Save Me, Sinners

I would run away outside if I weren’t worried about how silly it would make me look. I just want to be out of this place. My ambitions of being a respected writer are not worth this, the man I thought was my boyfriend treats their relationship like a fling, and besides, after what just happened, he’s very likely to fire me.

It’s time to make some hard decisions.

Chapter 84

Jogging to the touchline, I wipe my sweaty body with a towel. Even after living here for a few months, I’m still not used to the California heat. Back in London, it never gets this hot but here in L.A. it barely takes any time to break into a sweat.

Downing the whole bottle of water in one go, I don’t care that half of it falls all over my chest. I’m parched—not just from the heat but also from last night. Willie’s birthday party went on till the wee hours, even though the birthday boy himself sped off home at midnight. Maybe that’s why he’s not dying like I am. Fuck. Shouldn’t have drank so much yesterday.

The training began a couple of hours ago, but coach Miller hasn’t given me as much as a look. It’s much worse than I feared it would be. Coach hasn’t spoken a word to me and barely acknowledged me even when I tried to start a conversation myself.

I’m the goddamn captain of this team, the biggest superstar in this league. This is no way to treat a champion. This thought echoes repeatedly in my head.

Let him play his games— I'm going to score a couple of goals in the next game and then we will see who is the most important man in the locker room. I smile, thinking about how I might celebrate attaining these goals. Fucked if Hank Miller will ignore me anymore.

But when I’m walking back to the showers, the assistant coach pulls me to the side.

“Hey David. I need to speak to you,” He says. Nodding, I walk over to the bleachers with him.

“Look, no one told me to say this but I just thought I should. The coach is really concerned with...the recent events surrounding you.”

“I understand that—” I start to speak but stop when the other man gestures me to.

“Plus he’s heard about the party at your place last night. Some of the guys in the team were talking about pictures on social media that a few of the women there posted. The coach was not happy. Especially when someone showed him that video of you doing shots.”

Fuck. When did this happen?

“Here is the thing, David. You gotta lay low for a while and work hard in training to impress the coach. Because otherwise,” the man clears his throat, ”I'm afraid you risk losing your captain status and your place in the starting lineup.”

The assistant pats my back and quickly leaves. I sit down with a thump. I can’t believe these words. Sure, I’m not very responsible, but the punishment that the coach is willing to dole out isn’t fair either. I put my head in my hands, contemplating everything.

Shit. I should’ve been responsible. Carrie, the woman from Coyote magazine, warned me about someone putting a video on social media and that is exactly what happened. When she lectured me about being responsible, she was right. And I was an ass to her.

“Hey, man. I’ve been looking all over for you. Why the hell are you sitting here by yourself?” Willie walks up the bleacher stairs and sits next to me.

“Hey, Willie. What’s up?”

“What’s up with you, man? You’ve been lazy in training, you’re not talking to anyone. What’s going on? Too hungover from last night?” Willie claps my back.

“Yeah, something like that,” I say wryly. “And they just told me that I might lose captain and might not even start in the next game.”

Willie’s face is grim, putting two and two together.

“Is it because of the Instagram video?”

“You’ve seen it too? How bad is it?” I ask.

“For me, it’s a regular night out. From the coach’s perspective, pretty darn bad.”

“Fuck. Carrie was right,” I mumble.

“What?”

“That woman from the magazine,” I clear my throat. “She warned me that someone might…”

“Yeah, that!” Willie interrupts, then pauses. “You know she wasn’t wrong man. You gotta keep a check on yourself. This has already got you into a mess,” he says cautiously.

“It was your damn party, Willie,” I retort.