Page 14 of Life Lessons

“Fair enough,” Sam shrugs, his shoulder-length blonde hair shifting with the movement. “But just so you know, Danny and I have a coffee dispenser and spare sets of uniforms in our office.”

“Why would any of that be of interest to me?” The words have barely left my mouth when Sam smacks the takeaway cup in my hand downwards, the liquid spraying all over me before it hits the floor with a dull thud. Luckily, the assistant is shit at making coffee and the liquid covering my face and clothes is barely lukewarm, but that shit will still stain. I’ve barely had time to pick up my jaw, a moment of deadly silence passing while I stare at the coffee leaking out onto the ground and surrounding my new sneakers when Sam makes a run for it.

“Bring this with you,” I smack my wrapped baguette into Jackson’s chest since he’s edged closer and take off after the fucker who will pay for ruining my morning. Sam whoops after spotting me giving chase, quickly clicking his heels together before taking off properly this time. I grab my phone and keys out of my pocket to stop them from slamming into my dick, the slackness of my boxers already letting it slap from thigh to thigh painfully with each stride.

Pumping my arms, I push myself faster and faster until the gap starts to close between us. Sure, Sam has the advantage of regular exercise and less alcohol poisoning in his bloodstream, but I’ve got pure willpower spurring me on. No one makes a damn fool out of me, especially not when Newbie was watching and will probably rip me about it every day from now on. Sam darts left as I near, slipping between the geography and science blocks in an attempt to lose me, forgetting that I know where his final destination is. So instead, I keep on the main path winding through the courtyard, around the statue and fountains, all the while watching him through the series of windows dividing us. He hollers with joy, thinking he’s lost me but the moment his footsteps around the edge of the building I’m on him.

Our bodies slam into the ground, my surprise advance lands me on top. I throw my fist into his gut and ribs, not hard enough to do any real damage, but enough to leave him sore tomorrow while he’s scrubbing my Jordans clean. Sam wriggles beneath me like a fucking worm, trying to dislodge me with his hips whilst keeping his face protected with his forearms. He knows he can’t beat me, so all he can do is protect his best asset – his surfer-boy perfect face.

A crowd appears, the jocks seeming to have followed from the cafeteria to cheer me on with Jackson and Harley at the forefront. Rolling my eyes, I jump off Sam, their disappointment music to my ears. Reaching out my hand, I pull the closest man I have to a friend to his feet, his wide smile still in place.

“Didn’t realise you still had it in you, old man.” He smacks my back and heads for the outdoor stadium Thornton is extremely proud of. I scoff, not bothering arguing that Sam is only a year younger than me, but since I hit the big 3-0 this year, I’d rather not bring it up. I’ll grow old disgracefully in the corner of a bar somewhere with a random woman grinding on my lap. That’s my retirement plan when the time comes.

“Come set up with us today, Sir, we’ll make it fun.” Jackson smirks and hands back my breakfast. The baguette flops to the side where it’s clearly broken in the middle and I’ve gone past the point of being hungry anyway, so I smack it around the back of Jackson’s head.

“Hey!”

“Our ideas of fun couldn’t be more different,” I mutter, moving towards the stadium anyway. If I drag myself back home now, I’d end up dropping onto the sofa to watch a movie. Soon there would be a bottle in my hand, and then the thoughts I’m trying to keep at bay would seep in. No thank you. I follow Sam through the open entrance, the field visible on the other side of the long hallway, but I detour into the boys’ locker room. Danny is in his office, if the space the foster twins share behind a metal grate can be called any office. Looks more like a storage room with a desk in the middle, covered in files and sheets of paper.

“What happened to you?” Danny’s blue eyes widen at me, his sports uniform pristinely white and blue. He doesn’t need to wear it on weekends, but I reckon he wears it all the time, through the holidays, in bed each night. Danny is the type who gets off on feeling superior. Not in a dickish way, the guy is just proud of his job and the array of framed certificates on the wall.

“I did,” Sam beams. He barges past me, pulling a stack of folded clothes from the top of a locker in the corner, the bottom half being used to stack yet more paperwork. Sam holds the pile of clothes while I sift through, finding a plain white tee in the mix. I don’t have any other option than to pick a pair of navy Willowmead shorts, not exactly the best look. Stepping back into the main locker room, I start to change but my focus keeps returning to the foster twins through the grate.

Words pass between them which I can’t make out, but judging by body language, Danny is taking the stress of sorting this event pretty seriously. Sam’s picked up on it too, closing the gap to clasp the back of Danny’s head and force it onto his shoulder, the pair simply standing together in silence. I watch with interest, not surprised by the display. I only know the vague details of the twin’s past, like they do with mine, but from what I understand they both fell for the same girl in their late teens. They fought physically and brutally, family events were a no-go, and when she couldn’t take it anymore, the girl took her own life. They vowed to never fight again and have made a habit out of sharing women on a rare night out. I suppose it’s their way of making peace with their demons, and where others might be repulsed by their affectionate habits, needing to find a way to move on is something I understand all too well.

Shaking myself, I quickly dress before the team of boys enlisted to help out today burst through the door. Harley heads for his locker, handing me a spare pair of Adidas sneakers. Accepting them with a nod, I crouch down to change them over and just finish when a pair of biker style boots come into view. Honey and vanilla floods my senses and I can’t resist a deep inhale whilst keeping my head ducked down. Stealing myself, I stand and quickly turn so she’s not in sight, my focus on a now-composed Danny who steps out of his office with Sam at his side.

“Okay you lot, we’ve got loads to do ahead of next weekend. I know this isn’t the real event, simply a run through, but the Head wants us to behave as though it is the big event. The more prepared we are now, the better it will be next year when the main one comes around. So the quicker we get it done today, the less we’ll have left tomorrow. The list of jobs is on this flipchart, decide between you who does what and make sure to tick it off when completed. We’ll meet again on the pitch at one to regroup and lunch is on us.” He nudges into Sam, indicating he will be paying. Jackson begins to rush towards the flipchart until I grab him by the back of the collar and yank him backwards.

“Ladies first,” I growl. Nightingale looks at me in my peripheral vision, probably mistaking me for some sort of gentleman. Nah, I just want to see which job she’s going to take so I can be as far away as fucking possible. Musgrove isn’t so shy, sauntering forward to pick up a pink marker pen and initial next to ‘timetables’. Sam provides them with a clipboard each and pulls them aside to talk through what needs to be included. Nightingale keeps looking back at me through the curtain of her hair splayed over her baggy hoodie, and each time I curse myself for looking.

I release Jackson, allowing him to bound up to the board and select catering tasting with Harley. They snigger about already sharing the same fish platter and I retch loudly, making them laugh harder as they finally leave. Atlas, Colton, and Emmett take on hanging up the banners around campus whilst Kai, Branson, and Milo take on cleaning the stadium stands. The boys filter out, leaving me alone with Danny.

“Isn’t this all stuff Thornton could employ cleaners and handymen to do?”

“He decided the entire rally, including this practice event, would come out of the sport’s budget, so the more I spend on these events, the less I’ll have for the rest of the year. Cutting corners is the only way we’ll be able to host our annual summer camp.” And there it is, the reason behind Danny’s bloodshot eyes. Willowmead hosts a free summer sports camp for disabled and underprivileged kids each year and from those who show potential, scholarships can be offered. Those opportunities, however, are paid for by the ‘skills donations’ we ask for from the paying parents. If those rich snobs found out we weren’t using all of their money for their own children’s education, they’d stop donating and those who really need a place to thrive would miss out.

“What else needs doing?” I ask, committed to help now no matter what. If there’s one thing I fully support, it’s the equal chances of all children.

“I need these welcome packs that will be delivered to each hotel and B&B the guest schools are staying in, putting together.” I look at the stacks of cardboard boxes, already nodding. Perfect, I’ll be busy and alone. My favourite pastime. Grabbing the first box, I pass Sam and the girls, the sound of giggles grating on me, as I head out to find a quiet place to work.

Nightingale is staring at Sam, soaking up every word he has to say with a dazed smile on her face. It must be something about my face that brings out her inner-bitch, because she’s never looked at me the way she’s looking at Sam. I can’t imagine she’s never seen blonde stubble on bronzed skin before, but whatever, gawk all you like, Newbie. Just not at me.

One by one, I ferry the large boxes outside the main entrance and into the sports building to find a quiet room to work in. It’s late afternoon by the time I finish and head towards the stadium. I noticed on the way up the drive, the banners are hanging proudly and I have to admit, the guys did a good job from what I’ve seen so far. The closer I get, I can already hear the laughter echoing through the hallway. I debate ducking out and heading home now, but curiosity pulls me through the entrance and towards the pitch instead. What I see on the other side can only be described as a huge game of ‘tag’ amongst a bunch of rich kids who missed out on a normal childhood.

Nightingale has removed her hoodie, running from one end of the pitch to the other in her high waisted jeans and a black crop top. Her hair has been thrown into a messy bun on top of her head, the true extent of the ink covering her skin becoming clear. Branson is on her tail, running so fast that he grabs her around the waist and swings her off her feet. The laughter spilling from her lips slices through me, my chest expands with the sheer beauty trapped within that noise. It’s pure and free, two things I hadn’t thought she was capable of up to now. Landing back on her feet, Nightingale is on the hunt for her next victim and her eyes fall on me.

I grunt and begin to walk towards Danny who is leaning back in the stands with a can in his hand, his easy smile back in place at last. I suppose today went better than he expected, even with his military precision in planning. Thornton knew what he was doing when he put Danny in charge. I make it to the steps when a hand smacks into the centre of my back and Newbie’s voice rings out around the stadium, “Tag!”

I freeze, Danny challenging me with his eyebrows. Nah, I’m not having that. Spinning, Nightingale’s smile suddenly drops as I charge after her, her feet barely moving in time.

“No tag backs!” she screams just in time. My feet skid and I shoot in another direction, descending on Milo instead. At least I don’t have to go easy on him, my shoulder ramming him into the ground. The crazy bastard laughs the whole time, shoving me aside and hopping up to chase Atlas down the pitch. Sam helps me to my feet with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen plastered on his face, and just like that, I’m part of the game. We hold back, waiting for the tagged to approach before taking off, using the whole pitch to our advantage. At one point I find myself strangely alone, walking backwards to keep the players in eyesight, when Musgrove jumps up from behind the bleachers to tag me.

Nightingale is my closest competitor, trying to hide behind the goal post. I smirk, gunning for her and she squeals, trying to make a run for it but I catch her and drag her down to the ground. We tumble and roll, ending up side by side on our backs with our chests heaving.

“Tag,” I mutter, slapping her thigh. Danny uses the loud speaker to call time at that moment, and I realize the sun has already begun to dip in the sky overhead.

Exhaling loudly, I sit upright and grin at Nightingale who looks absolutely exhausted. Her cheeks are red, her body covered in a sheen of sweat. But even so, when she looks at me, none of that matters. She’s simply here, in my presence without a scorn in sight, and that in itself is refreshing.

---