11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Shawn

“ W hat is he having you do?”

I glanced up from the clipboard in my hand and smiled at Marketa.

“What makes you think he’s having us do anything?”

“Because I know my dad. So, what is it?”

“It’s some of the plays,” I told her, handing her the board. “I’m not sure, with the team we’re up against, this is the best course of action. I tried telling him earlier in the week that maybe we ought to try something else, but he was dead set that he knew what he was doing. That he was the coach for a reason.”

“I love that man, but when he’s set in his ways, he’ll never budge.” I watched her as she looked over the sheets, her head shaking as well. “I agree with your thoughts, Shawn.”

“Colter, get the fuck away from my daughter!” We both looked up and into the very red face of Coach Jones. “I told you to stay the hell away. Why didn’t you listen?”

“Dad,” Marketa started, ready to defend me, but he quickly shut her up with a glare.

“No Dad. Stay the hell away from him, Marketa. In fact, you can watch the game from my office because I’m not even sure I can trust you not to make eyes at each other.”

“Oh my god, Dad. It’s not what you think. Shawn was talking about the plays-”

“Don’t care,” he nearly yelled, cutting her off again. “Go.” She glared at him before tossing the board back at me and then stomped off. I couldn’t help but watch her, feeling a bit of pride for how she stood up to him. “You, Colter.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You can bench the game. I told you there would be consequences if you didn’t listen. I changed the roster, but now I’m changing it again.” With that, he stepped up to me, pushing his finger in my chest. “She’s fucking off limits to you, do you understand?”

“Coach, we weren’t doing anything, I swear. We were discussing your plays!”

“I know my daughter, and she’s not the coach, just like you aren’t! What I say goes. Same for the plays. Now, get your pants on and join the team, then sit your happy ass on the bench!”

With that, he stormed off to the court, leaving me with my mouth hung open.

If I was going to get punished, at least let me get punished for having my tongue down her throat, not for discussing basketball with her.

I shook my head, heading back to the locker room and getting my joggers back on. I knew the team had talent, but I led them. Who were they going to look to for answers? A coach who was having a pissing contest and didn’t like losing?

“Dude, let’s go. Why aren’t you dressed?” Hugh asked, coming up behind me as we left the locker room.

“Coach is benching me for the game because I was talking to his daughter. We were discussing his plays!”

“That seems rather big for just talking.”

“Yeah, well, that came on the heels of him finding me in his house.”

“Funny, Shawn, you forget to mention that part, huh?”

I shrugged. It was no use discussing any of that now. It was what it was, and I had no choice but to sit on the sidelines like he said.

I just really hoped he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge and when the team needed me, he’d put me in.

I groaned, for I don’t know how many times now, as I sat back and crossed my arms. This game was a complete and total shit show, and Coach just didn’t seem to really fucking care. As if proving the point that I was so bad to be helping him!

All it was doing was pissing the guys off.

Multiple times, the guys have come up and asked about putting me in, but he kept giving them a hard no. And here we were, thirty-five minutes into the game, with a sixty-point difference.

The team wasn’t bad, but again, no direction. That’s why you had a powerhouse on the floor, leading them, directing them, guiding them. Letting them know when to be mindful and who to be mindful of.

But from the onset, they were upset. I know I had to be blamed as well, and I did feel bad, but again, we were just talking. If I was to have the team be mad at me, at least I should have gotten something more out of it.

I also wished I had my phone on me because I have no doubt that Marketa is fuming in her dad’s office, watching this shitshow.

I stood up as I saw Hugh make a break for it down the court once the ball was in play, trying to get a layup, but the guy on the other side had too much height on him and ended up slapping the ball right out of his hands. Of course, it went into the opposing team’s hands, who ran the ball right back down the other side, and easily made a three pointer.

“Hugh!” I called, waving my hands at him. He glanced my way and just shrugged.

“Sit your ass back down, Colter! You don’t say a word.”

“Coach, we’re going to lose this game. It will be a shut out if you don’t let me in.”

“Well, you can have the guilt over that, because this is your fault. Your team needs you and instead, you put your needs before your team.”

“We were talking!”

“I don’t care. Sit your ass back down!”

I glared at him as I took my seat again, crossing my arms once more. This was ridiculous on so many levels.

I got it, got his point. And I imagine that when my daughter gets older, I'd probably be just as freaking protective of her, demanding that guys stay away. But I like to think I'd be wise enough to also remember she'd be an adult and saying she was off limits wouldn't mean much. She'd be allowed to have her own good and bad choices.

I watched, in despair, as mistake after mistake was being called. The team had more fouls than it should have, and it had more missed shots. It kind of felt like they did that crap on purpose, but I know that wasn't the case. They weren't teaching the coach a lesson, they just didn't have proper leadership, and I refused to shoulder all of that.

When the final buzzer called the end of the game, I couldn't even stand to look at the score board, knowing it was a fucking shut out, and those were hard pressed in the NBA! I also didn't want to think about how this was our first game, and it was home court.

We were going to have a tough one to come back from on this one, if we ever did.