The Bad Boy and the Other Bad Boy

Chapter 25

I clenched my hands together, feeling pricks of sweat around my collar. Coach told a slow sip of his tea, the TV still blaring in the background. He put the tea on the coffee table in the middle of the room, leaning forwards slowly to rest his elbows on his knees, his thick eyebrows drawn together.

Finally, after what felt like years, he spoke. 

"That was really mature and unlike you, Wilson. "

Silence again, then he sighed. 

"Look. You did a stupid thing. You really fucked up, boy. This is a high-profile tournament, and yeah, you and the team captain showing up with fight bruises makes us all look like assholes. I don't understand why you guys couldn't have waited to have a party after you got back. It was extremely selfish and immature of you to incite violence with another team member in the first place. "

He linked his fingers together. 

"So here's the deal. You and Denver are gonna wear makeup to cover those bruises on tournament. You and Denver are on gear duty for three weeks, every single afternoon, when we get back. You're gonna apologise to each other in front of me. You're both gonna apologise to the team. " 

I frowned. "Coach, I hate - am not friends with Denver, but I started the fight, remember?" 

Coach laughed and gestured to my face. "Yeah, but those red marks on your face are not self-defence bruises. " 

I pressed my lips together. 

"And I haven't finished. You're both gonna do all the stuff I just mentioned together if you want to go on tournament. Also. While we're on tournament, you'e gonna room with Denver - "

My jaw dropped. "What the fuck - I mean, what the hell? No, god no - "

Coach glared at me. "Listen. You're gonna room with Denver for the whole tournament, and sit together on the bus, and you're not gonna fight at all. You're not even gonna argue. I don't wanna hear either of you even say no to each other. If you do, both of you are out after the tournament. You understand I can't have fights within my team. "

I clenched my jaw, fighting back a string of expletives, fury heating my face. I hated Coach in that moment. 

The Simpsons played loudly on the TV in the background. Coach watched me, proud of himself. I closed my eyes. 

How bad do you want this? How bad do you wanna play football? 

I thought of my teammates, of Ryan, of Duncan. How hard we had trained for this. The feeling when we knew we were getting faster at our passes, the feeling of smooth smart teamwork, the feeling of scoring. 

I opened my eyes. 

----

The next morning I felt like shit as I dragged myself out of Coach's guest room's bed. I was ok, but bruised, and the punches Denver had landed on me last night were now red and clearly visible, one on the ridge of my cheekbone. Mrs Coach came in just as I came out of the bathroom, an array of bottles with different skin-coloured liquids in her arms as well as some egg-shaped sponges. 

She winced at my bruises. "Oh dear, " she said gently. "Here. Try these out and see which one suits you. "

I bit back a grimace. "Thanks Mrs Coach." 

She followed me into the bathroom. "You're quite pale, like me. So you'll suit one of these colours just fine. What about - what's his name? The other young man who has bruises?" 

I couldn't hold back my grimace this time. She laid down the clinking glass bottles onto the countertop and looked expectantly at me. 

I ran a hand through my hair. "Um, yeah. Uh... " I glanced quickly at the bottles and pointed at one. "That one. Yep. "