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“The fuck it doesn’t,” Ben growls.
He walks over and puts himself between me and my brother, his body tense, his hands balled into fists. Eric squares his shoulders, puffs out his chest, and raises his chin defiantly. The air in the room is heavy, and as the two men glare at each other, grows thicker with the promise of violence. I put my hand on Ben’s arm gently.
“It’s okay,” I tell him softly. “I’ve got this.”
“I know you do. I know you can take care of yourself,” he replies. “But I just watched your brother smack you across the face. That is not okay.”
“Like she said, everything’s okay,” Eric sneers. “This is between me and my sister, so go ahead and fuck off already.”
Ben strikes with the speed of lightning, giving Eric a hard, two-handed shove that sends him stumbling backward. He crashes into a set of folding chairs and goes down on his ass. Hard.
“What the fuck?”
We all turn to see Coach Holman storming into the room looking beyond displeased. As Eric scrambles to his feet, the coach puts himself between the two men, taking turns glaring at each one of them. He’s angry. But more than that, he looks disappointed.
“This is fucking unbelievable,” he growls. “I told you there were going to be consequences if you two couldn’t stop acting like goddamn children.”
Ben swallows hard. “Coach, I?—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Givens. I’m really disappointed in you. In both of you,” he says. “Get out of here and go home. Do not come back to the facility until you hear from me. Do you both understand?”
Eric and Ben glare at each other, neither of them speaking. The feeling of impending violence still permeates the air in the press room and seems to be growing thicker.
“Do you both understand?” the coach repeats. “As of now, you’re both suspended. I’m going to have security escort you to your cars to make sure you get the fuck out of my gym without killing each other. Whatever you do once you’re off team grounds is your call. I’m done giving a shit about what you do.”
“Coach,” Eric starts.
“I said shut the fuck up and get out of my building. Now.”
Ben cuts a glance at me, silently saying that he'd catch up with me later, then turns and walks out of the press room. Eric glares at Coach Holman and then at me. It’s obvious he doesn’t think the problem is him and is, at least in his mind, blaming us for his troubles. As usual. But he too, finally turns and leaves. When the door slams behind him, the coach scrubs his face with his hands, an expression of absolute disgust etched into his features.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Fucking unbelievable.”
“Coach Holman?”
“Sorry. I have to go. I need to get security?—”
“This will only take a minute. Before you make any decisions one way or the other, I need to show you something,” I say.
15
BEN
I’m sitting in Gary Pryor’s office. The GM left a message for me last night to be here first thing in the morning. It’s been three days since the incident in the press room, and I’ve been on pins and needles the whole time. Making the entire situation worse is that I haven’t seen much of Bailey, making me worry that she’s suffering some kind of blowback from it all. She says that she’s okay, but I worry that since I’ve got so much on my plate as it is, she’s just protecting me.
I shift in the chair, tapping my foot on the floor as I wait. I just want to get this over with. My first thought is that this meeting is to tell me that I’m being traded. As long as they put some distance between me and Eric, I’m good with it. I’ll figure out how to make things with Bailey work, even if I’m in another city. I want to be with her. I just don’t want to be anywhere near her brother. She brings out the best in me. He brings out the worst.
As I sit here waiting, another thought creeps into my mind that makes my belly churn as I sit up straight. The only thing worse than Gary telling me I’m not being traded and will be expected to find a way to play alongside Eric would be him telling me they’re suspending me. There’s a behavior clause in my contract, so in theory, they could put me on the shelf and off the court for…however long they want to. Again, in theory.
They might not want to eat my contract and not have me play, which would make a trade more likely. But Coach Holman was pretty pissed. And I know him well enough from our days together in Dallas that the man can hold a grudge. He can also be vindictive as fuck. He might not give a shit about my contract dollars or the financial ramification and suspend me just because he can. Because we pissed him off that much.
The idea of being suspended, of not being able to play, makes me sick to my stomach. Ball is all I know. Aside from Bailey, it's all I want. Being the best on the court and the drive to be acknowledged as one of the best ever is what gets me out of bed in the morning. It's my reason for being. And the possibility that they can sit me down and keep me from doing what I was born to do, keep me from building my legacy, it’s intolerable.
I sit back in the chair trying to quell my racing thoughts and the blazing-hot anger surging through my veins. The idea that I could suffer a suspension as a result of this makes me want to find Eric Greene and beat the ever-living shit out of him. He may not care about the game or building a lasting legacy, but I do. And the thought that this is all happening because of him makes the fire of burning hatred I have inside me burn all the brighter.
The door to Gary’s office opens, and he walks in with a grim look on his face. This isn’t going to be good. But then Bailey walks in behind him, her expression completely neutral. I don’t know what she’s doing here unless she’s covering my suspension or trade for the paper. Either way, it makes me think it’s going to be even worse.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. We just had to make sure a few things were finalized before we met with you,” Gary says as he sits down behind his desk.
