Page 85 of Shut Up and Score
Micah doesn’t slow, doesn’t flinch. Just veers toward the sideline like he can’t wait to get this over with. I follow, because what the hell else am I supposed to do?
Coach waits until we’re both standing there, panting and tense.
His glare could melt steel.
“I don’t care what the hell is going on between you two,” he snaps. “I don’t care if it’s personal, romantic, or a goddamn blood feud passed down through generations. What I do care about is the fact that you embarrassed me, this team, and yourselves in front of a dozen staff and the strength coach who already thinks I run a daycare instead of a program.”
Micah scoffs under his breath.
Wrong move.
Coach turns on him, fast and brutal.
“You think this is funny, Blackman?” he barks. “You think blowing up at a teammate during practice—after I went to bat to get your ass back here—is a joke? You’re talented, but talent’s nothing if you can’t function with the team.”
Micah’s jaw ticks. He looks away, but not down. Never down.
Coach spins to me next.
“And you,” he says, low and venomous. “You’re supposed to be my golden boy. The one who shows up early, sets the standard, andleads by example.Not the one throwing punches with your mouth and letting personal bullshit drag this team through the mud.”
I swallow hard.
“Starting today,” he continues, “you two are partnered. Every drill. Every rep. Every damn exercise. Until you learn to coexist without turning this into a soap opera.”
Micah turns, incredulous. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” Coach says flatly. “I’m so far past kidding, I’m two states over from funny.”
Micah shakes his head and mutters, “This is insane.”
“You’re free to walk,” Coach says, it’s a dare he knows neither one of us will take up. “But you walk now, you don’t play Saturday. Hell, maybe not for the rest of the season.”
Micah flinches as if that one lands deep.
Then Coach looks between us. “Get cleaned up. Get out of my sight. Before I change my mind and bench both of you for the away game.”
Neither of us moves for a second. Then Micah turns on his heel and stalks toward the locker room as though he’s about to burn it to the ground.
I stay frozen, eyes still on Coach.
He just shakes his head. “Fix this, Taylor. Or you’re gonna lose more than your spot on the roster.”
Then he walks away.
And I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding since Micah swung at me. Because I don’t care about the away game.
I care about the fact that I might’ve just lost the only person I’ve ever actually wanted.
The second we’re inside,the silence is worse than Coach’s yelling.
Lockers slam open. Towels hit benches. The others keep their distance, eyes flicking between us like they’re waiting for round two. No one says anything, but the air is thick—hot with tension and sweat and everything we didn’t say out there.
Micah rips his shirt over his head, still clearly angry at me.
And I try not to look.
I do.
