Kicked

by Celia Aaron

“I know. I want you to depend on me. Tell me what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. I want to be here for you.”

  “How do you always say things that speak to my heart? ‘Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service’.”

  He laughed and swung open his front door. “Are all lit majors romantics at heart? And what was that?”

  “Yes, and Shakespeare. The Tempest.”

  He kicked the door shut behind him and sat on the couch, cradling me in his lap. “I promise it’ll be okay.” Hugging me close, he kissed my cheeks, my forehead, the tip of my nose—each caress gentle.

  “I hope so.” I relaxed even more into him, letting his strength surround me. “You didn’t sleep last night.”

  “Yeah. I had too much going on in my head, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry.” I rested my head in the crook of his neck.

  “Don’t be.”

  “She’ll forgive you. Just give her some time.”

  He rested his chin on me. “Now who’s the one who just knows the right thing to say?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For picking me this time.”

  “Every time from now on. It’s only you and me.” He hugged me so tight I squeaked. “And now that I’ve got you, I’ll never let you go.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CORDY

  I LAY MY CELL phone on the bench. Detective Monroe had called during practice. It was the Friday before our game against the Bears, and I’d been nailing every short kick. Hawthorne was also crazy accurate, and we seemed to feed off each other, trying to be the best from our respective distances.

  I ran back onto the field, my heart heavy. No one had come forward with any information, and without any suspects, the case had gone cold. Landon had been released from the hospital, but he was too busted up to navigate the stairs in his dorm. Trent had offered to let him stay at his apartment. Landon had, of course, vehemently declined. After more than a little convincing from me, and the promise of endless blowies from Ellie, he grudgingly agreed.

  “Let’s try the fake.” Coach Carver blew his whistle and motioned for the kicking team to line up at the ten.

  I trotted out and took position next to Trent. “Monroe called. No leads.”

  “Damn. Sorry.” He shook his head.

  “He’s going to stay on it, though.”

  “He’ll find something. He has to.” He glanced to my cheeks. “You’re getting wind-chapped.”

  “I’m fine.” The weather had turned even colder since November had arrived.

  “I should take better care of you. You definitely need my attention.”

  His words were benign, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

  “Trent.” I glanced around at our teammates and lowered my voice. “Ixnay on the sex talk.”

  “Are you going to hike the ball or are we taking a break? Get set, ladies!” Coach Carver blew his whistle, but the sound died toward the end as he looked at me and his eyes widened. “I didn’t mean that as an insult. I-I mean, I wasn’t saying women are less than…” He swallowed hard, then pointed at me. “Just run the damn ball.”

  I grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  Trent knelt and I took my steps back, going through the exact same setup as if I were truly going to kick. I motioned for the hike and immediately went in motion toward the left hash. Trent caught the ball, then tossed it over his head to a predetermined spot. I was there, just as planned, caught the ball and ran toward the end zone. I would have made it, too, except Ethan crashed into me out of nowhere.

  I landed on my back, the wind gone from my lungs as I struggled to take in a breath. Two suns shone above me, and my ears rang. Even with the high-pitched tune, I could hear shouting and the thud of feet.

  Hawthorne appeared. “Jesus, are you okay?”

  I blinked and finally got my breath back. “I-I think so.”

  He glanced up, then covered me with his body as the thumps of heavy feet grew louder.

  I turned to look, but only saw a mass of legs. “What the?”

  “Ethan and Trent are going at each other.”

  The thuds stopped, but the yelling didn’t.

  He raised off me. “Sorry. I didn’t want them to step on you.”

  I smiled. “That’s sweet.”

  “Can you get up?”

  “I think so.” I took his hand and sat, looking around for Trent. Three linemen held him back, and another set of players held a smirking Ethan while Coach Carver yelled bloody murder at both of them.

  “You know you aren’t allowed to hit like that in practice. And on her? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

  “She needs to learn—”

  “I’m doing the talking!” Coach bellowed. “And you”—he pointed at Trent—“you can’t get in a fight on the field. I don’t care who you’re dating! Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Let them go.” Coach shook his head in disgust.

  Trent shrugged off the guys and jogged to me. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so.”

  Coach stabbed a finger in Ethan’s face. “Get your sorry ass over there and help her up.”

  I shook my head, though it made it ache. “I can get up.”

  Ethan walked up and held out his beefy mitt. The tape across his fingers had come undone during the struggle, and I noticed a series of scratches and marks along his knuckles.

  “Walk the fuck away, or I’ll lay you out.” Trent bit out the words, each one soaked with loathing.

  “Wait.” I stared up at Ethan, the grin on his face turning my stomach. “It was you.”

  “It was me that put you on your back where you belong? Yeah.”

  “You hurt Landon. It was you.” Rage warmed my blood, and I scrambled to my feet. “It was you!” I flew at him, gouging my nails into his neck before Trent ripped me off him.

  “Get your bitch under control.” He swiped at the scratches and scowled. But I saw the hint of fear in his eyes. I was right.

  “Trent, his hands. His knuckles are bruised.” I pointed as Ethan backed away, discomfort twisting his ugly face.

  Trent practically vibrated with anger. “Let me see your hands.”

  “Fuck off.” Ethan turned his back.

  Trent took a step to follow.

  “No. Let him go. It’s not worth you getting hurt. I’ll text Monroe right this minute.”

  “What’s going on?” Hawthorne stayed close.

  “Ethan’s a fucking asshole. That’s what.” I gripped his arm and squeezed. “Thanks.”

  “Welcome. If he pulls that again, I’ll gang up with Trent, and we’ll see if we can’t drop the big guy.”

  “I’m down.” Trent put his hands on my cheeks. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes.”

  Coach Carver yelled for Hawthorne to practice his fake. I darted to the sideline and texted Monroe my suspicions. He responded almost immediately that he was on his way to question Ethan in person. A half hour later, Monroe arrived and escorted the wildebeest into the locker room.

  Trent shot me a look from the field. I didn’t text Landon about it. Getting his hopes up wouldn’t help him recover. I couldn’t be sure it was Ethan, but the bruises on his hands were pretty damning.

  A short while later, Coach Carver dismissed Hawthorne and me to class. I waved at Trent and trotted to the women’s locker room, my mind swirling with whatever Ethan might be telling Monroe.

  I stripped and showered, the warm water reviving me from the chill of outside. My back was starting to get sore from where I’d landed on it. Otherwise, I was in good shape. I wrapped a towel around my midsection, then walked back to the locker area.

  Then the lights went out.

  There were no windows, and I was the only one in the locker room.

  “Shit.” I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, literally. I tried it.

  Reaching out, I felt
along the row of lockers and eased toward the door that led to the stadium’s inner hallway. My memory served me well, and I skirted the sinks, vanities, and lockers until I was close to the door.

  “Princess.” It was a whisper that sent a shudder through me.

  I began to back up, but he must have known where I was. His palm crushed down on my mouth, and he pressed me into the bank of lockers. He was huge. I tried to scream and push him, but he slammed me against the metal, jarring me into silence.

  “Telling the cops about me?” He pressed against my mouth until I thought my lips might split open.

  I slapped him, the blow glancing off his forehead as I struggled to escape. He gripped my wrist and squeezed until pain ripped through my arm. I whimpered and gasped against his palm.

  “Shh.” His voice cut through the blackness. “Don’t fight so much. And don’t worry about the cop you sicced on me. I didn’t tell him shit. Said he could talk to my lawyer. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I tried to shove him off, but it was like pushing against a brick wall.

  “Play along, princess. You owe me this for sending that detective to ask me questions. And if you don’t cooperate, I can hurt your little pal again whenever I want. He didn’t even put up a fight. He was out cold after the first hit.”

  Hot tears burned in my eyes as he pressed against me, and I couldn’t breathe.

  Then I was blinded. Someone had flipped on the lights. Ethan turned. I filled my lungs and screamed as Trent yanked him backwards and slammed him into the tile floor.

  Hawthorne dashed to me. “Did he hurt you?”

  I couldn’t respond.

  Trent had settled on Ethan’s chest and was throwing punch after punch. Ethan tried to defend himself, but Trent’s fury seemed to only grow stronger each time he connected with a sickening thud. Hawthorne moved in front of me and pulled me to his chest so I couldn’t see it anymore.

  “Did he hurt you?” He hugged me as I shook.

  The door creaked open and yells bounced off the walls of the room. Coaches and players swarmed around me, but I buried my face in Hawthorne’s chest and wished it was all just a bad dream.

  “Get off me!” Trent’s voice shook with raw anger. One more sickening thud, and then it was over.

  “Cordy.” Trent’s voice at my side. He stroked a hand down my hair, and Hawthorne eased me into Trent’s arms.

  I couldn’t think, couldn’t process what had just happened, or what would have happened if Trent and Hawthorne hadn’t shown up.

  “Can someone tell me what in the hell is going on in here?” Coach Sterling’s roar quieted all other voices.

  “Trent and I heard some weird noises when we were walking past after practice. We opened the door, but the locker room was dark. We almost left, but then we heard Ethan threatening Cordy. Then we flipped on the light. He had her pinned against these lockers, his hand over her mouth.”

  The room shifted, all the anger fading and recognition of what almost happened hitting everyone at the same time.

  “Do you all need me in here?” Detective Monroe’s familiar voice rang out.

  I peeked around Trent, though his arms tightened as if he were afraid I’d run. “Ethan admitted to me he hurt Landon, then h-he tried to…” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

  Detective Monroe knelt next to Ethan who had both hands pressed to his bloody nose and mouth. Unlatching a pair of handcuffs from his belt loop, he clicked them open. “Ethan Granger, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent.” His words faded away as Trent squeezed me close.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No. He didn’t get a chance to do much.” I rubbed the back of my head where it had been pressed against the lockers.

  Trent scooped me up and carried me toward the back of the locker room. He sat on one of the benches and held me as Coach Sterling approached.

  “Cordy?” He swiped his ball cap off his head and sat on the bench opposite us. “I had no idea. No idea Ethan was capable of such a thing. If I had, he wouldn’t have been on the team. I swear. Are you hurt?”

  I stared at him, his weathered cheeks and sunburned brow. His eyes usually had a glint of calculation, but at that moment they were damp with concern.

  “I’m not injured.” I turned my eyes to Trent. “Thanks to you. And to Hawthorne.” Though I was safe in Trent’s arms, I was still shaken, the shock of Ethan’s assault registering only on the lowest levels.

  “He’s off the team, and if I have anything to say about it—and I do—he’ll be expelled before he bails out of jail. I promise you. I’ll speak with the administration about getting you a guard. I need you to feel safe. You are part of this team, a very important part. I understand if you don’t want to be part of it anymore after this.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, looking far more tired than he ever did when he yelled at us on the sidelines. “But I want you here. You belong here, on the field.”

  I shook my head. “Ethan can’t run me off this team. Not a chance. And I don’t need a guard, but I would ask for something else.”

  “Anything. If it’s in my power, it’s yours.”

  “I’ll feel safer if Trent can dress out with me. Here and when we’re on the road.”

  “It’s…” He scratched his jaw. “It’ll raise eyebrows up the chain. I’m not sure if I can agree to that.”

  Trent pulled me closer. “All you have to agree to is that I will watch out for Cordy. I’ll stand guard whenever she’s dressing out.”

  Coach raised a gray eyebrow. “Will that be inside or outside the women’s locker room?”

  He shrugged. “As far as you’re concerned, outside.”

  Coach chuckled. “Plausible deniability. Is that what we’re doing here?”

  “Pretty much.” Trent’s voice was backed with steel. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “Cordy, you sure you’re okay with this?”

  I wanted to say I could take care of myself, but Ethan’s attack had proven me wrong. Having Trent around would go a long way toward making me feel safe. “Yes.”

  “It’s unorthodox.” Coach sighed and settled his ball cap back onto his head. “And you can bet your teammates are going to talk. But if that’s what it takes to keep you, I’ll approve it as long as you two are the only ones. I’m pretty sure if any other women are in the locker room, they’ll make their objections known.”

  “Trent?” I looked up into his green eyes, one of the eyelids starting to swell. “Oh shit, did Ethan hit you?”

  “I don’t feel a thing. Don’t worry about it. And yes, I’m all for it. I don’t think Coach could keep me away from you after this, anyway. I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

  Overprotective? Yes. Comforting all the same? Hell yes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  TRENT

  “I KIND OF FEEL like I should join the team. I can kick almost as well as you.” Landon looped his arm around Ellie’s shoulders and leaned over the wall to look down at Cordy and me on the field. His face was still yellow and a sickly green in patches, but he was healing more every day. He’d managed to sit through the entire game against the Bears, and I caught him cheering like a nut after every one of Cordy’s field goals.

  “I think you’ve lost your mind. That’s what I think.” She tucked her helmet under her arm.

  “Congratulations.” Ellie smiled at me. “Think we’ll make the playoffs?”

  “Looks like it. As long as we can defeat the Devils next week.” I reached up and shook hands with Landon. It had become our greeting over the past week, a simple, oddly formal handshake. But it seemed to work, and if it made him hate me less, I was all for it.

  “Let’s just say, for the sake of obvious argument, that we win next week,” Landon eyed the cheerleaders on the field behind us. “How do you see our playoff chances?”

  A couple of students passed by, yelled, and reached down for high fives from me. Landon rolled his eyes, and Cordy grinned.

&
nbsp; I smacked her ass, and she squeaked. “Good game, kicker. And, to answer your question, our chances are looking good. I think we’ll get in. If we advance depends on how one through three stack up in the rankings. Number one plays number four, and numbers two and three play each other.”

  “I want the Eagles.” Cordy bounced on the balls of her feet.

  She’d muffed the kick at the very start of the season against the Eagles, which resulted in that disastrous touchdown. But after we defeated everyone else on our schedule, she was jonesing for another piece of them. Problem was, now that our best defensive lineman was in lockup for assault, we would have to run a strong offense to have any chance of coming out with the win. I had a disciplined line to work with, but if the Eagles could score on our defense with ease, we were doomed.

  “Hey, Trent.” A fan, completely decked in Bobcat attire with his face striped in white and blue paint, stopped next to Landon. “You going into the draft, man?”

  “That’s a while away, so I’m not putting too much thought into it. We need to get through our season here first.” In truth, I had put plenty of thought into it. I’d already submitted myself to the Draft Advisory Board. They would grade me and, if all went well, I’d get invited to the Combine prior to the draft, with the end goal of getting on a team—a team that would most likely be far away from Billingsley and Cordy.

  A harsh camera light cast my shadow on the brick wall ahead of me.

  “Paparazzi on your six.” Landon pointed.

  I turned and got a face full of lens and a microphone. “How has the loss of Ethan Granger affected team morale?” The reporter shouted her question as I grabbed Cordy’s elbow and hustled her toward the tunnel.

  “Save it for the presser.” I started a jog as she peppered me with more questions.

  “Any truth to the rumors you and Ms. Baxter are an item? Was Ethan kicked off the team because of Ms. Baxter?” She followed behind us until we made it to the safety of the tunnel and security stopped her.

  We trudged down the slope to the inner corridor. At the bottom, Cordy headed to the right.

  “Left.” I grabbed her shoulder pads and turned her.