Page 21 of Sideline Play

I really should have seen it coming. I blame the surgery, lingering anesthesia, hunger, and all around sense of exhaustion as to why I didn’t and thus didn’t prepare myself for the impact.

One second he’s standing in front of me, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed and the next my back is colliding with Scarlet’s car, her brother’s—my teammate’s—arm crushing in on my throat.

“Remington? You okay?” Colt calls from the tinted trunk of his daughter’s car.

“Yeah,” I cough as Roman lets up just enough for me to answer. “Just slipped is all; Ro saved me with his chokehold grip, though, so no worries,” I smile.

“Good. Can’t have you getting banged up before we even get you out of the hospital,” he laughs before groaning, “Jesus Winnie, come on. You fell outonetime and this time I'm right here to catch you. Just jump up; it’s easy.”

“Let’s try this again since clearly your hearing and comprehension were also affected when you went and let Atlanta bust your hip.

“I don’t care where you put your dick,” he starts slowly as if my intelligence was the hindrance to my understanding. “So long as it isn’t in my sister. Scarlet is not some Baseball Annie, cleat chasing, cock sucking slut. You’re not gonna use her to get your dick wet while you’re laid up on the sidelines, you understand? Because if you do and she gets hurt, I will fuck your shit up so bad, they’ll be saying, ‘Tonya Harding, who?’”

Applying just a bit more pressure, the compression on my windpipe affecting me more than the eye roll I let him see, he adds, “And if you don’t believe me, call Reeves Dawson and ask him for the story behind why Scarlet started living with us.”

Letting me go, he spits in disgust, “Now get your ass in the car and keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

Beginning to turn, I pointedly stab the rubber end of my crutch into his foot. Holding it down as a long stream of repressed swears are muttered, I speak equally as slow and quiet to avoid being overheard as Scarlet makes her way over, my attention briefly caught and held as she executes a flawless squat in her heels and easily lifts her dog up into her arms, the short hem of her dress getting caught and exposing the rest of her thigh and up to her hip where the ruffled trim of her panties peeks out.

Glancing back at my infuriated pitcher, I say, “You love your sister more than life itself and want to protect her. I get it. I even respect you for it, because one thing we can agree on, she’s far too bright, soft, and kind for this world. People see her and want to use her up until there’s nothing left because she’s incandescent, and it’s human nature to want to bask in that purity until envy bleeds in and has us snuffing it out.

“What I can’t respect is how you’re treatin’ her and the message you’re sending by acting like a rabid dog in need of puttin’ down. You don’t get to decide who she spends her time with or gives her attention to, and you sure as fuck don’t get to dictate what she does and doesn’t do with her body. All you’re doing with this is indirectly tellin’ her you don’t think she’s capable. That she isn’t competent enough to have her own autonomy.

“My ma always said, ‘Never treat a woman as if she’s incapable of doing things for herself. Because the moment you make her feel like she’s dependent upon you, you’ve lost her.’ Don’t let Scarlet become dependent upon you. Let her make her own choices and support her through whatever they are, Roman. Even if that choice leads her to me.”

“It won’t.”

“And if it doesn’t, trust that I’ll respect her enough to accept that and let things be.”

“Not a fucking chance in hell.”

Popping up like fucking Dracula, Colt’s at our side without a whisper of warning, asking, “We good here?” his face frustratingly neutral, leaving me unable to read exactly which situation he’s asking us about.

Faster on the draw, Roman pushes my crutch away and answers, “Yeah Dad, just making sure cripple here knows what’s expected of him. I mean Knox is good and will work for the time, but let’s not mess up a good thing by getting crazy ideas about wanting things beyond our reach.”

Coming from the front of the car, Scarlet stands at the epicenter of all three of us, declaring, “Winnie’s in and settled with her toys and we got your bags into the trunk, so I’m ready when you are.”

“I go when and where you go, Scar.”

“Godspeed, Remington,” Colt says somberly. “My daughter excels at many things, but driving ain’t one of ‘em.”

“Hey! I am not that bad.”

“Sure you’re not,” he and Roman both snort.

Looking up at me, her shoes bringing her a little closer but not enough that she would no longer fit tucked under my chin, she pouts, “You trust me, don’t you, Remi?”

“With my life.”

“At least one of you has faith in me,” she sniffs, before turning on her heel, the skirt of her dress swishing beneath her ass as she all but skips around to her side of the car, Roman dutifully following her and opening her door, the vehicle coming to life a moment later as Colt opens my own.

“I’m trusting you with our girl, Remington,” he says, taking my crutches and feeding them into her trunk over Winnie’shead in the back as I collapse into the unsurprisingly light pink colored leather of her car’s custom interior. “Take care of her.”

“I will.”

Tapping the roof of her car as he closes the door, Colt shouts, “Love you; drive safe!” Scarlet hands me her unlocked phone and instructs, “Pick a playlist,” before peeling out of her parking spot, waving to her dad and brother in the rearview mirror, her signature pinkish gold rimmed aviators sliding into place on her face as we race up the ramp.

Finding one that’s titled with eight green heart emojis bracketed with a baseball on either side, I smile and hit shuffle. Capturing her hand as she replaces her giant, insulated cup in the holder, I work her fingers to fit inside the palm of my hand on top of the center console as Carrie Underwood’s “Get Out Of This Town,” fills her speakers, and she rolls through a stop sign before speeding to the freeway where it takes no time at all for me to learn my girl is, in fact, that bad of a driver.

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