Page 86 of Busted Dreams

“Rhys.” My hand flew to my mouth. His face was covered in bruises and an egg sized knot stuck out from his temple.

“Hey.” He sounded out of it. But fine. That was the important thing.

Rushing forward, I almost threw myself onto his chest but pulled up short. Leaning down, I kissed his lips. “Are you okay?”

“Define okay?”

“I don’t know. Just okay.” He was asking me to use too much brainpower right now. I was just elated to see him awake. To see him at all.

“How the hell did this happen?” Beck thundered. “I left you with your team hours ago.”

“I don’t know. I really don’t remember anything.”

“Nothing?”

“No, the last thing I do remember is talking to those two fucktards at Jeff’s,” he slurred. It was like he was trying to remember more but couldn’t.

“The two fuckers from the other teams wanted to confront you. I went with you to that party. They told you they wanted you to throw the championship. It was them! They had to be the ones to do this to you.” Beck punched the wall by the door.

Rhys just looked on, no emotion on his face other than confusion.

“What is going on in he—” The young nurse from the desk ran in. Then she saw the new fist-sized hole in the plaster. “Oh. You have to leave. We can’t have this violence here. Security!” She leaned out of the door and yelled.

“It was me, I’ll go.” Beck glanced at the damage. “Damn, let me leave my information for you. I have to pay for that.” Before he walked out, he speared me with an intense glance. “Call me as soon as you leave.”

I nodded, and he followed the nurse out of the room.

“What injuries do you have?” My voice shook as I gingerly touched his knee.

“Broken ankle, a few cracked ribs, and a nice knot on my head,” he rattled off, seemingly unbothered. The rest of his season was done.

“Why are you acting so weird?” Jonah asked.

“I think it might be the pain meds,” he answered dazedly.

Accepting that answer, we found spots to sit around the room until he was discharged. It was only about a thirty-minute wait, then I pulled my car to the front to load him in.

“I have to call my family doctor on Monday to follow-up. Don’t let me forget,” he mumbled, half asleep.

“I won’t,” I said as I pulled away from the curb. We had decided we would all stay at the cottage tonight. There were two bedrooms and the couch pulled out, so we had plenty of room. Me, personally, I’d feel much better if everyone was where I could see them.

The whole way home, I couldn’t help but think about Rhys’ potential scholarships. How those guys did this just to get ahead in their own life.

And the way they took a metaphorical sledge hammer to his dreams, busting it up like an old piece of concrete just because they could.

The next week was possibly the most depressing week I’d ever experienced. Yes, that included my time with Mother Dearest.

Rhys missed chunks of school that week, going back and forth to the doctor. To say his team was livid was an understatement. I was worried they were going to be out for blood, but so far, they’d kept themselves clean. The looming championships were too important to risk losing another player.

Trinity was out on bail, but she had a public defender who thought they could get the charges knocked down and a good chance for probation. She at least stayed home under Thatcher’s watchful eye, so there was that small blessing.

Now it was Thursday night, and we were all lounging around Thatcher’s living room, watching but not watching a documentary on the History Channel. For the first time that week, Trinity sat with us too, rather than staying in her room.

Thatcher’s phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up, staring at it as if he didn’t want to open it, then he answered.

“Hi, Professor Douglas.” He nodded, angling his body away from us for some illusion of privacy. “Yes, I did know the opportunity would be coming my way.” He listened to something the professor said. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to turn it down. Yes, I know what an opportunity it is. I do know how few students get offered this chance. I’m sorry, Professor Douglas. My life situation has changed. I recently got custody of my sister. I’m not going to be able to take it. I understand. Thank you,” he said as he hung up.

Turning the phone in his hands, he refused to acknowledge we’d heard the whole conversation. Another dream lost to life. I wanted to go to him, hug him, find out what was going on, but I didn’t. None of us asked any questions, as if afraid we’d make the situation worse. But Trinity did.

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