Chapter 25

hey I need to know. can u guys tell if there's a difference between if jax is narrating or Rocco? like the voice? the way of describing things idk?

thanks bbs

JAX

My brain was too hot.

My head was thudding. Everything hurt.

I could see bright lights up head of me through the darkness, and feel someone next to me, supporting me as I stumbled forward. There were voices all around me, talking low and laughing, some slurring their words.

I lifted my head with effort. "WHa?" I said

The guy who was holding me up as we walked laughed, and I realised it was Ryan, his face painted with navy glitter.

"Oi boys, he's awake. " He yelled out, twisting backwards to yell at the Cobras behind us. A series of cheers rang out from the guys.

"You told us to bring you here. You got totally whooped by Denver. Although he was looking pretty rough as well... I didn't even know he wanted Sirena that bad! " Ryan was saying, but I stopped listening, a sweat breaking out over my skin. I twisted to get out of Ryan's hold, blinking hard to try and clear my eyesight.

"Where - where are we?" I rasped. No, no, no, they couldn't have brought me home.

"Coach's house. Yeah, we were confused too. You said it, man. "

I breathed out in relief, looking up at the warm lights of Coach's house, then a fresh prickling broke out over my skin as something occurred to me.

"Oh shit. Oh fuck. He's going to kick me out. I'm such a fuckass. I shouldn't have started it with Denver. " I said, or something along those lines. My head was whirling.

"Boys, shut up!" I hissed behind me, and after a few seconds the guys' voices dropped. "Let's not disturb Coach and his wife. "

I stood up straight as I could, took a swig out of bottle of water someone passed to me, straightened my shirt, and tried to wipe the glittery shit off my face. I patted Ryan on the back and nodded to the group of other guys behind me, including Oscar and Marc.

"Thanks boys, I owe you. " I said, feeling humbled.

They nodded and saluted me, then one by one turned back around and ambled down the driveway to the collection of motorbikes parked at the bottom. Ryan winked at me and slipped a cigarette into his mouth as I left.

It wasn't that late yet, and Coach and his wife weren't asleep. I had fucked up majorly, and even if the bruises didn't look that bad yet, they would soon, and we were going on tournament soon. Coach could easily ban me from going, and possibly Denver, the literal Captain, too. Shit, had I fucked up everything for everyone?

Fuck. For once I had something for myself, and now I was going to lose it.

Alright, man up, you piece of shit, I told myself. I took out my key that Coach had given me for the door, unlocked it, stepped in, and closed it behind me. The hallway was dark, but flickering light and sounds from the TV reflected on the hallway wall opposite the well-lit lounge.

I made my way slowly over to the living room, feeling battered.

Coach was sitting on the couch, watching the TV in his pyjamas - an old football t-shirt and sweatpants.

He turned his head towards me, a cup of tea held in both hands.

"Hey Coach. I just wanted to tell you that I got in a fight with Dick - I mean, Denver tonight at a party. It was over something stupid. I'm really ashamed of my actions, and I'm really sorry to let you down. They're not showing yet, but tomorrow I'm gonna have bruises, and Denver will as well. I understand if you don't want me to go on tournament because of this. I - I know it's not a good look for the school if one of the players and the team captain show up to games with obvious fight bruises. Shit - I mean, yeah, that's really not a good look. However - I really want to go on tournament and I'll do anything to make it up. Detention for the rest of the year, cleaning the gym after school, washing the gear - I'll do anything. I swear this won't happen again. But, if you decide you don't want me on tournament, or even on the team, I deserve it. I deserve it. I'm sorry, Coach. "

I clenched my hands together, feeling pricks of sweat around my collar. Coach told a slow sip of his tea, the TV still blaring in the background. He put the tea on the coffee table in the middle of the room, leaning forwards slowly to rest his elbows on his knees, his thick eyebrows drawn together.

Finally, after what felt like years, he spoke.

"That was really mature and unlike you, Wilson. "

Silence again, then he sighed.

"Look. You did a stupid thing. You really fucked up, boy. This is a high-profile tournament, and yeah, you and the team captain showing up with fight bruises makes us all look like assholes. I don't understand why you guys couldn't have waited to have a party after you got back. It was extremely selfish and immature of you to incite violence with another team member in the first place. "

He linked his fingers together.

"So here's the deal. You and Denver are gonna wear makeup to cover those bruises on tournament. You and Denver are on gear duty for three weeks, every single afternoon, when we get back. You're gonna apologise to each other in front of me. You're both gonna apologise to the team. "

I frowned. "Coach, I hate - am not friends with Denver, but I started the fight, remember?"

Coach laughed and gestured to my face. "Yeah, but those red marks on your face are not self-defence bruises. "

I pressed my lips together.

"And I haven't finished. You're both gonna do all the stuff I just mentioned together if you want to go on tournament. Also. While we're on tournament, you'e gonna room with Denver - "

My jaw dropped. "What the fuck - I mean, what the hell? No, god no - "

Coach glared at me. "Listen. You're gonna room with Denver for the whole tournament, and sit together on the bus, and you're not gonna fight at all. You're not even gonna argue. I don't wanna hear either of you even say no to each other. If you do, both of you are out after the tournament. You understand I can't have fights within my team. "

I clenched my jaw, fighting back a string of expletives, fury heating my face. I hated Coach in that moment.

The Simpsons played loudly on the TV in the background. Coach watched me, proud of himself. I closed my eyes.

How bad do you want this? How bad do you wanna play football?

I thought of my teammates, of Ryan, of Duncan. How hard we had trained for this. The feeling when we knew we were getting faster at our passes, the feeling of smooth smart teamwork, the feeling of scoring.

I opened my eyes.

----

The next morning I felt like shit as I dragged myself out of Coach's guest room's bed. I was ok, but bruised, and the punches Denver had landed on me last night were now red and clearly visible, one on the ridge of my cheekbone. Mrs Coach came in just as I came out of the bathroom, an array of bottles with different skin-coloured liquids in her arms as well as some egg-shaped sponges.

She winced at my bruises. "Oh dear, " she said gently. "Here. Try these out and see which one suits you. "

I bit back a grimace. "Thanks Mrs Coach."

She followed me into the bathroom. "You're quite pale, like me. So you'll suit one of these colours just fine. What about - what's his name? The other young man who has bruises?"

I couldn't hold back my grimace this time. She laid down the clinking glass bottles onto the countertop and looked expectantly at me.

I ran a hand through my hair. "Um, yeah. Uh... " I glanced quickly at the bottles and pointed at one. "That one. Yep. "

She picked it up, one of the few darker coloured bottles, a darker olive skin tone. "This one?"

Mutely, feeling dumb, I nodded.

"So you're my winter colour, and he's my summer colour! Funny that. "

"Funny. " I muttered.

Mrs Coach put a squirt of the paler foundation on to the round sponge, then turned to me.

"It's not hard, dear. " She said. "Just make sure you don't put it on too thick, see?"

She pressed the cold, wet sponge to my cheekbone and began dabbing. I winced. "Sorry, dear. " She said. "Here, you try it. " She handed me the sponge.

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I dabbed the foundation over the bruise on my cheek using the sponge until it had disappeared. "Huh." I said, turning my head this way and that. "Not bad. "

She pushed the dark olive foundation into my hand. "You pass this onto him, ok dear?"

I opened my mouth, but she had already turned around, a sly smile on her face.

I sighed and grabbed a couple of round sponges from the bag. "Thanks Mrs. Coach!" I called after her.

- - -

ROCCO

It was cold as I waited with Rio for all the guys to turn up, all of us wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts, hands tucked into our pockets, Adidas duffel bags slung over shoulders or discarded on the ground. A few of them had glanced at the reddish bruise on my jaw when they had arrived, and I had glared back.

This morning Coach had called me to let me know that he knew me and Wilson had fought, and would tell me the conditions I would have to agree to to stay on tournament and as Captain. I was waiting for him now, leaning against the cold bus, my breath misting the air.

The sound of a car coming along the quiet early morning road filled the air, and the guys all looked up tiredly.

Coach's car rounded the corner and pulled into the lot, tires crunching on the frosty gravel.

The engine shut off, and Coach, Wilson, and Mrs Coach got out, and took two duffel bags out of the boot. Mrs Coach kissed Coach on the cheek, then went around the car to the driver's side and got in as Coach hurried towards us, Wilson sauntering behind.

Wilson's face was unblemished from last night. Not a single scratch marred his cold skin. I frowned. I was sure I had hit him pretty hard last night. I was suddenly very conscious of the bruise on my jaw, inflicted by Wilson's knuckles, among with other ones under my clothes.

Coach greeted the boys and then made a beeline for me. He handed me a plastic bag, looking closely at my face.

"Howdy, Cap'n," He said, and some of the tension in my shoulders eased.

I looked inside the bag. There was an egg-shaped sponge and a glass container of olive brown foundation. My eyes flicked to Wilson's unblemished skin and he looked away, scuffing the gravel with his running shoes.

Coach slapped me on the back. "Chuck that on your face, Cap'n! Also, if you wanna stay Cap'n, or even on this team, I got a few things I want you boys to do. First off, you and Wilson - gear duty for three weeks. You're also gonna apologise to each other and the team. Then, when we get to our hostel, you two are going to room together - "

"What!" I yelled, and a few heads turned towards us in curiosity.

Coach sighed. "What is it with you two and interrupting me?" He glared at both of us and Wilson put his hands up, palms out in indignation. Coach turned back to me.

"You heard me right, Cap'n. " He cleared his throat. "Assuming, that is, that you still want to be Captain... "

I stared very hard at Coach's shoulder. He moved his head down to meet my eyes, eyebrows raised.

I coughed. "I do, sir. "

Coach clapped his hands together. "Great! Then we understand each other perfectly?"

I glowered, clenching my hands together behind my back. "We do, sir. "

Coach crossed his arms and looked between me and Wilson pointedly. I looked up towards Wilson to see him already watching me, a small smile on his face.

"Sorry, Wilson. " I gritted out.

"I'm sorry too, Denver. " He grinned back, showing pearly teeth. I had no idea how his teeth were so white, considering how much he probably smoked. He held out his hand towards me, and my brain a mush, I took it, feeling the cool dry firmness of his palm. He clenched his fingers hard around mine, like he wanted to break them, his blue eyes dark and grey under the overcast sky, a perfect smile planted on his face. I clenched my fingers back, but I couldn't bring myself to grin back, even for the sake of Coach. He was standing too close.

We broke away. I felt like the hand which had touched his was marked in some way, like I couldn't touch anything with it.

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