Page 55 of Redemption
Apprehension prickles my skin, but I’ll make any promises she needs me to—even forever if she asks me.
“Yes,” I say with gravel in my throat.
“Take care of him next year. He needs you, Hayes. Don’t be mad at him for this forever. Langston has never gotten in trouble before. He wouldn’t know how to handle it. I won’t hold this against him, and neither should you. He’s a good brother—and friend—he’s just a little lost right now.”
There’s such desperation in her voice as she asks me that despite how angry I am with Langston right now, I can’t help but agree.
“Okay, little Harrison. I’ll watch after your brother.”
She sighs a breath of relief and relaxes into her chair until the click of heels approaching has us swiveling our heads to see who it is.
Mrs. Harrison steps into the room, and her face looks so cold that I’m afraid I might catch hypothermia from being on the receiving end of it.
“Mallorie Jade,” she snips. “Let’s go.”
MJ stands at her mother’s orders, and I follow behind. Dr. Harrison stands in the hallway behind his wife, looking entirely too close to losing a temper that I didn’t even realize he had.
When we are standing in front of Mrs. Harrison, her gaze flicks from MJ to me, a look of disgust evident in the scrunch of her nose.
“You’ve got paint on your neck, Hayes,” Mrs. Harrison says with such derision that I straighten my shoulders just to prove that she doesn’t know me.
I will never know how Langston and MJ ever came from a woman like that.
Chapter 18
Hayes
Our first football game of the season is going up in flames.
Scrubbing my hand down my face, I try not to look at the scoreboard for the hundredth time. It’s not pretty, and I don’t need to look to know we’re losing, but like a moth drawn to a light, my eyes swivel to where the score reads 42-0.
I don’t know if I should be angry or just cry. I’m leaning toward the latter, seeing how these boys have played as if they were individuals and not a team. Every one of them will be running until they puke come Monday.
We turn the ball over with an interception for the hundredth time this game, and Tanner Sylvis walks off the field, throwing his helmet to the ground.
“Pick it up,” I say, my voice deadly.
“Whatever, man,” he says, walking away from the helmet on the turf.
I can hear my heart thundering in my ears. Grabbing him by the back of the pads, I jerk him back.
“Get off me,” he yells, trying to get out of my hold, but I keep my grip tight.
“I am the coach of this team, and as such, that’s my equipment you just threw. So you either pick that up right now, or you don’t bother coming back to practice on Monday,” I say, letting go of his pads. “Your choice.”
He looks at me like he could run through me, but I just shrug, refusing to let him see how angry I am.
It’s no skin off my back if he doesn’t come back—it would probably make this job easier. Tanner has been the leader of bad attitudes on this team, and I’m sick of it. But at the same time, I can hear MJ’s voice whispering in my head that she’s concerned about the kid. I don’t want to write him off.
Luckily, I don’t have to push him further because he grabs the helmet off the ground, albeit violently.
The final buzzer sounds, and I blow out the breath I’ve held since the game began.
“Well, that was ugly,” Campbell says, cheerfully slapping me on the back.
“Yes–yes, it was.”
“Ah, come on, Hayes, we’ll get better. It was the first game, and we’ve hardly had any practices. We’ll get better.”
