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What the fuck? Has the guy never heard of the word “loyalty” before? Why is he selling me out right now?
“That might explain the lapse, Coach,” Tyrell finishes. “He won’t be drunk on game day. He’ll be good to go, sir. Come on. Give him a chance.”
My shoulders tense, and I clench my jaw so hard my teeth start to ache.
Well, fuck, he is loyal after all. Sort of. I’m still salty that he called me out in front of Coach like that, though.
“I can’t do it.” Coach sounds almost sad, and I glance up, hating the disappointed look on his face. “We’re gonna have to win without him. And you”—he points at me—“can sit your ass on that bench and support your team. If you can do that, then you might just be worthy of staying a Cougar.”
“This is bullshit,” I can’t help muttering, still riled that Fleischer gets off scot-free every fucking time and I’m the one Coach wants to hate on.
“You don’t like it?” He steps right up to my face, grabbing my helmet and speaking in a low bark. “Then you tell me what to do. You tell me how I’m supposed to help a guy who is determined to screw up every chance he gets.”
I go still.
“You wanna play for me? You act like you do. You want to prove yourself? You’ve got two weeks.” He lets me go with a huff. “And you better be perfect, boy. In every aspect of your life! I’ve coached a team with players who had no respect, and I won’t do it again. You want to play for me, you act like a man who is worthy of the game!” He points to the ground, his voice getting even louder when he points toward the tunnel. “You do that, or you get off my field!”
My nostrils flare, that red haze glowing in front of me as I wrench off my helmet and throw it down on his fucking perfect grass before stalking away from my team.
“Carson, come on, man!” Zander calls after me, but I keep walking.
I don’t give a shit.
Like I’ll ever be good enough for Coach.
He asks the impossible and makes it sound so fucking easy when it’s not.
I can’t be perfect in every aspect of my life. I can’t even be perfect in one!
Ripping off my gear, I throw it across the locker room with snarls and growls. All my laundry misses, and my pads end up on the floor as well. I ignore it all, throwing clothes over the mud and sweat coating me before storming out of the stadium.
I’ve sobered up enough to drive. Sort of.
Shit, I nearly crash on the way home and have to slow right down. But eventually I make it, pulling into the driveway and stopping next to a building van. That Baxter guy is here again. I can hear the drop saw grinding in the backyard.
Kicking out the stand, I balance the bike, then stumble up the front steps and shoulder the door open.
I freeze when I hear laughter coming from the kitchen, and then my stomach bottoms out when Nylah appears in the hallway, carrying Zoey and looking happily surprised to see me.
“Hey.” She grins.
“What are you doing here?” I snap.
“Sienna invited me over.” She frowns at my harsh tone, and Zoey’s bottom lip sticks out.
“Cawson sad.” She points her little finger at me, and I glare at her for a second, struggling to breathe as I lurch for the stairs and take them two at a time.
“Carson?” Nylah calls up after me, but I ignore her.
Because I have to.
Because I’m not worthy of a girl like her.
And I never will be.
CHAPTER47
NYLAH