Coleman’s eyes strain to open further, and the smile that breaks onto my lips is one made of nightmares—ones that he’ll hopefully be having for a long time.
I inch closer to his face until I can hear him struggling to breathe. My voice is low, guttural. “If you go near her again, it will be the last thing you ever do. I will take so much pleasure in watching your pathetic life leave your eyes.”
I hear the crowd behind me calm at my words.
“If you even look at her, I will ensure you get another set of bruises that matches the ones she has right now.”
I’ve never actually seen a man afraid for his life, but the terror in Coleman’s eyes has to be damn close. And it should be because none of that was a lie.
He opens his mouth to try to talk, but only gurgles come out.
I release some of the pressure off his throat as I say, “Stay away from her, and stay the fuck away from me.”
I drop him, and he slides down the wall, his non-broken arm massaging the already deep red and purple marks around his neck. He’s coughing as I turn around to face my team.
I expect them to beat my ass for almost choking out their captain and quarterback, but instead, they are standing there, looking at me like soldiers would to a general.
Like they are waiting for orders.
So, I give it to them.
“Clear out. Now,” I snap, and they scatter.
“You think that’s a sprint?! That’s a fucking jog compared to the beasts we’ll face in six weeks,” Coach screams at us. “Again!”
My cleats dig into the turf as I take off down the field, sweat pouring down every inch of my body.
From my peripheral vision, I see I’m in the lead, the whole team trailing slightly behind me. Whether from actual exhaustion or respect, I don’t know.
We spend the next hour strictly conditioning, and my body is thriving, expelling all this pent-up anger the only way it knows how. By the time we’re done, I think I’ll need to drink two gallons of water to replenish everything I lost.
On my way off the field, Coach calls to me, “Jones, get your ass over here.”
I hustle over, knowing if I walk, he’ll probably have me run again. “Yes, sir?”
He claps his hand on my shoulder. “Listen, I want you in our conference room at eight a.m. sharp. Bring a notebook and pen.”
“Can I ask what for?”
“We’ve gotta get our new starting QB game-ready. Time to learn every play like the back of your hand. We’ll go through each one once—twice, if you’re lucky—and then I’m throwing you on the field. If there’s one thing I remember from watching you at your high school games, it’s that you’re quick. You learn the other team in the first five minutes, and you adapt. So, Jones, adapt.”
SIX
Becca
Walking into my office this morning, I take a sip of my Red Bull infusion, my favorite, and the pain to swallow definitely did not go away overnight.
And I’m even more irritated with Callum now. It didn’t take long for the news to hit me that he’d basically choked out and threatened Trent. So much for the plan of my fake fling with Trent since I know damn well he’s not going to approach me again. Thanks to Callum, I have to start all over.
I sink into my desk chair right as my door opens, and Sophie walks in, a large coffee in hand.
“Good morning.” She’s all smiles until she looks up at me. “Oh my God, what happened to your neck?”
I shrug my shoulders, avoiding all possible conversations about my throat. “Bad date.”
She sits down in one of the chairs across from my desk. “That’s all I get? Are you okay?” She studies my bruises, cringing.
“Always am,” I reply.
