Page 23 of Stealing Home

Max, Will and I outpace the rest of the team by yards. “Is it just me or is he being an even bigger dick than usual? I mean, I get it, this is a fucking disaster, but he’s just torturing them at this point,” Will says.

To prove his point, Marco falls out of line and throws up over the fence. Rivera snaps, grabs him by the back of his t-shirt, and throws him to the ground.

“You little shits will not make me look bad on our opening game. I don’t care if I have to keep you running until you sweat the alcohol out of your bodies, but you will be ready for our game on Saturday,” he shouts. His face is turning a bright crimson, and spittle flies from his mouth. He’s the very definition of foaming at the mouth.

Tucker steps in front of Rivera and the two have a heated looking conversation. Rivera looks like he’s a second from punching his assistant coach, then he turns around and stomps back to the training center.

Tucker blows his whistle. “Everyone gather around.”

We all run toward him and wait for him to continue.

He takes his hat off and runs his hand through his longish hair before putting it back on his head. “I’m real disappointed in most of you. I thought you were smart enough to not get shit-faced this close to a game. So, let me lay this out for you. You will not drink except for the nights you have neither a game nor practice the following day. That message is for everyone twenty-one and older. If you are underage, there will be no drinking period. Tomorrow we’re leaving around ten in the morning. You will all be well rested, rehydrated, and sober. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Coach,” the entire team replies in chorus.

He nods his head. “Fine, now get the fuck out of here.”

My first thought as I get in my truck is that Rivera is pissed and spoiling for a fight, and Harlow is his favorite scapegoat.

Usually we text back and forth, but I call her instead to make sure she doesn’t miss my message. The phone rings over and over before she finally answers.

“Scott?”

I take a deep breath. “I wanted to give you a heads up. Practice sucked ass today, and Coach stormed off the field pissed off.”

Her breathing is heavy into the phone. “Th-thank you for warning me.”

“Will you be alright?” I want her to tell me she won’t go home, but I already know she will. What more is it going to take for her to protect herself?

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she says, but the shaking of her voice tells me the opposite.

“I will either way. Is there somewhere else you can go tonight? Or just don’t go back at all? Harlow, he threw one of the guys on the ground, and he looked like he wanted to punch Coach Tucker. You’re not safe with him, not today.”

“I can talk to Wren if that will make you feel better.”

I wish I had a place she could go. There are so many promises I want to make to her. Protecting her is instinctual, but it might freak her the fuck out.

“It would, sweetheart. If he hurts you again, I can’t promise I won’t return the favor.”

“I’ll figure out an excuse to tell him,” she promises.

“Text me later and let me know what’s going on otherwise I’ll worry.”

“I will. There’s a lot of stuff I need to tell you, but it can wait until you’re back from Ellensburg,” she says.

“Just say when and I’ll come to you. I need to see you again.” My need for her is borderline pathetic, but I’ll gladly hand over my pride to spend time with her.

“Soon, hotshot, I’ll get in touch later.”

9

Harlow

Wren is leaningagainst the door when I hang up the phone. “What were you going to talk to me about?”

I jump. “Aren’t you supposed to be picking up the kids?”

“The school called a little bit ago. Our oldest, Parker, was getting bullied by some boy, so Griffin insisted he be the one to go get them. Don’t change the subject. What are you supposed to talk to me about?”

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