Offside - Page 145

CHAPTER 23

SAVE

I didn’t wait in the locker rooms for anyone else. I didn’t even shower, just changed my clothes and left, walking back to the hotel. It was only about a mile from the fields, and I kind of doubted anyone was going to let me back on anytime soon.

Definitely worth it.

I almost wanted to call Nicole and tell her the motherfucker paid for what he did to her, but I didn’t. He didn’t even know the reason, but I didn’t care about that, either. I went to the hotel’s little convenience store and bought a pack of Camels before heading up to the room.

I went out on the balcony and lit up. I hadn’t had one since that evening sitting on the back porch of the Skyes’ house with Greg.

She was so mad at us.

I smiled a little and took a deep drag off the cigarette. It tasted like shit and reminded me of how I had told her I wouldn’t smoke anymore. I tossed it over the balcony rail after taking about three puffs and then started tapping my fingers rhythmically on the railing.

Everything in my body felt tense, like a tightly coiled spring being stretched too far apart, just waiting for someone to let go. I looked down over the edge at the traffic some ten stories below. I gripped the handrail, loosened my fingers, and then gripped it again.

I yanked the pack out of my pocket and flung it out over the street as hard as I could.

Think soccer. Only soccer.

I was probably in a shitload of trouble. Red card, suspension—yeah, that shit happens—but I broke his leg, and Dad didn’t have as much pull with the authorities here as he did i

n Oregon. He was going to be pissed.

With that thought, I heard the door to the room open.

“What the fuck was that?”

I didn’t turn around or look at him or anything. I didn’t see any point. I just stared out over the railing and watched the cars go by.

“You stupid idiot!” I heard Dad walk up behind me. “Do you have any idea how that looks? You’re lucky it wasn’t being televised! The Messini haven’t signed the contract yet, you know! You’re lucky I was there to do some triage and the kid’s leg wasn’t broken!”

“Not broken?” I tried not to sound disappointed. “I heard the crack…”

“You cracked his shin guard, asshole.”

“Oh.”

“You’re out of the rest of the tournament,” Dad told me, “but at least you aren’t getting arrested.”

I tried to find a reason to care but really couldn’t. I waited for his fists with the numbness of indifference, but he just kept yelling at me, and I just pretended to listen. He shoved me twice, but I just couldn’t bring myself to care. I deserved it all, and I wouldn’t take it back if I could. Eventually, he stopped and left, saying he was going out to eat, and I could fucking rot in here as far as he was concerned.

I walked into the bedroom half of the suite and dropped down on the bed, face first. I grabbed ahold of one of the pillows, pulled it under my head, and wrapped my arms around it. I closed my eyes, and memories of her scent floated around in my head.

My fingers itched and still felt tense even when I flexed them. When I opened my eyes, I noticed a little notepad with a pen next to it on the side table. I rolled over, grabbed them both, and started sketching.

It was just her face. She was looking at me with her eyes bright and excited. It was rough, but I only had the pen to work with, so I guessed it was as good as it was going to get. I pulled the little paper off the pad and brought it close as I rolled back onto the pillow.

“I miss you,” I said softly. I shook my head at how stupid I was—talking to a fucking piece of paper. After I folded it into a small square, I grabbed the pillow and pulled it under my head again. The paper stayed in my hand underneath, gripped tightly in my palm.

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the pounding in my chest and the burning behind my eyes.

Dad might not have had as much pull in California, but he had enough friends with pull to get me off pretty easy—suspended for the rest of the tournament, which was only one game—whatever—and Dad had to pay a five thousand dollar fine to the league.

Dennis Johnson was going to be fine, unfortunately.

I apologized…for disrupting the game.

Tags: Shay Savage
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