More Than A Game (The Kings of Kroydon Hills Book 2)

by Bella Matthews

  “I’m gonna ask you to marry me one day, Princess.”

  “I’m gonna say yes one day, Aiden.”

  39

  Sabrina

  I’ve become more comfortable showering at Murphy’s house. I’ve even started to like smelling his soap on my skin all day. I step back into the jeans I wore yesterday and throw Murphy’s Kroydon Crusaders hoodie on. I wonder if it’s considered antifeminist to admit I love wearing something with his name and number on the back of it. This poor guy isn’t going to have any sweatshirts left at this rate. I think I borrow a new one each time I’m here, and he’s not getting any of them back. That thought puts a silly smile on my face as I slip my feet back into my riding boots. I’m tempted to leave him a note in lipstick, but he shares this mirror with Sebastian, so that’s out. Instead, I grab a blank piece of printer paper from his desk and leave him a note. Then I add a little lipstick and kiss the bottom. I leave the note on the pillow next to his head and grab my bag to head home.

  Aiden,

  I had to go to class and didn’t want to wake you up. I’ve got a full day today. Text when you can and let me know you’re ok.

  Love ~ Your Princess

  It’s a strange thing to be comfortable in someone else’s house. Not a bad thing, especially when you walk into the kitchen and find one of your best friends making both of you cups of coffee. Nattie’s still wearing her black and white polka dot pajama pants and a cami. It must be nice to have little boobs. One of those little shelf bras would never work for me.

  Nat hands me a cream-colored mug that has black writing that says “I can’t even” on it.

  Yup.

  That about sums up my feelings toward today.

  Her cup is hot pink with eyelashes. The smell of freshly ground beans brewed to perfection hits my nose, and I feel better before I even take my first sip.

  “I may love you a little bit more than is socially acceptable right now, Nat.”

  “I love my coffee more than all of you combined, so I get it.”

  I take the coffee, add a splash of cream, lean against the fridge, and then take stock of the sticky counter, upside-down shot glasses, and empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

  Holding my mug out toward the counter, I ask, “How much do you think was in that when they started?”

  Nat picks up the bottle and throws it in the recycling container. “No clue. Thinking they’re going to be hurting today though.”

  “Yeah. I can’t imagine it’s going to feel too good later. You going to be home for a while?”

  “Yeah, I don’t have classes ‘til this afternoon.” She sips her coffee, looking at me above the mug.

  “Text me when they get moving. Let me know how they’re doing.” I’ve got classes all day on Mondays and haven’t seen my dorm room for more than ten minutes since Friday afternoon.

  She nods her head. “So . . .” Her eyes twinkle with mischief. “Can we talk about the elephant in the room?”

  I sip my coffee and refuse to make eye contact. I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but I can’t imagine it’s anywhere good.

  Nattie sits down on a chair at the kitchen table. She pulls her leg up and hugs her knee to her chest. “Oh, come on. You’re one of the smartest people I know, Sabrina. There’s no way you didn’t notice that Belles was wearing Declan’s clothes yesterday. Not to mention, did they really think no one was going to question why he drove her here?”

  Oh, that elephant.

  Nat rambles on like she’s Enola Holmes. “I’m thinking she got an injection of the big D Saturday night.”

  I spit my coffee out. “Sweet baby Jesus, that’s your brother. Yuck, Natalie. Seriously, just yuck.”

  “Has anyone ever told you how funny it is when you come up with random ways of saying Oh God? Because, I’ve got to say, Sweet baby Jesus is in my top two.”

  I raise a brow. “Oh, yeah? What’s number one?”

  “Sweet baby Jesus in a manger. You only say that when you’re seriously thrown. What the hell did those nuns teach you in high school?” My crazy friend perks up like she’s about to get some juicy gossip.

  I point my mug toward her. “Natalie. Focus.”

  “Whatever.” She picks her coffee up and takes a big sip, then stares me down over the edge of the pink mug. “Anyway, I didn’t mean that Belles got the big Declan, I meant she got the big dick.”

  “GROSS! It’s still your brother’s big dick, and if you’ve got to explain it, it’s not a good euphemism.”

  “It was funny when Chloe said it about you.”

  “Nope, not funny. You were just glad someone else was finally getting tortured instead of you.” I turn to rinse my mug in the sink and place it on the drying rack.

  “Fine, but still . . . You’ve got to admit they could have been stealthier.”

  Spinning back around, I shut my eyes. “Says the girl who got caught with her boyfriend’s head up her dress by his sister.”

  Nattie laughs. “We’re kind of an incestuous little bunch, aren’t we?”

  “I guess we kind of are.”

  Later that morning, the wind whips against my face as I rush across campus for my Social Psychology class. My earbuds are tucked snugly in my ears with my favorite true crime podcast playing when a beeping alerts me to an incoming call. My first mistake was answering it without checking to see who it was.

  “Sabrina, it’s your mother. Do not hang up on me.”

  My second mistake was not hanging up.

  “Are you there?”

  I stop walking and contemplate hanging up on her. Years of being groomed in social graces forces me to answer her. “What do you want, Mother?”

  “I need you to come to the house tonight so we can discuss what you thought you saw and heard Saturday evening.”

  “No.” There is no hesitation in my voice.

  “I’m sorry, did you think that was a question?” Her tone has gone from friendly to fierce in a flash. “I am ordering you home. If you want to continue to live the cushy life you are accustomed to, you will come home tonight to discuss the temper tantrum you threw this weekend.”

  “Temper tantrum?” I realize how loudly I said that when I scan the sidewalk and see that people have stopped and are now staring at me. Lowering my voice, I continue walking and answer my mother as calmly as I can. “I’m not ready to speak to you, Mother. Do whatever you want, but I’m not coming home.”

  “Sabrina—” She doesn’t get to finish that sentence because I end the call.

  I don’t make it another ten feet before my phone rings again. This time I check the name before I answer.

  Shit. It’s Annabelle.

  “Hey, Belles. What’s up?”

  “You told Nattie?” Great. Somebody else who wants to be pissed at me today.

  “I did not. She knew. Come on, Belles, get real. We all knew. You were wearing his clothes.”

  “Yeah, well. She called me out on it a few minutes ago. I texted her to let her know I could cover her class if she needed me to tonight, and the little brat asked if I was sure I wouldn’t be too busy with Declan.”

  “That’s not calling you out, Belles.” I duck into Kroydon Hall and down the steps to my class. Standing next to the door, I let Belle’s finish her amusing rant.

  “It sure freaking feels like it. Then she asked me if we got married, would that make her Tommy’s aunt.” She laughs, but it sounds slightly manic. “But it doesn’t end there. When I told her it was a one-time-only thing, she asked me why her brother wasn’t good enough for me.”

  When I start laughing, Annabelle yells at me, “Sabrina! This is not funny. She’s going to torture me with this forever.”

  “There are worse things to be tortured over, Belles. I’ve gotta go. I’ve got class. Talk later.”

  I wish I could just climb back in Murphy’s bed and ignore the world today.

  40

  Murphy

  At three-thirty Monday afternoon, the entire team, minu
s one, is sitting in the stands of the practice field, waiting on Coach Barnett and his staff. We were told to be here, in full pads, waiting. Grief is like a heavy fog choking the air out of us all today.

  We’re the kings of campus. We’re trained to think we’re invincible.

  You have to be to play the game we play. But today, that belief has been shaken to its core.

  When Coach Barnett finally arrives, all eyes are on him. There’s no need for the usual call to get our attention. “Men, by now you all know what happened yesterday. We lost one of our own. One of our captains. One of our friends. Jamie Dawson was one of the good ones. He was a good man, and he was a hell of a football player. I am better for having known him and better for having coached him, and I can’t say that about everyone who has played for me.”

  Coach glances at his staff, before continuing, “I spoke with his parents today. Jamie and Charlotte are being flown home tomorrow. The school is planning to hold a memorial service in the basketball arena at seven on Wednesday night. If you have any videos or pictures you’d like to share, make sure you get them to Coach Foster by tomorrow afternoon. He’ll get them where they need to go. As a team, we’re asking for a moment of silence before the game Saturday afternoon. The game is being dedicated to Jamie.

  “There is also grief counseling available. You might think that doesn’t sound manly, but part of being a man is knowing how to deal with your emotions. Please see Coach McCann if you would like to set that up. If I feel like I have to mandate this at any point, I will.”

  A muscle ticks in Coach’s jaw. “You’re not going to like what I have to say now, men. I know you’re hurting, but you can’t let that get in the way of the job you have this week. If we use Jamie’s death as an excuse to not prepare for our upcoming game, he’d be disappointed in each and every one of you.

  “He loved this team and losing this weekend does not honor him. Don’t think that Kansas is coming here Saturday to take it easy on you. They aren’t going to care that we lost one of our own. Their goal is not to make us feel better. Do not let them win. I don’t know about you, but I refuse to dishonor Jamie that way. Practice will go on with the regular schedule this week. Get up, get stretched out, and get ready to practice. You’ve got ten minutes.”

  Coach Barnett exits the stands and takes his usual spot in the end zone for the start of practice. He’s a wanderer. He moves around the field from position group to position group, observing and coaching throughout the practice. He’s also a creature of habit. Every practice is started with stretching and calisthenics and that happens with the captains leading in the end zone with Coach off to the side.

  We’ll have one less captain there today.

  Some of my teammates aren’t happy. They thought practice would be canceled. They thought we’d be given the day to deal with this without everyone around.

  Screw that.

  Give me someone to hit right now, and maybe it’ll help.

  Give me an outlet for the overwhelming anger I’m feeling today.

  I don’t want to keep this shit bottled up.

  I want to rage.

  Sucks to be whoever goes against me.

  Coach let us go at five thirty. Even after his talk at the beginning of practice, he took it easy on us, which pissed me the hell off. Everybody was moving half-assed and slow as shit.

  He grabs me as I’m entering the locker room. “Murphy, shower up and meet me in my office in fifteen minutes.”

  No explanation given. What the hell? “Sure, Coach. I’ll be there.”

  I head to my locker, check my phone, and text Brina before jumping in the shower.

  Murphy: Hey, Princess. Just got done with practice. Heading home to eat something. Want to spend the night?

  Sabrina: I’ve got to finish a paper tonight.

  Murphy: So bring your laptop with you. I have to study for a history quiz.

  Sabrina: You sure you don’t mind? I have to finish this. No excuses.

  Murphy: Pack a bag. I’m jumping in the shower now. I’ll pick you up on my way home.

  Murphy: Did you eat?

  Sabrina: Does a granola bar count?

  Murphy: No, it doesn’t. We’ll figure out the takeout when we get home.

  Sabrina: K.

  Murphy: See you in a few.

  Bash slams his locker shut. “I’m out, man.”

  “Listen, I’m picking up Sabrina before I head home. Don’t order dinner without us.”

  “Gotcha. It’s Monday. You know Nattie’s gonna want Chinese.”

  Brady pops his head around the wall of lockers to see us. “She already texted. She wants Chinese.”

  “Alright. I’ll be ten minutes behind you guys. Don’t order without us.” I grab my towel and shut my locker.

  “Damn. That all it takes you, man? Nobody wants a one pump chump, Murph. Just sayin.”

  I shove Bash’s shoulder as I head to the shower.

  Giving him the finger as I walk away, I add, “At least the last girl in my bed wasn’t Train Wreck.”

  “Fuck off, Murph,” he hollers as I walk away.

  The normalcy of this conversation just helped lift a little of the weight off my shoulders ten times more than that joke of a practice did.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m showered, dressed, and knocking on Coach Barnett’s door. “Come in, Murphy.”

  Coach Barnett is sitting behind his desk wearing his ever-present KU polo. Coach Foster, my linebacker coach, is leaning against the whiteboard next to him. Foster is in his late thirties and is the coach that tries to be everyone’s friend. He wants to help where he can. Our defensive coordinator, Coach Phillips, is seated on the chair across the room. Coach Phillips is a bit of a hard-ass. He evens out Foster. Coach Barnett points at the chair next to Phillips. “Take a seat, son. We need to talk to you.”

  “Sorry, Coach.” I sit down on the edge of the seat. “I know I was a hard-ass at practice today.”

  “You’re not here because you’re in trouble.” Coach Barnett leans forward, elbows against his desk, steepling his fingers before continuing, “Listen, Murphy, when we recruited you, we did so knowing we’d need to backfill the middle linebacker position once Jamie graduated. You were the heir apparent this year, whether you knew it or not. Jamie knew it. He knew he was grooming his replacement, and he thought you were the man for the job. I’m sorry to throw this at you now. I know you’re hurting. We all are. But we need you to step up and move into this position, starting tomorrow.”

  I look from Coach Barnett to Coach Foster and Coach Phillips, unsure what I’m expecting to see. These men look like this is hurting them as much as it’s hurting me.

  How am I supposed to fill Jamie’s shoes?

  Coach Foster interrupts my thoughts, “You’re a leader on that field, Murphy. We need you to help lead this team through this tragedy. It’s not going to be easy, but you wouldn’t be sitting in that chair right now if we didn’t know you could do this. You’re going to be taking all the calls for the defense and leading the huddle on Saturday.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Coach.” Holy shit. I wasn’t expecting this.

  Coach Barnett opens his drawer and hands me a black playbook wristband. It’s one I recognize. “This is Jamie’s band, Murphy. We asked his parents for their permission to give it to you.”

  It’s hard to hold back the tears stinging my eyes, and any man who says this wouldn’t destroy them is lying. My days of being the carefree freshman player, whose only burden on this team was worrying about myself, ended with this wristband being given to me. Now I’m responsible for the entire defense, ten other guys.

  Guys who looked up to Jamie.

  “Coach, I’m honored that you think I’m ready for this. I hope I don’t let you down.”

  “You won’t, son. Now get out of here and be ready for practice tomorrow.”

  Coach Barnett stands and offers me his hand.

  A handshake has never felt more monumental in my life.<
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  Okay, so it’s more like thirty minutes later when we make it back to the house. Nattie already texted Sabrina for our Chinese order. One of the things I’ve learned over the last year, especially since sharing a house with Natalie Sinclair, is that she might be tiny, but she’s vicious when she’s hangry.

  We’re all sitting at the kitchen table like the family we are, about to eat dinner out of black plastic Chinese food containers. An extra container with egg rolls and another with fried wontons sit in the center, along with three extra containers of various kinds of rice and the side of garlic string beans Nattie always insists we share because she swears we all like them.

  One day, she’ll realize she’s the only one who ever eats them.

  Everyone’s popping open their containers when Bash eyes me from across the table, asking, “What did Coach want?”

  I look from him to Brady before stabbing a piece of sweet and sour chicken. “I’m being moved to middle linebacker. I’m taking the defensive calls Saturday.”

  Brady stops eating and looks up. “It’s a good move. You’ve been playing that position your whole life. You had to know you were being groomed to step up next year.”

  “Thinking it might happen next year and knowing it’s happening now because Jamie’s dead are two different things.” I go back to filling my plate.

  Brady holds my stare. “They are, man. But we’ve got a job to do and a team depending on us. You’ve got this.”

  “Seriously?” Bash grumbles. “I gotta take orders from you again? I thought I’d get at least one entire season without having to hear your voice in the huddle.”

  “I wish it wasn’t my voice we were gonna hear.” I leave “I wish it was still Jamie’s” unsaid, but we’re all thinking it.