the Warriors. He’s spooked by the firing of the Chattanooga coach. Ten winning seasons but only one title, so the guy gets shown the door.”
Last year was a blood bath for college coaches. Down in the trenches, I don’t pay much attention to that. Who’s coaching which team only matters when you’re making your college commitment to a school.
“So Remington Barr is a two for one. He gets back at Ace for violating his precious daughter and hopefully secures his future.”
“That’s right. Coach is never going to allow Ace behind center again so long as Barr is healthy, and even then…” She shrugs. “I think even then the third string would probably be given the nod. Ace is done, and someone has to convince him of it. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that you can’t do anything to change Dad’s mind. It was made up months ago.” She walks to the door.
“You should tell Ace,” I call after her.
“I’ve tried. Many times.” Then she’s gone.
I spend another hour working the tackling dummies, the sleds, and then finally I give up and just pound away at the punching block, but the cloud of dread never escapes me. It hangs over me, like Damocles’ sword. I’m just waiting for it to fall and stab me through the skull.
* * *
“Stay away from Lucy.”
No hello. No preamble. Ace just storms into my room before dinner, his eyes livid and his cheeks flushed red.
I almost wish he’d saved this confrontation for later. At least until I was able to put some kind of plan together. All I have at the moment is the vague idea of persuading Ace using the same case I presented to Luce. It’d be good for his future. So few quarterbacks make the transition. More safeties, d-backs and corners out there than quarterbacks. I’d ease into it, though, nice and slow.
“Sure, come on in, Ace. Good to see you. Nice that you could knock,” I say sarcastically, tossing my phone on the bed. “Beer?” I offer because that’s all I have in my room and from the wild, tense look in his eyes, he needs about five of them with a chaser of whiskey.
“Sisters and girlfriends are off-limits.” Ace ignores my offer, preferring to stand and glare at me. I’ve had enough of people spitting on my head in anger today. I get to my feet, fold my arms across my chest, and glare right back.
“And Lucy Watson is neither sister nor girlfriend as far as I know.” Ace had been hooking up with Stella all last semester, banging everything in a skirt, and now he’s trying to jockblock me? I’m going to need to lance this boil.
Ace’s lips thin into an unhappy line. “Lucy is my friend.”
“Like I said—neither girlfriend nor sister. So the locker room rule” —stupid as it is and one that nobody really observes—“doesn’t apply.”
“It does if it’s invoked, and I’m invoking it right now.”
I scratch my temple and reach for some patience even though that character trait isn’t even on my top twenty list of strengths. It lives somewhere down around my feet along with impulse control and restraint. “We’re not in grade school anymore. We can’t call out new rules on the field.”
“Lucy is not a jersey chaser,” he grinds out. “She’s not the type who’s interested in one-night stands and hookups, which is probably hard for you to understand given that’s all you do.”
Jesus. If this guy wasn’t taking it on the chin in the football arena already, he’d be kissing my knuckles.
“Okay, man, you need to take a step back.” I might have gotten around in the past, but I’m twenty-two. I was single, and there were women throwing themselves at me. That I accepted a few—or several—of those invitations doesn’t make me an asshole. “Seems to me that we’re two pumpkins in the same patch, brother. It wasn’t Stella Lowe who was sucking your dick at the after party in Phoenix after the National Championship game two weeks ago. Unless Stella suddenly grew red hair and has a twin that we don’t know about. And I could’ve sworn that you were screwing a Kappa in the bathroom at the Gas Station on Monday night.”