And that kind of perfection? It won’t be easy to give up at the end of the season.
Chapter Seventeen
Austin
Something’s up. I feel it the instant I step onto the practice field. It’s deadly quiet. No jokes. No complaints. No warm-ups. Coach glares at us as we take the field—eyes narrow, brows flat—like he’s just waiting to unleash the beast. The rest of the coaching staff stands behind him, arms crossed, faces blank, as we line up, forming a loose semi-circle. The day is cold and gray, the sun nonexistent. Perfect for a good ass chewing. The only question is whether it’ll be worse than the tongue lashing we got after Spellman busted his leg.
Fuck. Did he hear about the recruits getting wasted?
Fear grips my chest like a vise. That would definitely be a whole other level of shit. One we can’t afford with the Badgers on the schedule this week. They’re playing well and we need our best guys on the field.
We also need them focused on the game.
I take my place at the front of the group, Coop at my side, and resist the urge to look at Johnson. Whatever’s coming, we’re all in it together. Otherwise, Coach would’ve called the offenders into his office. No. Whatever he’s got to say, it’s for the whole team. A bead of sweat trickles down my right temple despite the October chill.
Kennedy catches my eye and lifts a brow, but I don’t acknowledge her. Not even to give the slightest shake of my head. Coach’s red-hot glare is fixed on me, and for now, that’s where it needs to stay. Just another perk of being captain.
Coach grunts and the mass of tension-filled bodies surrounding me stand up even straighter. “Imagine my surprise when I got a call from campus PD,” Coach says, each word landing like a blow to my solar plexus, “informing me that a few of my guys were caught tussling with the baseball team Saturday night.”
A murmur of surprise rises from the back of the group. Proof that word of the scene with McCoy and his boys hasn’t spread far and wide…yet. Heart racing, I will Johnson to keep his mouth shut as Coach’s gaze swings his way. Lucky for Johnson it doesn’t hold. Coach’s eyes pivot, slamming into me with the force of a defensive end.
“You were supposed to be babysitting recruits, so what the fuck were y’all doing messing with the baseball team?” he demands. I bite my tongue, hoping it’s a rhetorical question. “Well?”
Fuck. He actually expects an answer.
I take a steadying breath and force myself to look him in the eye. It’s moments like these when being the team captain really blows. “A few of the guys were watching the Bama game and things got a little tense, but it was no big deal.”
“No big deal?” Coach snorts. “The way I hear it, Reid, you went after one of their guys, so I ask you again, what the fuck happened?”
I grit my teeth, careful not to look at Kennedy. No need to drag her into this mess. “One of their guys had a little too much to drink and disrespected the team.” I shrug, doing my best to downplay the whole incident. It’s not like it was a legit fight. The cop was there for a noise complaint, a fact I’m sure Coach knows. Just like he knows there’s bad blood between the two teams. “I told them to leave.”
“Was that before or after you took a swing at him?”
Anger stirs in my gut at the memory of the shortstop’s words and the way he disrespected Kennedy. I tamp it down. Smith was right. Rearranging his face might have felt good, but it wasn’t worth our season. “Before, sir.”
Johnson and Tate turn their attention to Kennedy. I silently curse them for being assholes. Might as well have pointed at her and announced it was all her fault. Coach follows their line of sight, and I swear his face gets two shades darker. He stomps over to Kennedy, so they’re nearly toe to toe. “And what was your role in all this, Carter?”
“Me?” She scrunches up her nose. There’s a hint of annoyance in her tone. Can’t blame her given she’s totally innocent. “I wasn’t even there.”
Coach cuts his eyes at her, and I jump in before either of them says something we’ll all regret. “It’s true, Coach. It was just a few of the guys.”
And the underage recruits, but if he doesn’t already know they were drinking, I’m not about to volunteer the information. We’re in enough trouble thanks to Johnson and his boneheaded roommates.
Coach spins on his heel and returns to the front of the group, looking even less pleased than when we arrived. “What the hell is wrong with y’all? We’re six and one, and you’re throwing parties and getting in fights?”
“It wasn’t a party, sir. Just a few friends is all.” Fuckin’ Johnson. Bad enough he was hanging with the baseball team, now he’s going to try and justify it?
“Johnson, I don’t give a shit if it was Bible study.” Coach points a meaty finger at him. “Campus PD shows up at your door again, your ass will be riding the bench. You got me?”
Johnson pales, finally grasping the seriousness of the situation. “Yes, sir.”
Coach turns his attention to the rest of us, lips pressed into a flat line as he marches from one end of the group to the other, glaring at us. “Do y’all wanna win a national title or not?”
The question is met with a resounding, “Yes, sir.”
“Yeah? Then you’re going to have to be smarter. Use
