Page 19 of No More Jocks

My mind raced as I tried to understand what was happening. Why was Caleb so shaken by Bradley’s presence? The guy was intimidating, sure, but there was something more going on. I decided to trust Caleb’s judgment, even if I didn’t fully understand it.

“Okay,” I said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “Let’s go.”

As we turned to leave, Bradley’s voice rang out. “Caleb, wait.”

Caleb froze, his body tense. I glanced back at Bradley, who was now only a few steps away.

It was only then that it all came rushing to my brain like an avalanche of snow. Bradley Simmons, the first draft pick for the Philadelphia Ravens, was his fucking ex!

“Who is this?” Bradley demanded, looking me up and down.

I felt a surge of protectiveness for Caleb. “I’m Marcus,” I said firmly. “And we’re leaving.”

Bradley took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t belong with him, Caleb,” Bradley replied, his tone harsh.

Caleb’s hand tightened around mine. “Bradley, just leave us alone.”

Bradley’s expression darkened. “You know this isn’t over, Caleb.”

Caleb grabbed my hand and pulled me in the opposite direction of Bradley.

“I broke up with you. You just don’t know how to take no for an answer.”

“Can we at least talk about this, Caleb?”

“Didn’t you hear the guy? He doesn’t want to talk,” I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

“Caleb, you better handle Mr. pretty, or he’s going to be Mr. ugly when I get through rearranging his face.”

“Bradley, we’re going to miss the previews, and you know I hate missing previews of Marvel movies,” yelled the guy Bradley had come to the theater with. He looked like he could be Caleb’s twin. He had glasses, stood about 5’8 tall, and had a lean, muscular build. The only difference was their hair. This guy had long curly twists. He looked like Caleb with longer hair. Bradley had a type.

“Dennis, don’t you see me handling business?” The guy turned around and headed toward the theater. “Sit your ass down until I’m finished talking.” Bradley’s date obeyed his command and sat on the bench outside the theater. He pulled out his phone to keep him occupied. I was shocked; I’d never witnessed a grown man command another adult male and watch him submit. It was fascinating and unsettling all at once.

“Look, Caleb, I fucked up. I’ve been trying to call you and make things right. I even stopped by your house and visited your mom and dad. Did your mom tell you I stopped by?”

“I told you never to come by the house again.”

“I know, but I wanted to drop off the season tickets for you and your dad. I dropped off a pair of plane tickets to my first game as well.”

“Sorry, Bradley; I’m not available. You fucked up.” He stepped toward us, snatched Caleb’s arm, and his favorite beaded bracelet broke. His beautiful rainbow beads rolled over the floor like water from a busted faucet. Caleb’s face transformed from shock to sadness in a matter of seconds.

“You giving this joker my ass,” he whispered, his voice dripping with malice.

Anger swelled inside me when he put his hands on Caleb. I balled up my fist and slugged Bradley so hard that I damn near broke my hand. Bradley tumbled backward, fell, and knocked over the stanchions. Caleb grabbed me by the hand, and we ran out of the theater at lightning speed.

When I realized I was running so fast that I was leaving him behind, I kneeled, let him climb on my back, and ran to the closest open building as quickly as possible. Thankfully, we were downtown, and there was a hotel about two-hundred feet away. We ran into the public bathroom and once Caleb was off my back, I collapsed on the floor, completely out of breath.

“I can’t believe you hit Bradley. He’s so much bigger than you.”

“I am not afraid of a fight; my neighborhood isn’t exactly the nicest area in town.”

“Your words, not mine,” Caleb said. We both laughed, but when I tried to push myself off the ground with my right hand, I couldn’t.

“Fuck, I think I broke my hand.”

“Hopefully, it’s just sore. Coach Harris will have a fit if he finds out you broke your hand, and I was involved,” Caleb said, his voice laced with concern.

“I’d never put you in jeopardy with Coach,” I said. I examined my hand. Traces of blood were smeared across the top of it. Caleb guided me to the sink and placed my hands under some warm water. As the water gushed over my bloody hand, I didn’t take my eyes off him. No one had ever been this kind to me.

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