3-Pointer

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Sweat dripping down into my brow as the shrill shriek of the whistle blew, the familiar stomp of players leaving the court echoed in my ears but still I stood unmoving, hands perched on my knees in an attempt to calm my racing heart

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Sweat dripping down into my brow as the shrill shriek of the whistle blew, the familiar stomp of players leaving the court echoed in my ears but still I stood unmoving, hands perched on my knees in an attempt to calm my racing heart. 

"You good, Rush?"

"Yes, coach, just taking a breather."

"Well while you're doing that, mind if we have a little chat?"

Glancing up through sweaty eyelashes to my sixty-something coach with a heavily pronounced beer belly, I nodded my head and tried to keep myself from hyperventilating as the fatigue from practice hit in full force. 

"It's about Hart."

The groan was involuntary as I crouched down even further, placing my head between my knees as I did so, wondering how my day could get any worse. 

Well, there were a few ways it could get worse, but I wasn't thinking about that in front of my coach before getting a major dressing down that I knew had been coming since our lecture the previous night. 

"I'm worried about his behavior lately, yours too if I'm being honest, but his most of all.  You're team captain—I expect you to keep on top of this, not make things worse by beating the ever living hell out of him.  I'm having one of the boys sticking to his side like glue, keep an eye on him, but I need you to stay out of his way.  Need you to keep your head on straight and  stay away.  You got that?"

"Yes, coach.  All you gotta do is tell him to do the same, and we'll be good."

"You break that no tolerance policy one more time and I can't help you.  The dean almost got involved this time—you're lucky no one else heard about it outside campus.  You need to get your shit together this season otherwise we're not making it to playoffs, let alone Final Four.  You got me?"

"Yeah, yeah I got you."

"Good.  Now go shower up, you're burning my eyes with your stink."

But it was as I entered the locker room to find Hart perched on the bench in front of my locker with a smug, shit eating grin on his face. 

"Can I help you?"

I wouldn't be so forgiving if the asshole came between me and a date between Gracie again. 

He thought his face was fucked up now?  My right hand might've been bruised but my left was working just fine. 

"Yeah...nah, I just think it's cute, that's all."

The urge to make yet another pretty little cut or bruise on his already fucked up face was almost too tempting to resist, but still I held back, remembering what happened the last time I allowed him to get the better of my temper. 

Ignoring him and shouldering past to get to my locker, the entire locker room went silent as I kept my attention on my reflection in the mirror instead of the asshole desperately trying to gain it back behind me. 

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