Chapter 15

"Dude, you keep staring at your phone like it's going to come alive." Wyatt walks past me with a towel wrapped around his waist.

I ignore him and stare at the last text I sent to Shorty, a text that's gone unanswered.

We just got done with practice. My head was all over the place and I played like shit. My team knows it. I know it. And the Coach knows it. Shorty has invaded my thoughts, and I can't seem to get her out of my head. It's fucking with my emotions.

"Du Pont!" The door slams against the wall as Coach's voice echoes throughout the locker room.

Awesome.

"Get your ass in my office now, boy!"

"What the hell did you do?" Jag asks.

"Besides play like shit?" Nate, one of the team's players, says.

"Nah, that's not it," Jackson chimes in. "Has that fine ass Latina rode your dick yet, Du Pont?" He laughs.

I grab him by the collar and throw him against the lockers.

"What the fuck, man!" he cries out.

"You're a piece of shit, you know that, Jackson?" I yell in his face.

Ash and Wyatt pull me off him.

"Get a hold of yourself," Ash hisses while holding me back.

"Fuck off, Jackson, or your legs won't be the only thing I break."

Jackson's face pales; he knows I'll go through with the threat.

"You good?" Ash asks.

I nod, and he releases me.

I finish dressing and check my phone. No messages. God damnit! I slam the locker shut and throw my bag over my shoulder.

"If he hasn't had her yet, I'll break her in," Jackson says arrogantly.

I drop my bag and charge toward him, but Wyatt holds me back.

"Ignore him," he grits through his teeth.

"You're dead! You hear me, motherfucker! You're dead!" I roar, pointing my finger in Jackson's direction.

"You got a fucking death wish?" Ash punches him in the stomach. Jackson doubles over, trying to catch his breath.

Ash leans down to his level and says, "That's nothing compared to what my brother will do to your face. Say shit like that again and I'll be the one breaking your legs."

"We got this. Go to see Coach." Wyatt pats me on the chest and pushes me toward the door. I yank my bag off the floor and stalk through the doors and down the hall to Coach's office.

When I walk in, he's sitting at the desk with his back to me, looking through some files.

"You wanted to see me, Coach?" I ask.

He spins around and glares at me. "Sit your ass down." He gestures for me to take a chair. I do as he says and wait for an ass kicking. I know he's pissed about my performance lately.

"What the hell was that out there? You've been off your game lately."

I open my mouth to speak, but he raises his hand to stop me. "Never mind. I don't care what your excuse is. If it's about a girl, hash that shit now. There's no room on the field for drama. Especially girl drama." He gives me a warning look.

"If you keep playing like you got your head up your ass, the scouts won't take one look at you. Is that what you want?

"No, of course not."

"Then what is the problem?" he yells.

Everything.

"Nothing, sir."

He stares at me for a long minute.

Then he speaks.

"Tennessee is interested in you, and They're going to be here for the next game."

My head snaps up.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. So get your shit together before the game. You need to kill it out there if you want to make it to the pros.

You got it?" "Yeah, Coach."

"Get out of here. Don't ever let me catch you playing like shit again."

I nod and walk out.

I grab my phone and dial Shorty's number to share the news. Shorty has always been my biggest cheerleader.

Her voicemail picks up. "Shorty, can you please call me back." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Please, call me back, text me, anything." The automated voice alerts me that my time is up.

"Fuck!" I punch the lockers and storm out of the building.