Spin The Bottle: A college romance: Chapter 7

I’ve always liked sweating.

Working my body to the max, exerting all of my energy into something, anything. It always helped clear my mind and made me focus on that one and only thing I was doing, nothing else.

I guess it’s why basketball came naturally to me when I was young. I had nothing else that was worth my time except a ball and a hoop. I remember seeing the kids from my school playing, watching their games, thinking I could do that. I could be out there playing with them and win.

But I had never been part of a team before; the closest I got was a guy who had been watching me play at the park and asked if he could play against me. I wiped him clean off the floor, scoring every time. It was easy. As natural as breathing.

It was the one thing I had to look forward to. Through all the hits and punches and dirty looks, there was one thing I liked. I was good at it, and I worked hard to get where I am. Basketball is my future. It’s the only thing I have going, and I won’t mess it up, no matter what I have to do.

The ball pressed up against my chest flies into the air, and Jordan catches it instantly.

“Good pass, Pierce,” Coach shouts. Jordan dribbles the ball, attempting to score, and I jump, attempting to block, but then I feel the ball hit my fingertips before it goes in.

“Fuck.”

Jordan laughs. “Bad luck, Cap.”

My brows lift. “Try again.” I throw the ball back to him, but the whistle blows before he shoots again.

“That was good, boys,” Coach says, bringing out the ball rack. “Get in the showers.”

I pick up the ball closest to me, watching the guys head past into the locker rooms.

“Pierce.” My head snaps up. “A word.” Coach Thompson looks down at his notepad.

I place the ball on the ball rack, heading towards him. “Yes, Coach?”

“Last week,” he starts, my heart accelerating. “What happened, son?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. I don’t have the words. When he lifts his head, the disappointment is there, and it crushes me. “I don’t know what happened or if it was just a fluke,” he says. “But you were off your game.” He shakes his head. “That was an easy block; you should have been able to knock it out of the air.”

I know. My head shakes, not knowing what to say. The night before, I couldn’t sleep, knowing I had to throw the game. I could have blocked that ball in my sleep, but I couldn’t. I had to make sure my future was solid, even if it meant losing a few games. “It won’t happen again.” But as I’m saying the words, I’m not sure they’re true.

He nods. “The team is counting on you, Pierce.”

“Yes, Coach.”

He places the notepad under his arm, patting me on my arm. “Now go. Get in the showers.”

I blow out a breath, running to the locker room. My future is on the line. Everything I have worked for is at risk of being taken away from me if I don’t do what they want.

“Look who it is,” Ethan announces when I walk in. “He let you off again, huh?” He doesn’t let me reply, letting out a scoff instead. “Figures. Let me guess, you sucked him off good?” His brows raise. “Tickle his balls, did you?” He emulates by wiggling his fingers.

A towel whips him in the head. “Shut the fuck up, Ethan,” Carter Ruthers, one of the best players I’ve played with, says. “Show some fucking respect.”

It shouldn’t bother me that Ethan Campbell hasn’t respected me ever since I became captain, but it does. The way he treats me brings me back to high school when the coach suggested I try out. It was useless; no matter how good I played, no one wanted me on their team, but Coach did. He saw something in me that was worth it and let me join the team. I owe everything to Coach Thomson.

I’m here now. I’m here, and I’m ready to do whatever it takes so that I never have to question what hunger is like again. So if I have to deal with Ethan’s snarky comments every now and then, so fucking be it. The rest of the team respects me, Coach respects me; that’s all I need.

Ethan’s jaw clenches, and he spins, cursing when he heads into the showers.

Carter walks over to me, shaking his head. “He’s just being an asshole today,” he says, sitting down on the bench, running a towel over his wet hair. “Coach busted him for coming in drunk again.”

I scoff, ripping my jersey over my head, I jam it into the locker. “That has nothing to do with me.”

“Maybe not,” Jordan says, closing his locker. “But he’s pissed you get off scot-free every time.”

I pull my t-shirt back on, tugging it down over my torso. “I’m sick of taking the hit for other people’s actions.” I slam my locker a little harder than needed, grabbing my cap and placing it on my head. “If he has a problem with Coach, then he needs to take it up with him.”

My phone rings in my hand, the screen flashing with the last person I want to speak to. “Fuck, I’ve got to go.” I grab my gym bag, fling it over my shoulder, and head outside, letting out a curse before I answer, bringing my phone to my ear.

“I don’t have it all yet,” I tell him, knowing the reason he’s calling.

“That’s bullshit,” he spits out. “I know you’re lying.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Brandon, I don’t have it. I have a shift tomorrow. I can send it over once I get paid.”

A few seconds tick by, silence filling my ear, and then, “You know mom is sick, right?” My jaw tightens. He always does this, brings up Mom, knowing I can’t say no when it comes to her. “She’s barely getting out of bed, definitely not going to work. How do you expect us to eat?”

Why does it have to be on me? Why is it always on me? “You could get a job,” I grit out.

A scoff on the other end hits my ear. “And leave Mom alone? Jerry is trailing around again. I can’t do that.”

My heart pounds when I hear that asshole’s name. “How?” I ask my brother, a nauseating pit forming in my stomach at the sound of his name. “I thought you and Cameron handled him?” He hasn’t been around in so long; why now?

“We did,” he says. “But things got complicated.”

God fucking damn it. “What happened?”

“Nothing that concerns you, little bro.” His laughter makes my stomach churn. “Just do your job and get us our money before Mom dies.”

“She’s not sick, Brandon, don’t feed me that shit.” I stop speaking when I hear some of the guys leaving the gym, their voices getting closer until I hear their footsteps trail off as they walk away. “She’s high,” I tell him when I’m sure no one’s around. “She’s killing herself, and you’re helping her.”

“I don’t know why you care so much.” He sniffs. “You’re the one that left.” His demeanor changes, his voice growing bitter and heavy. “You left us in this hole, and because of you, Mom is sick. She doesn’t fucking care about you anymore, Aiden. You’re dead to her. You left.” I hear his voice change into something so familiar it hits me in the gut. “The least you can do is get us our fucking money.”

I sigh, rubbing a hand down my sweaty face. “You’re high.” Of course he is. Why am I surprised? So much for the money I sent for his rehab.

Another dark chuckle on the other end. “Just get us our money.” He hangs up, and I pull back, staring at the screen.

“Fuck.” The bastard knew what he was doing bringing up Mom. He knows I have a soft spot for her, even if she’s practically disowned me for leaving. I needed out. I needed a life, and that was no life worth living.

The screen flashes with another text, and I open it.

I bite down, grinding my teeth to a pulp. I should have done it already. I need to get it over with. Just give them whatever they want and be done with whoever this is.

It takes a second for whoever is on the other end to read it and start typing. I squeeze my fists, anticipating their response.

It’s a guy. At least I know that.

I pull up the text thread with Carol, my manager, and shoot her a text.

She replies within a minute.

I watch the three little dots dance on the screen, my fingers gripping my phone. “C’mon,” I mumble to my phone screen. “Just give me something.”

“Carol, you’re one hell of a woman.” I grin, tapping away on the screen.