Page 83 of Honeysuckle
Cael sat beside me in silence, tying his shoes—a quiet confirmation of my point. Everyone was walking on glass—and it wasn’t because Dean was gay; no one gave a shit about that, it was the fact that none of them could do interviews without the reporters pressing them about their captain and no one wanted to be the one that said the wrong thing.
Coach cleared his throat as he stepped into the center of the locker room, every eye turning toward him as they finished getting ready for the game.
“Today is going to suck,” he said, and Cael snorted from beside me with the shake of his head.
“He’s horrible at the whole speech thing,” Cael whispered under his breath, causing my lip to curl up in amusement.
“It’s the last week of pre-season and your last opportunity to show everyone out there exactly who you mean to be this season. I want you to be composed, focused and driven. We win this game as clean as possible, boys; no fights, no suspensions. I don’t want to spend the three hours after the game on the phone negotiating terms,” he warned.
“Yes, Coach,” the locker room responded in unison.
“They’re going to fuck with Tucker,” Coach said. Dean, noticeably absent from locker room prep, would’ve hated being talked about like that. “And when they do, you do not react. If anyone has an issue with your captain, come to me and I’ll deal with it outside the game. Breaking your hands on their faces isn’t going to stop them from being assholes. Do you understand me?”
Again, understanding was barked out from each Hornets player.
“Win the game to prove everyone wrong, don’t give them any more reasons to alienate him,” he said as the doors swung open and Dean stumbled in. His tie was already loosened, and his fingers were working at the buttons on his dark dress shirt.
“Where the hell have you been?” Coach asked him.
“Meeting with Ms. Cody,” Dean grumbled and threw his duffle into a locker.
“I’ll talk to her about scheduling them this close to game time.”
“It wasn’t her, I scheduled it. I’m ready though, I’m sorry.” The words came out tight and strung together in a mumbled mess as he kicked off his shoes.
Coach wrapped up his speech, leaving behind a blend of confidence and just enough fear. The team didn’t move though, they waited for Dean to dress in his jersey in silence. Hoping maybe he’d find the courage to say something.
He could feel their eyes on him and he sighed, turning on his heel to look over them as he did up the last of the buttons.
“What?” he asked, but it clicked almost immediately after, and he sighed, knowing what they wanted. “Right…” he pulled his hat down over his eyes and put his hands on his hips. When he looked up from the ground, there was a fake, full sparkle to his eyes, and he had forced a smile on his face. “I know this season is off to a rocky start, but we’ll find our groove and prove to everyone how good Hornets' ball is. Go out there and play tight, communicate and kick ass.”
That seemed to satisfy them—they hollered, thumped their chests with those dumb handshake taps, and flooded out of the locker room. I waited, tying the last knot on my cleat and grabbed my hat.
“Nice fake smile, Tuck,” I muttered as I passed him.
“What, this? All real,” he chuckled, but it was tight and wrong. I knew when it was real.
“If you’re going to be depressed, you need to hide it better,” I warned him as he walked around me to get to the tunnel.
“I’m not depressed,” he deflected.
“Sure,” I said. "You go to class, you go to practice, you go to bed. Not depressed, gotcha.” I scoffed at him. It was a mirror of the schedule I used at spring camp, just less dinner with the Manson family.
“Is my healthy routine bothering you?” Dean rolled his eyes.
“If you were anyone else, that might be healthy.” We rounded the corner to the players’ entrance, where the entire team was getting ready to take the field. “But you?” I scowled. "There's nothing healthy about what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, because you know me so well, tough guy. Focus on the game, Logan—stop worrying about me.” Dean pushed past me and smiled as he patted a few of the guys on the back, starting a loud, rhythmic chant that had them jumping and swaying.
I ground my teeth together. He hadn’t called me Logan in a while, and I don’t know why it bothered me as much as it did, but I could do what I was told.
Right now, the priority was the game.
The lights on the field were unforgiving as we stepped out and waved to the fans as we made our way down to the dugout. Coach called out the batting order, and it was the same as usual. Dean lost the coin toss, and we started the game. The first few innings weren’t bad; we were down three runs, but it would be easy to catch up in the back half. Some hard hits and a few tight outfield moments had us back in the lead at the bottom of the seventh.
Dean never missed a swing, it was like every ounce of worry and frustration he had been feeling was channeled into the game. His feet planted hard in the clay as he rounded third and cemented the win for the Hornets,for us.
Coach ushered everyone down the tunnel, ignoring the protests of the press as he closed the heavy navy doors to the locker room behind us.
