Foul Line: A High School Bully Romance (The Ballers of Rockport High Book 2)

by E. M. Moore

  34

  Something’s not right.

  The morning went as normal. I stayed in my room packing everything that I’ve used over the past few weeks, getting everything ready for the presentation of the awards. The only thing is, instead of being herded into the main building one last time, we’re being led out to the outdoor courts. The weather is beautiful today. There’s a slight breeze that keeps the heat at bay and tickles the tiny hairs at the base of my neck.

  When we get there, my father is standing in the middle of the court, his hand around a ball. He’s smiling, but it’s not a full-on smile. It just kind of lingers there. “Thanks for coming, everyone. I’m going to hand out the awards we have ready here, but then I’m going to need your assistance in handling one small thing.”

  I shift from foot to foot, my shoulder bumping into Hayes who’s looking on at the scene with a perplexed expression.

  “As you guys have seen, there’s been one position that the coaches have been having a difficult time deciding on who should take the top spot. As it concerns my daughter, I haven’t been involved.” I take in a deep breath that fills my chest and then release it slowly as my father keeps talking. “The coaches and I have discussed that the only true way to pick a winner in the shooting guard position is to have a head-to-head game between Lake O’Brien and Quintessa Dale. I want to reiterate that this was the other coaches’ decision and that as long as Lake and Tessa agree, the player who scores five points first will take home the award and the scholarship money of one thousand dollars. Tessa?”

  My dad looks at me expectantly, but I’m still trying to sort through everything. I didn’t win. At least not yet. I look toward Lake whose face is glowing red. He looks indignant, like he thinks he should’ve won outright. “Sounds good to me,” I say, keeping my eyes peeled on my opponent.

  “Lake?” my dad says, moving to stare at him. My dad’s jaw ticks. He’s mad I didn’t win outright either. He knew all about the agreement we all made, minus the drug part. He knows what’s at stake for me here.

  “Fine,” he shrugs. “I’ve beaten her before.”

  My lips thin. He has beaten me before, but I’ve also beaten him. And, he’s forgetting that the last time he beat me, he cheated like a little bitch. This time, I won’t let that happen. I quick check to see what bra I put on that morning. When I see it’s a sports bra, I walk forward and take my shirt off, throwing it to the side. Sloan intercepts it and folds it, throwing it over his shoulder with a wink. I’d smile, but I’m both excited and pissed that we have to go through this. As far as I know, this hasn’t happened before.

  The other coaches clap. I start to limber up on the sidelines while the other MVP awards are given out. Ryan, Hayes, and Sloan all win for their respective positions. I clap for each of them, trying to ignore Lake on the other side of the court prepping just like me. His brother is in his ear, and even now, it hits me hard that I’m all by myself.

  A split second after I think that, my father comes over after having given away all the certificates. He puts his arm around me. “This is it, Tess. Take him down. Don’t let him bully you out there.”

  I nod. This is how I’ve always wanted to solve this with Lake anyway. Maybe my dad suggested it for that reason. If I’d won outright, Lake could say, even though it’s never happened, that it was given to me. On the flip side, if Lake won, I could say that they just don’t like girls even though I would never be that petty. I know sexism exists, hell, I live it, but not here. Outsider opinions are none of my concern.

  “Play hard. Play smart,” my dad says, his words settling over me in a kind of soothing way. Ever since I played for the kids’ teams, he’s been saying the same things to me. I know I can beat Lake at this game, I’ve done it before. I just need to do it now when it matters the most.

  It’s all come down to this. If I win this game, I win Shooting Guard MVP. Shooting Guard MVP will give me a quiet senior year at RHS. Lake can’t do anything to me. If he does, I’ll turn him in for pill popping myself. I’ll turn him in under the suspicion that he probably tried to mess with my drug results last year. If he values his character at all, he’ll follow through now that I’ve got something on him.

  One of the coaches that’s been with my dad for a while stands in the center. He gestures both Lake and I forward with his hands. “First to five wins. Play fair.” He slips a coin from his pocket. “Call it, O’Brien.”

  The coach flips the coin in the air as Lake says, “Tails.”

  It lands on Tails, so he gets the decision. Obviously, he wants the ball first. This game will be close, so he wants every advantage he can get. “Shake hands,” the coach says.

  Lake glares at me, but he reaches across anyway. His hold is firm, almost bone-crushingly so. The look in his eye sends a shiver down my spine. The scene at the bar spins through my head. He said he hated me, and now more than ever, I know he means it. He really does hate me. He loathes me.

  “Come on, Tessa,” Hayes calls out, clapping.

  If he could hate me any more, he would. Lake’s gaze twists toward Hayes and it’s as if I see a knife sinking into his back right then and there.

  “Check,” the coach says, then stands back and blows his whistle.

  I’m on D first. With my heart pounding in my ears, I watch his every movement. I move when he does, trying to anticipate, but not wanting to anticipate too much so that he fakes me out of my shoes. All the players stay for our game. They clap and shout our names. It’s been apparent to everyone from the beginning that there was no love lost between the two of us. They all know it, shouting for the one they think deserves this the most. I try not to focus on them, but I do hear my name being said, and I don’t think it’s just Hayes the whole time.

  Lake tries to spin, but I’ve seen him start to advance. I make my move, reaching for the ball. Slapping it out of his hand, it bounces to the sidelines right into Ryan Linc’s hands.

  I smile but hide it right away. This game has a long way to go yet. We’re just getting started. Ryan glances at me as he throws the ball back to the coach. His gray eyes are swirling, laced with a worry I can’t comprehend.

  I shake my head and turn away, lining up at the top of the key. “Check,” the coach tells us.

  I bounce the ball to Lake, and he bounces it right back. He’s low in his stance, arms outstretched wide. I try to fake him out. I try to move him back. He’s brought his A game tonight when I don’t see a way around him. Since he won’t let me pass, I pull up for the jumper only I don’t have my feet set. It clangs off the rim. I grit my teeth.

  Sloan grabs the rebound this time, tossing it back to the coach. I look away after making eye contact with him. There’s too much going on right now that I can’t focus on them.

  Lake takes position and checks the ball to me. The next several times either one of us has the ball, we can’t complete a shot. Nerves streak through my body, firing up my nerve endings. I try to shake my hands out in between possessions. Finally—finally—I get past Lake on a fake, dribble around him, and then jump for the layup. The ball swishes through the net, and I pull a Tiger Woods after he’s made a great put.

  “Fuck,” Lake curses under his breath.

  Now that it’s his turn with the ball, he comes out right away with reckless abandon. He pushes and pushes me back until he hits me with enough force to fall on my ass. During a regular game, it would be a foul, but I scramble to my feet and jump in the air to try to block the shot. Only, I’m too late. All I can do is turn and watch as the ball hits the backboard but bounces right back down into the hoop.

  We’re tied. All the players cheer. I’m tense as I make my way to the top of the key now. I hear my dad in the background telling me to “Take it easy.” It must be apparent to everyone that I want to kick Lake’s ass about now. I need to keep my head in the game though, so when I start to move, I pull the same thing back on him. He may be bigger than me and playing rough has never been my thing, but I do the same move back
to him. I move him back and move him back until a well-placed hip check creates space for me. That’s when I pull up with enough time to make my shot perfect. The ball arcs through the air and falls right into the net.

  Two to one.

  The more we play, the more the atmosphere crackles with electricity. I want to take him out so badly. We’re such an even match though. We’re not playing for who’s a good person. If we were, I’d win every single time. No, this is about basketball.

  We match each other shot for shot until it’s four to four. There’s only one point separating me from having my freedom next year. I let that feeling envelop me. Not everyone else out there knows what’s on the line. Sloan and Hayes are practically bouncing on their feet. Ryan is the only one who looks conflicted. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard him celebrate for the both of us. Lake looks much less cocky now than he did when we started this. I’m about to win. I can feel it.

  Maybe he can feel it too.

  He gives up some space. I’m too eager to take what I see as a gift. What I don’t understand in that moment is that Lake is and always will be an unfeeling psycho. When I jump for the shot, he anticipates it. He’s up before I am. He brings his hand down to block the ball, only he doesn’t slap it away like we’ve been trained to. No, he drives his hand down hard on top of the ball. My wrist bends back. Tendons pop and tear. A snap sounds.

  I scream.

  When we both land, he’s still there pressing down the ball in between us. My wrist yells in protest until his eyes cloud over and he just steps back. No one moves. No one speaks. The sound of the basketball bouncing away is the only thing I hear until chaos ensues. Ryan runs out into the middle of the court. Lake’s body goes flying until he skids on the unforgiving pavement. I bring my wrist to my chest and stare down at the awkward angle, tears in my eyes. Oh no.

  Everything I fought for in this camp, I see draining away from me. My wrist. My shooting wrist. I can’t help the tears that come. I don’t even hide them as I look for my father through fractured vision. He runs toward me, holding me to his side.

  Pain ricochets through me. I grit my teeth and bear down, so I don’t cry out.

  There’s yelling behind us. I hear the coach who refereed the game shouting orders. My dad holds my head to his chest as he leads me away. Up ahead, his car looms into view. He hurries me there and places me in the passenger seat.

  I throw my head back and cry then. My dad tries to peel my hand away from me, but it only makes me cry harder. “Please, Pumpkin,” he says. “I have to put your seatbelt on.”

  I let it go for a split second while he pulls the belt around me. Then, I clutch it to me again, keeping pressure as it throbs. The pain is pulsing, and with each sharp jolt, I wrestle with what I know about wrist injuries. What’s the recovery time? Is it bad like an ACL? What if I can’t play anymore? Goddamnit!

  When my dad gets into the driver’s seat, my head falls to the seat as I look over at him. Tears puddle and spill over. “Dad.”

  “I know, I know,” he says, every bit as frustrated as I am. He starts the car and then throws it into reverse. The tires kick up tiny stones as he peels out of the camp. I hear him speak into his phone, “Nearest hospital to Holly Lake.”

  I look over just as we’re passing the path to the outdoor courts. My Ballers are emerging. They watch me leave, faces like stone. I’ll never forget those looks. I’ll never forget the determination, the feelings conveyed, and the love in all three hard gazes.

  This is it. I played with fire, and it’s gotten me again. Only this time, I’m not walking away with nothing.

  I close my eyes and replay the scene. The fury on Ryan’s face as he threw himself at Lake. He’s taken it too far. There’s no coming back from this.

  It may have just been one-on-one out there, but it won’t be for long. Welcome to five on one, Lake. I hope you enjoy getting a taste of your own medicine.

  Epilogue

  My eyes feel like sandpaper. I’ve done enough crying for a lifetime in the span of a few hours. I have no answers about my wrist. Nothing concrete, yet. My dad’s going to fly us to L.A., so we can go to a specialist he knows out there. He’s supposedly the best of the best.

  A hand touches my shoulder. I start, but it’s just my dad. He’s breaking me from the merry-go-round of my thoughts. “Ryan’s here, honey. He wants to see you.”

  I swallow. “Yeah. Okay.”

  My dad’s gaze moves to my bandaged wrist again, the sorrow evident in his eyes. “He drove your car here. I asked him to,” he says quickly, like he expected me to get upset.

  I shrug. It’s not like I can do anything about my car right now.

  Footsteps sound in the hallway. My dad steps back, excusing himself from the room as Ryan and the rest of the Ballers, minus fucking Lake O’Brien, of course, step in.

  Hayes pushes past everyone first. “Are you okay?” He reaches for me, but then his hand falls to the bed when he can’t decide where to touch me so it doesn’t hurt.

  Instead, I reach up and trace his cheekbones. “I’m okay. They have me on some good pain meds.”

  I’ve had x-rays here. It’s just that this hospital is so small, there’s no one around to read them yet. My dad won’t trust their opinions anyway, which is why he’s already been on the phone with the doctor’s office in L.A.

  My brain is hazy due to the meds. I’m thankful for it because it’s not letting me feel the pain right now, but it’s also not letting me think clearly either. “So, what happened? Did I win?”

  The Ballers all exchange a look. Ryan comes forward then, even though Hayes doesn’t give up his spot right next to me. “Coach Tanner disqualified him from the game. He declared you the winner.”

  A smile passes over my face. “That’s good,” I say. “That’s what I wanted. MVP.”

  My stomach twists though. I know I didn’t actually win it. Lake made sure of that.

  Sloan comes around the other side of the bed and sits near my feet. He reaches out his hand to rest on my calf. His eyes are heavy and sad. Every one of them refuse to look at my bandaged wrist.

  “But overall?” I ask, looking at Ryan. “You won that, right?”

  He looks away, his gray eyes shimmering in the corners. “I don’t know. I think you’re the only one who deserves it though.”

  I shake my head at that. “Nonsense. You’ve won it how many times in a row?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Tessa,” he says, his voice like ice. He leans over my bed. “I’m a terrible fucking human being. I don’t deserve awards.”

  I cock my head at him. “Don’t say that. Let’s ask my dad.” I look around him, but Ryan shifts until he takes up my entire view again. My vision is getting fuzzy around the edges. Whatever pain relievers they gave me, they’re working wonders. It’s muting everything.

  “Tessa,” Ryan says, and it sounds as if my name is ripped from his chest. “I should’ve seen what he was about to do. I don’t know if you can ever forgive me.”

  I see the whole scene again. Me, jumping up for the basket. Lake bringing his hand down at the odd angle. I feel my wrist and the snapping again, but it’s as if I’m an outside observer this time around.

  I look around the small hospital room. None of the guys are looking at me. Their gazes are shifted away, shame heavy in their eyes. For the first time, I notice Alec is there. My heartrate speeds up. “You’re here,” I say. “Did your mom drive you?”

  He turns his full attention toward me. Veins pop out of his arms, his face is sharp, angular, not bothering to hide his anger. When he doesn’t say anything, I reach out for him. Immediately, he pushes past Ryan and moves toward me. He doesn’t stop there, he stoops down, his fingers moving behind my head until he brings my face to his.

  His heated lips envelop mine. The physical distance between us lately hasn’t diminished our feelings for one another. He seals them into one hot kiss, delivering them to me with a passion that makes a noise catch in my throat.

  �
��Alec,” a voice says.

  He pulls away, his gaze saying everything his mouth can’t. “I’m so fucking sorry I left you.”

  “I’m fine,” I tell him.

  Realistically, I know that’s not true. I just think I’ve been telling everyone that so much lately that I’ve started to believe it myself.

  I’m not fucking fine. My wrist is fucked up, and I have no idea what the outcome of that will be.

  “It’s not your fucking fault. We were there.”

  My eyes dart to Sloan. He’s biting down on his lower lip so hard I’m surprised he’s not drawing blood. On instinct, I try to reach out to him with my closest hand, but it’s my fucked-up hand. I hiss in a breath at the surge of pain.

  Sloan looks at me like I’m killing him. He moves forward. I have enough time as he approaches to know he intends on kissing me, too. I let him take his time, his hazel eyes raking over me before he captures my lips in his. He kisses me tenderly, and I’m reminded of the boy who told me he’s never said sorry in his life until me. He’s saying it again with the caress of his lips against my own. I wait until he pulls away to tell him he doesn’t have to apologize.

  “I’ll never not need to apologize,” he says, his voice full of sorrow.

  Hayes leans over me, dropping a kiss to my forehead. My gaze flicks to his. That quiet beast of anger in him is sitting close to the surface. When I look down, I see his knuckles are split again. I reach out with my good hand and take one of his in mine, careful not to touch the bruised skin. “Lake?” I ask.

  “Don’t say his fucking name.”

  “Hayes,” Ryan snaps.

  They exchange a look and Hayes backs down, not before I bring his hand to my lips and kiss his broken skin. I close my eyes as I do so, willing with everything in me that he doesn’t ever have to do that again. It’s not him.

  “Your mom will be here soon,” Ryan says.