Page 17 of Power Play

Just as I’m leaning forward to put it on a coaster and grab the remote, Tyson appears in the doorway. He’s scratching his head and has a solemn look about him. I sit up straight.

“What’s up?” I ask. He sighs.

“That was Tate. He and my dad are on a fishing trip this weekend with the rest of the coaches. He got a call from one of the kids on the team that there’s a big party going on at one of his starter’s houses right now. He asked me to go help some of the parents break it up before they get into trouble.” I smile. I remember those days. I take one more swig of beer and put the bottle on the table. I step back into my shoes and look at him.

“Let’s go ruin some teenagers’ night,” I say. His eyes widen, and he cocks his head.

“Dude, if you want to wait here, I’ll be back in twenty. You can just chill and eat.”

I scoff and brush past him as I get to the door.

“You kidding? I’m not missing out on all the fun,” I say.

A few minutes later, we’re pulling up to some ridiculously huge house, and the driveway is jam-packed with terribly parked cars. There are kids stumbling around like they’ve all been drugged, laughing, screaming, throwing shit into a bonfire. I shake my head as we park and get out. Immediately, Tyson starts screaming at everyone to call for their rides.

“No one drive home if you’ve been drinking! The cops haven’t been called yet—just call for your rides. Get home safely. You have four minutes to get off the property.”

I look at him, nodding in approval.

“Coach would be so proud,” I say, clapping his shoulder and pounding on my chest playfully. He laughs and shrugs me off.

“Fuck off,” he says. “Let’s check the damage inside.”

I follow him inside, and we start barking out the orders for people to get going. The house starts clearing, slowly but surely, and Tyson turns to me.

“I’m gonna go check the basement,” he says. “Can you just knock on the bedroom doors? Make sure they are clearing out and not doing anything…funky?”

I laugh and nod, giving him a fake salute. I round the corner and head up the stairs, knocking on the doors and telling them it’s time to get out. A few people scurry out of two of the rooms, and I hear some girls giggling and squealing as they drunkenly try to walk down the stairs.

Thank God for alcohol and darkness, because not a single one of these kids has realized who I am. I get to the end of the hallway and raise my fist to knock on a door when someone tugs it open. Then I’m face to face with Thad Dietrich, who is hurriedly buckling his belt. I recognize him from some of the interviews Tyson has sent me this season. He’s Coach C.’s star receiver. He’s going D1 next year. Full ride. Good kid.

At least, that’s what they say.

We’re eye to eye for a minute, and I think he might recognize me. But he doesn’t say anything. He just slides by me, running down the stairs and out the front door. I go to follow him, but I freeze when I see something—someone—out of the corner of my eye. I look into the room, and my jaw drops. My hands ball into fists, and I have tunnel vision.

Lo Calway is crying, wiping her eyes and straightening out the little sundress she has on. She jumps when she sees me, biting her lip to stop it from trembling. She quickly wipes away the last of her tears, as if to convince me they were never there. I take another slow step toward her.

“Lo?” I ask. She blows out a sharp breath through pursed lips and then walks over to where her sandals sit on the floor. She steps into them without saying another word. She goes to walk past me, but I grab her hand. “Lo,” I say, but she snatches it from me. I hold my hand up, showing her that I mean no harm. She goes to speak, and I see her eyes welling with tears again. I’m torn between wanting to reach out and hold her and wanting to follow him down the stairs and beat the living shit out of him.

And I don’t even know what happened yet.

“Lo…what…what just happened?”

“Nothing,” she quickly says, swiping at her tears again.

Just as I go to ask her again, Tyson calls my name.

“Yo, Buck!” he says. “Got any more stragglers up there?”

Her eyes widen, and I know she doesn’t want Tyson to see her like this.

“Nah, just me,” I say. “I’m gonna take a piss. Be down in a minute.”

“Cool. I need to drive a car of these clowns home. They’re all too drunk. Can you bring my car home? I’ll hitch a ride back and meet you there.”

“Sure,” I call back. I hear the thud of his keys being tossed up the steps.

“See you in a bit,” he says, and then everything gets quiet. I turn back to her, and she’s just standing there, clutching her arm, staring down at the ground. There’s a smear of mascara on her cheek that I want so badly to reach out and wipe, but I’m being cautious. I don’t want to trigger her or make her feel like she’s not safe with me. I’m still fighting the urge to go after the little dickhead, but I can’t leave her. Not like this.

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