Page 21 of Protect

“She wasn’t mine to protect,” I repeat the lie that offers me some peace and quiet.

It doesn’t calm the lingering sting of fighting with Dimitri. I’m left with nothing to do—something I can’t stand. I need action. I need to be moving forward. I need Hope in a way that defies all kinds of logic. It’s a base need, once I should have recognized earlier.

Instead, I have a fucking career to keep for some reason that I can’t find in my head anymore. Maybe a concussion will do me good. Maybe I’ll have a chance to get my hands on Dimitri like I should have before he walked out. I’ll hold him down, forcehim to explain why he hasn’t tried again, why he didn’t give me his dad’s number, why he didn’t offer any other police contact instead.

He fucking shut down when we can’t afford to.

“You look amped for practice,” one of the guys says.

I almost snort. I’m not amped for anything but getting Hope back where she’s meant to be. In my arms.

Jaxon, please.

That’s the only way to get rid of these hints and shreds of memories I don’t want. All the ways I’ve hurt her. All the ways I’ve failed her, the things I have to fix, but can’t. Since doing nothing and wallowing isn’t an option, I get changed into my practice uniform and get on the field.

We sprint, only supposed to do a set number of laps at an even pace, but I need to exhaust myself. I need to prove to myself and to others that I’m capable of more. So I run myself ragged. I throw myself into every practice tackle, every play, and every sprint like it’s life changing, like it could save a life or end someone else.

In the middle of a play, I see Coach rather than my teammate. I see the man who’s taken the most important part of me, ripped it out, and laughed while driving off. When I run in, I’m pretty sure I’m yelling through my mouth guard. I know the tackle is dirty and wrong, it’s too intense, but it’s me who ends up dazed on my back.

My shoulder feels off, pain tingling and buzzing up my neck until I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to move or not. I just blink at the too-sunny sky.

“Fuck, man, don’t pull that when we’re not in a game. We need you in one piece,” one of the guys says while offering me a hand.

I slap it away. I don’t want or deserve their kindness. Fuck them all. If they treated me like the asshole I am, maybe I…

Shaking my head, I join in running another play and another until I see Dimitri on the sideline talking to Coach Carpenter. I can’t make out the words, but it’s obviously a tense conversation. I narrow my eyes, sure if I stare just long enough, I can make out what’s going on.

Dimitri’s not talking with his hands either. That means it’s doubly serious. Just as I stand up, determined to fuck practice and figure out what the hell our next move is, someone collides into me. It’s a clean tackle but still knocks the wind out of me. I wheeze on my back, the blue, cloudless sky mocking me as it swims across my vision.

“Pay attention, man,” another teammate says. “You never go down.”

No, because I’m the one who initiates every tackle and if I don’t, then I don’t drop. I’d rather drag three players with me across the field out of spite alone than let any of them have the bragging rights of dropping me on my ass.

It takes a solid three seconds for me to suck in a full breath while one of the guys hauls me up. I hear someone mumble that Hope should be here to check me out, which pisses me off more.

Sheshouldbe here. She should be walking me back to the clinic, checking out my chest, and letting me touch her, letting me cup her beautiful face and telling me that it’s a strictly professional place while I scoff and kiss her. It would piss her off, but that fire, that fury, her spark… it proves she loves me. Because she doesn’t cower from me anymore. She fights. It’s a fucking compliment.

Rather than returning to practice like I should, I walk over to Coach and Dimitri, jogging once I can handle the breathlessness that’s lingering in my chest.

“What’s going on?” I demand.

Carpenter and Dimitri both look at me. Dimitri clears his throat. “Knox and Dad… it’s not going well. We need to head upthere and meet with Knox, get him focused and make sure we’re all back by the next game,” Dimitri says.

“Dad?” I ask, almost huffing.

There’s something gleaming and warning in Dimitri’s eyes. He half looks ready to deck me if I say something wrong.

“If it’s that serious, you guys had better go. We need all of you here, especially with Hope M.I.A. I don’t want to take any chances by not having all my players,” Coach Carpenter agrees.

No sharpness, no orders, none of it. Because he’s a good man—an actual responsible coach. The kind of man we should want to have around. A proper leader. My hands curl into a fist.

“Dad and…”Fuck.“And Knox. Yeah, not a good combination. We should go. Bye, Coach,” I say.

Dimitri and I walk towards the locker rooms and he punches my shoulder. “The fuck was that? Go with what I suggest right away.”

“You call our ex-coach ‘dad’ again and I might end up punching you a whole lot harder than you just punched me,” I warn.

I get changed and we head to the apartment. I throw enough clothes in a bag to cover me and Hopewhenwe find her. I double check for a phone charger and make sure I have all my shit. As I do my final pat-down, I turn and see Dimitri there with his bag, waiting.

---