“Oh, goddamn it, David. The girl isn’t even talking? She’s not pressing charges?”
“No, but—”
“Then what’s this about? The boy got out of hand. That shit happens. He pushed her, which isn’t great, but he didn’t beat her up. You knocked him a good one, and I bet he learned his lesson. What the hell else do you want?”
I stare at the man for a long moment. I expected something like this, but not so blatant, not so terrible. Coach Hardy’s been at California University for the last fifteen years. He’s an institutionalist, the kind of man that would do absolutely anything for the university and for the program. I know for a fact he’d sweep things under the rug to keep the school’s reputation intact. He has before, and he’ll do it again.
“This isn’t some small thing,” I say. “This is our star player going down a bad path. He wasn’t sorry, he wasn’t afraid. He told me that he was going to get revenge, and that you were going to fire me. I know he was bullshitting, but you didn’t see him.”
Nathan frowns and looks over at the windows. His office looks out at the locker room, and we can see some of the guys laughing and joking with each other. “Shit,” he says.
“I know,” I say.
“What do you want me to do about this?” he asks.
“The kid’s gotta know he can’t get away with murder.”
“All right. Fine. What do you want me to do about it?”
I hesitate then shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“You want me to report him to the police? You want me to make a statement?”
“No, I just—”
“What do you want, David? You already hit the damn kid. Probably not a great call, considering you’re his coach.”
I curl my toes but keep my temper. “Let him know you talked to me,” I say. “Let him know you’re on my side on this. Give him some punishment, make sure he knows he fucked up.”
“All right,” Nathan says, sounding tired. “I can do that. But this shit doesn’t go beyond this room, you hear me?”
I stare at him, my anger flaring, but I shove it down.
He’s an institutionalist. He doesn’t give a fuck about some girl. He doesn’t even give a fuck about Erik.
Only the school.
“Yeah,” I say. “All right.”
“Fine. Send him in. I’ll have him do sprints until he pukes. You want to be the one holding the whistle?”
“No,” I say, standing. “Get Jeffries to do it.”
“Fine,” he says, waving me off. “Go fetch the boy.”
I leave his office. I don’t feel good about what just happened, but it’s better than what I expected. There’s a big part of me that thought Nathan would make me forget all about it and refuse to say a thing to Erik, all out of fear that we’d push the boy off to some other school. I know other, bigger schools have been scouting him and talking to him, and I know that’s always a possibility. Good players transfer to new schools all the time. It’s not incredibly common, but it happens.
I move through the locker room, nodding to a few guys. I stop and chat with a defensive end that’s been struggling lately, before I find Erik surrounded by his little retinue of running backs and wide receivers. The guys eat out of the palm of his hand, all because he’s the one that gives them the ball. They think they need to suck up to Erik in order to get some touches.
“Erik,” I say.
The cocky shithead doesn’t look up. He laughs like he didn’t hear me, as the other guys all look over.
“Erik,” I repeat. “Don’t make me ask for you again or this is going to be worse.”
He slowly looks over and frowns at me. “What’s up, Assistant Coach?”
I glare at him. He grins right back.
“Coach wants you in his office. Get your ass up and get back there. Now.”
Erik hesitates, but he listens. He’s not dumb enough to keep Coach waiting. He walks past me with an angry glance then struts with a shit-eating grin over to Coach’s office.
“What’d he do?” Ricky asks. He’s our number one receiver. He’s tall, lanky, with huge hands, and dark skin.
“Nothing,” I say. “And don’t bother him about it, all right? He’s not going to be happy after this shit. Better if you all pretend like it’s not happening.”
Ricky shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Sounds intense.”
“Just forget it.” I walk over toward Coach’s office and linger outside. I can see them through the glass. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Erik looks upset, and Coach just looks exhausted. Erik finally gets up and storms out of the office. Our quarterback coach, Michael Jeffries, is already there with a whistle around his neck. He’s a short, bald man with sunglasses and a thick black beard.