Page 20 of Fragile

“Quinn, please,” Seb begs, frustration lacing his tone.

“I’m not interested in what Miles the football player is doing right now. I need to know that my best friend is okay.”

I’m done with this conversation. If his dad is in there, making him feel like shit, I’m not going to let that happen because, knowing Miles, he already feels like shit without people drilling it into him. I force my way past Seb and Hudson and smack my hands on the heavy door, pushing it open.

Immediately, I can make out the edges of a voice, harsh and cutting, though the words aren’t clear. It’s obvious he’s shouting. Berating. Furious. My feet stutter and my pace slows in anticipation.

I chew on my bottom lip as I debate what to do. I know I shouldn't eavesdrop, but the pull of curiosity and concern is too strong. Miles got kicked out of the game, and he’ll feel awful for fighting. He never fights, so something isn’t right. I inch closer to the door, the cold metal handle brushing against my arm.

Through the narrow crack in the doorway, I see Miles sitting on the bench, his white shirt half open, with his suit trousers on. It looks like his dad barely gave him a chance to get dressed. His shoulders are hunched and his head down as his dad looms over him, gesticulating wildly, casting dark shadows over Miles as he paces across the room. I strain to hear, pressing myself as close to the door as I can without drawing attention.

“How could you be so goddamn careless?” Miles’s dad’s voice finally comes through more clearly.

When he spins around, I see his face is a mask of anger, his jaw set in a hard line. It makes me shrivel, and I’m not the one he’s directing it at.

“I don't know, Dad,” he mumbles, sounding dejected. “It was just a bad game.”

“A bad game?” He huffs incredulously. Stopping his pacing, he faces Miles once more, leaning forward and jabbing his finger toward his son, venom pouring from each word as he spits, “That was more than a bad game, Miles. You were a disaster out there—both in your attitude and your fucking playing. Maybe if you’re head wasn’t up your fucking ass, you wouldn’t have been so sloppy.” He straightens, ticking off faults on his fingers, which, in my opinion, weren’t event that bad. “You missed that block in the second quarter, you fumbled the ball in the third, and let's not even talk about that fight that finally got you taken out of the game. All things I know should never have happened. You’re better than that.Itrained you better than that. You’re not some pathetic wannabe out on that field. Your Miles fucking Cooper. I expect you to fucking act like it.”

Miles flinches with each accusation. I want so badly to walk in there and give him some kind of reassurance, but that probably isn’t going to be enough tonight. The knot in my stomach tightens as I wait helplessly behind a door I’m not sure I should open.

“You let your team down.” His dad continues, letting his sour mood emanate from him, not bothering to filter his emotions. “You letmedown. I worked so hard to get you to this point, and this is what you do with it?”

A loud bang startles me, and I realize it's the sound of his dad's fist hitting the metal lockers. Suddenly, the door I’m leaning against flies opens, and I stumble forward as Seb storms past me. I hadn’t even realized he was standing behind me. “Woah, woah, sir,” Seb cuts in, standing between them in the middle of the room. “With all due respect, Miles isn’t the only one on the team.”

I’m rooted in place, my body frozen. I don’t know if I should follow my brother, but at the last second, my foot catches the door before it closes completely. Not that I can move, caught between the doorway and the room. Mark Cooper is frightening, and I don’t know how to react.

Turning his wild eyes to my brother, he hisses a dark laugh. “I’m well aware of that, Sebastian. I’ll be reporting to your father too. I don’t think he’ll be pleased to see how distracted his star player was out there.”

Seb rears back in disbelief.

“That’s enough!” Miles bellows. Fury flares his nostrils as he stands, knocking his helmet to the ground. “You need to leave,” he growls, his voice deeper and darker than I’ve ever heard before.

The room feels smaller. I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing.

Mr. Cooper’s mood becomes deadly, suffocating even. When he takes one menacing step toward Miles, my heart lurches. Surely, he wouldn’t… I don’t have to see him to know his teeth are gritted as he hisses loud enough to be heard, “This isn’t over.” With that, he turns and leaves, the black cloud following him, wrenching open the door being propped by my foot and brushing past me without a care.

“Can’t fucking wait,” Miles mutters, running a hand down his face.

My mouth opens and closes, but I have no idea what I can say to make this better. Tentatively, I walk over to the bench and sit next to him. My brother does the same, but it’s like Miles hasn’t noticed, his gaze glued to the floor. I can feel the tension radiating off him, like he's trying to hold himself together.

Growing up, we all knew that Mark Cooper had a temper; I’ve just never witnessed it like this before. It’s a lot of the reason Miles spent so much time at our house, especially since his mom passed. My parents used to say that he was grieving, and heneeded to work through it, but it’s beenyears, and nothing has changed, it seems.

I move my hand closer to his, where he grips the bench with whitened knuckles, and brush my pinky finger against his. He jolts at the movement, his eyes immediately going to our hands. When his eyes rise to mine, they’re so full of emotion that it steals my breath for a second.

I want to do anything I can to make him forget about every harsh word. He doesn’t deserve this, no one does.

Seb clears his throat. “Miles, I’m sorry about your dad.”

Miles shakes his head, but his hand wraps over mine absently, squeezing it. “I just want to go home,” he murmurs. “I need to sleep.”

I exchange a glance with Seb.

“Miles, it’s—”

“Please don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, just don’t,” he pleads, trying to keep his voice even. “I just want to sleep it off.”

“Alright,” I say softly, then stand, not dropping his hand. “Let’s get you home.”

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