Page 58 of Reed

“You’re fucking fired,” I clip out, and point down at him, and my fists twitch to continue the onslaught.

He coughs up some blood, then he winces. “You can’t fire me,” he splutters.

“Just you fucking watch, and I’m pressing charges,” I grit out, my heart racing with a wild fury struggling to remain hidden.

He sits up and wipes the blood from his mouth. “You’re pressing charges?” A strangled scoff bubbles from him, and his eyes fill with glee.

Oh, no, he fucking doesn’t. If he thinks he can blackmail me, he can think again.

“I’m an attorney, asshole. I eat scum like you for breakfast. What you just did was child abuse, and trust me when I say, I’m going to ruin you.”

He stumbles as he gets to his feet. “Hated the little bastards anyway,” he grunts, and I take a menacing step toward him, and the sad little sack of shit darts for the door.

When it clicks shut behind him, I stroke over my bloodied knuckles while surveying Bryce, who sits studying me.

“We don’t have a coach now.” His voice is solemn, but it’s his words that strike me. Was he okay with being spoken to like that in order to keep a coach? I glance around the locker room, taking in the broken doors and graffitied walls. Jesus, this place is abysmal. I rub at my temple to ease the budding tension.

Christ, is Gia okay with her son being here? An idea strikes me, an easy solution to all the problems right before my eyes.

“Would you like to move schools?”

Bryce rears back, as if stunned. “Fuck no. My friends are here.”

“Mind your language,” I chastise.

“Sorry,” he grimaces, then clears his throat. “My friends are here, and they’re good people. I like it here. Just he’s a bit of a d—” He swallows. “Dope.” And I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going to call him a dope.

I mull over his words. His friends are here, and I know how important they are in one’s life, I’m not about to change that for him.

“Okay. No changing schools.” I stroke over my bottom lip and survey the hellhole. “We need to invest, though; this place is a shithole.”

“It is.” Bryce nods and glances around the small space.

“And you need a new coach. A decent one. I’ll find one for you.” I nod along to my own words and start making a mental list of everything that needs to change.

Bryce stands. “Well, we need one real quick. We have camp again tomorrow. What are we gonna do?”

“Going to do. Not gonna.”

He rolls his eyes, and I ignore him and open the cufflinks on my shirt, roll up my sleeves, then straighten my shoulders. “I’ll do it,” I declare with a newfound vigor.

His eyes widen, and a garbled sound leaves him, making me narrow my eyes. Is he becoming sick, possibly due to the trauma of the asshole screaming at him, or worse. “Did the coach ever touch you?”

Bryce stares back at me, his pupils bulge, and his mouth drops open. “W-what?”

“The coach, Bryce. Did he ever.” I scrub a hand over my head, then kneel so I’m level with him. “Did he touch you?”

“Ew. God no. I’d have kicked him in the nuts. Oh, and also, he likes my mom.”

I wobble on my heels as lightheadedness hits me. “What?”

“Yeah, he kept asking her out on a date.” He continues while my anger returns and seems to multiply. “My mom said to Tyson it was sleazy, asking a pregnant woman out.”

“I agree.” I nod profusely. If he thinks he’s getting away with no charges being brought against him, he can think again. I will dig up every sordid little detail of the sorry sack’s life.

But first, I need to remind Gia of who she belongs to, because the thought of anyone else touching my girl has me wanting to rip some fucker’s limbs from their lifeless, bloodied body. Then I need to take my girl on a date.

GIA

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