Page 4 of Something New

Wyatt quirked his eyebrow. “Really? I didn’t see you resting your arm much when you were banging her.”

“I didn’t need my arm in that position. She was considerate enough to do all the work, although I didn’t quite finish.” The kid had the audacity to laugh.

Wyatt pushed Terrence into the other wall and pinned him there with his forearm against the kid’s chest. “Did you use a condom? No, you didn’t. Are you fucking stupid? What if you got her pregnant? What would you have done then?”

Terrence snorted and pushed against the restraints, unconcerned about Wyatt’s growing anger. “It wasn’t the right time; besides, I hate the feel of rubbers. I like bareback.”

Wyatt dropped his arm and stared at the kid. “Are you stupid? You have a golden arm, except for the tendinitis. You’re on the fast track to an NFL career with possibly a pit stop for a Heisman trophy, if you can keep yourself focused. Instead, you screw around with girls, barely make the grade with your courses, and take nothing seriously. Your professors say you’re dangerously close to failing two classes, which puts your scholarship and your playing status in jeopardy. Then I come in here and see you screwing a girl in the weight room, not caring about protecting her or yourself.”

Terrence pushed Wyatt back and stalked around him. “Hey, Mari is dating other guys, not just me. She can’t prove it’s me if she gets knocked up.”

“Sure, she can, Sherlock. It’s called DNA and paternity tests, dumbass. If you had attended biology class once in a while, one of the classes you’re failing, you might know that.”

The younger man shrugged and hiked the towel up before it fell. “So what? I’ll be making loads of money in the NFL. I can afford the kid.”

“So, you’re ready to be a father right now? Ready to raise a kid? Watch out for people, especially women—they see you as a paycheck, a way to easy street. You need to protect yourself and make sure no one uses you.” At the blank stare, Wyatt tried another tactic. “Think of it this way. What if you don’t make it to the NFL? What if your shoulder doesn’t heal or you get another injury? Hell, in football, you’re one hit away from a catastrophic, career-ending injury. Anything could happen.”

Terrence just shook his head. “I’m not you, man. I won’t be stupid enough to get into a fight over some chick and blow out my knee. That’s why I pay my offensive line to protect me.”

Wyatt saw red at that moment, an anger that always lurked beneath the surface, hidden by his easygoing air. It pushed through the layers of his skin and erupted faster than a bull coming out of the chute in a rodeo—electric, white hot, and full of rage. Before he could grab the kid again, an arm the size of a tree trunk separated them.

“Coach Turner, Carter. Everything okay in here?” Kyle Monroe, the offensive line coach, built like a tank, asked.

Wyatt stepped back. “Nope. Carter was having some extracurricular fun in the weight room, and we were discussing the ramifications of his actions.”

Kyle arched his brow, his bald head shining under the bright fluorescent lights. Terrence stared defiantly back at both coaches. “Well, that’s usually an automatic game suspension, if I recall.”

Terrence shrugged. “I’m already sitting out tomorrow. No big deal.”

“You’ll sit out another week too,” Kyle stated flatly, his tone brooking no disagreement.

But the kid proved his stupidity by not shutting up. “In two weeks? We’re playing the Aggies for homecoming. I have to play that one. The fans and alumni will go nuts and have your balls on a spike.”

“Then you should have kept yours tucked away. Head out, or I’ll add another week. No one is above the rules.” Kyle folded his massive arms across his chest and glared at the kid. With a final sullen glare at both coaches, he left the room, banging the door against the wall on his way out.

Kyle turned and cocked his head to Wyatt. “Never figured you for anger issues, although that kid could bring it out in the Pope.”

Wyatt choked out a laugh, not really feeling the humor. “Yeah, he’s a tough case. Thinks he’s above the rules. He’s failing half his classes and won’t show up to tutoring or the team study sessions.”

“Did you really catch him having sex in here? Where, so I know to avoid that spot.” Kyle tossed a towel over a treadmill and put his water bottle in the holder. “You working out, too?”

Wyatt nodded and headed to the neighboring treadmill to warm up. Both men started warming up in silence, only the whir of the machine filling the air.

Finally, Kyle glanced at him. “What’s really going on? That kid’s been pushing your buttons since last season, but you never lost your temper until now. Was it the sex, because we did the same thing when we were his age. Or maybe it’s because it’s been a while for you.”

Kyle’s tone changed, switched to more of a counselor than a friend, which grated on Wyatt’s last nerve. “You’ve been awfully tense lately. On edge. My wife has this friend. She’s nice, pretty, sweet. You’re not bad looking. I’m sure you could sweet-talk her if it’s been a while.”

Wyatt threw his towel at Kyle. “Shut up, asshole. It’s not the sex. It’s how he approaches the game, as if it’s…”

“A game?” Kyle finished. “Yeah, it is. We were his age once and probably almost as stupid, although that kid got shortchanged the day God gave out the brains. Good thing he has a rocket for an arm and a natural instinct for the game, or he’d be screwed.”

“Well, he still might be if he doesn’t shape up. What if he gets hurt again, worse this time? He could end his career in a heartbeat.”

Kyle’s eyes brightened like a bulb went off. “So that’s it. He brought up your knee. Yeah, you got a raw deal. Your knee injury sucked and screwed your career. But, man, it’s been like four years. Time to move on. It won’t change. You have a decent job now, maybe not making the same money you could have in the NFL but better than flipping burgers.” He slowed his treadmill down, having warmed up enough to lift some weights. He braced himself on the sidebars and studied Wyatt. “What brought all this up? It can’t just be the kid. He’s stupid, but can’t light that fire so quickly.”

“I have that damned wedding next week.”

Kyle let out a low whistle, understanding registering at last. “You’re going to see Anna.”

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