Be Mine (Jackson Boys 2)

“Chip. Chip. Chip.” The last one is said loud enough that half the bar turns.

“What?” replies a surly Peters.

“Did you hear anything I said in the last five minutes?” Coach snaps.

I down half my protein shake and try to hide my own irritation. Chip’s game sucked yesterday. Monday is technically our day off, but the quarterbacks had to come in to attend a special meeting at the practice facility. We ran through some game film, but Chip kept complaining about being hungry, refused the catering, and demanded we come here to Stacks.

It’s late and we’re all a little frustrated, but since we’ve sat down, Chip’s done nothing but complain. The food sucks. The beer’s warm. The service is slower than a turtle’s ass.

“Where’s the goddamned waitress?” Chip says again.

“She’s busy. I’m trying to point out something here.” Coach jabs a finger at the print-out of game film.

Chip’s attention is fixed across the room. “Christ. She’s fucking around while I’m dry as dust. Does she think she gets paid for just being here?” He slams his half-full beer bottle on the table and pushes away from the table.

“Hey, I’ll get you something from the bar.” I’m halfway out of my chair when coach tugs me down.

“Let him go,” Coach mutters. “He needs to let off some steam.”

“What? No.” I shake him off. “She’s a waitress working her ass off for a few measly tips an hour. She doesn’t need an angry player in her face yelling at her because he can’t pop off on his coach.”

“And you can?” Coach snaps.

I keep my mouth shut but keep walking. I’m probably going to get yelled at when I get back, but it’ll be worth it. Lainey doesn’t deserve this.

“Get back here, Jackson,” Coach bellows.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I’ve been yelling at your fat ass for ten minutes now,” Chip is yelling at Lainey. “I’m dry as a bone and you’re shaking your tits in front of two old men who wouldn’t know what to do with them if you shoved one in their mouths.”

The locals are staring at him wide-eyed as if they haven’t seen him throw a hundred temper tantrums on the sidelines. The equipment manager has had to stock extra helmets because Chip has cracked his main one for the last three games.

I slide between a frozen Lainey and a furious Chip, who towers over the girl by a foot. “Your manager is asking for you, Lainey,” I lie. “You better go before he blows a gasket.”

“Get out of my fucking way, Rookie. Adult business is happening here,” Chip snarls and punches the heel of his palm against my shoulder.

I don’t move. “I’ll get you a beer. Why don’t you go sit down?”

“You don’t get to tell me to sit down, Rookie. I’m the top dog here. Not you. You do what I tell you, not the other way around.”

There’s a protocol here. A pecking order in the locker room. The starting quarterback sits on top, and then the other stars fall somewhere underneath. I’m not a star. I’m a backup with a gun for an arm, but until my decision-making skills get better and I stop trying to force the ball into tiny defensive holes, I’ll be holding the clipboard on Sundays. And if I keep interfering in Chip’s business, I may be out of a job completely. Despite this, I step forward, making sure my large frame shields Lainey completely.

“Coach wasn’t done talking. I’ll get you the beer you want. Why don’t you take a seat?”

Chip’s right fist comes out of nowhere. I knew he was mad. I knew he wouldn’t like me interfering. I didn’t know he’d punch me. It catches me square on the cheek, and if I were smaller, weaker—say a girl Lainey’s size—I would’ve been laid out on my ass.

But I’ve got twenty pounds on Chip and I lift every day—which is something he hasn’t done since he was a rookie. I absorb the hit, rocking back on my heels.

Lainey cries out. Coach is half out of his chair. One of the locals whips out a phone. I give the man a hard shake of my head. Guiltily, he sets the phone down.

I run a hand down my cheek and stare at Chip, who seems shocked at his own sudden violence. The instinct to strike him back rides me hard. I grit my teeth. “I might be your backup, but I’m not your punching dummy. Don’t do that again.”

I grab Lainey’s wrist and pull her behind me. No way am I leaving her there for Chip to go off on. “Lainey’s clocking out,” I inform the bartender as I march out of the bar.

As soon as we clear the door, Lainey shakes me off. “You shouldn’t have done that. He’s going to come after you.”