Page 105 of I Blame the Club

Biting my lip, I watch the typing bubbles appear and disappear. Minutes start to tick by, so I switch to my vision board on Pinterest and add a few more photos to my latest collection. The incoming ping finally sounds and I jump back over, eagerly anticipating the essay Wes no doubt spent the last ten minutes writing.

WES: Come back and ask him yourself.

That bastard.

My thumbs fly over the keyboard, spamming the cruel man I insist on calling my best friend.

ME: That’s it??

ME: That’s all you’re giving me??

ME: Wtf were you doing before sending me that shit response?

WES: I got distracted.

Please. Like we all don’t know what that’s code for.

ME: You’re unbelievable.

WES: Trip just said the exact same thing ;)

Chapter 28

Mo

The team feels off without Nico.

You can always count on morning practices being subdued energy-wise, but usually by the time the team hits the sports performance room for afternoon weight training, most of the guys have perked up. And yet, without one of the co-captains, even the lift sessions seem to be lacking the Tigers usual spunk.

Wes has done a remarkable job of stepping up to fulfill the entirety of the captain role with Nico missing, but without the wise-cracking goalie, the team dynamic just feels off.

“Two more.” I lift my brow, watching Preston slowly push the barbell above his chest. A hint of a tremor goes through his arms, but I ignore it.

“One more.”

The rookie grunts, his face turning an alarming shade of purple as he raises the bar again. I watch him reach the top, his arms trembling in earnest when I finally let him re-stack it.

“Shit, Coach. That was brutal.” Preston pants the words and lets his arms flop over the sides of the bench. I smirk, glancing at the weight stacked on either end of the barbell.

“The only way to hit a personal best is to push yourself. Well done, rookie.”

The freshman's mouth drops open as he stares up at me, “Are you feeling okay, Mo?”

Grabbing the plates off the end, I can’t help but glance around for the arrogant smirk that has been grating my nerves since day one. Nico’s inability to stay quiet irritates the hell out of me, but now that his incessant flirting is gone, the performance room feels much too quiet.

“I’m fine, why?”

I catch a couple of the other players glancing around the room as well. Wes is in the far corner spotting Millard on the squat rack while the rest of the players murmur quietly amongst themselves. It feels like everyone is waiting for Nico to walk through the door with his smug grin and swagger to bring the energy back.

Preston sits up on the bench, rubbing his neck sheepishly, “Ah, it’s nothing really…”

“But?” Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I return my attention to the tomato-faced freshman.

“It’s just that you’ve been handing out praise, Coach.” He clears his throat, nervously meeting my gaze, “And until this week, that was something we all dreamed about.”

“Excuse me?” I tilt my head, studying the rookie closely. He flinches, a red flush creeping up the side of his neck.

“Well, maybe it was less of awething and more of amething. It's just… you left a legacy at Taber and we just want to make you proud.” Preston gulps, dropping his eyes, “That probably sounds dumb, but most of us didn’t think we’d make it onto the varsityteam. Especially once we found out Mighty Mo was going to be the assistant coach.”

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