Rhett
“Wake up, fuck stick. Coach called an emergency meeting.”
Jesus Christ, does it ever end with this guy?
I crack an eyelid, rolling toward the voice of my roommate, feeling for my phone, wanting to check the time. “How did you get in here? I thought I locked the door.”
“It was easy.” He yanks back my covers. “Get up. We have to hustle.”
“Why?” My bare feet hit the floor. Legs stand.
“I don’t know, but we have to be at the field house in fifteen minutes. Get your shit on and let’s go. Johnson’s driving.”
A pair of pants and hoodie get tossed on the bed, the sweatshirt nearly hitting my face.
He’s exiting the room when I call him back.
“Hey.”
He turns, hand grabbing the doorframe. “Yeah?”
“Who did it?”
“Did what?”
“Don’t play dumb—who fucking vandalized my car.”
My roommate shuffles on the hardwood floor, eyes trained on the beige wall behind me. “I don’t know.”
“Would you cut the crap?” I pull the black sweatshirt down over my head. Yank on the athletic shorts. “Who fucking was it?”
“I’m telling you, man, I don’t know!”
“You’ve got the balls to stand there and lie to my face? Nice.”
I gather up my bag, stuffing in an extra pair of shorts.
“This is just a meeting—you won’t have to work out,” he’s quick to point out.
I ignore him, throwing a jock strap, tank, and socks in my duffle.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t take the NCAA championship twice by pissing away my days, did I, Gunderson?” I glance at him hovering in the doorway. “Get the fuck out if you’re not going to give me any information.”
He hesitates. “It was some sorority girls.”
I straighten. “What?”
Gunderson shrugs his scrawny shoulders. “It was some sorority girls. Someone thought if would be funny if you came outside and your Jeep was wrapped in, uh, plastic wrap.”
“Who’s banging sorority girls?”
“I don’t know, everybody?”
I toss a new pair of tennis shoes in with my clothes. “That really narrows it down, doesn’t it?”
“If I knew, I would tell you.”
I laugh cynically. “Yeah right.”
“Look, man, I’ll help you get your Jeep home, okay? We’ll do it after the meeting.”
“Don’t fucking bother.”
“I come to the stadium this morning and what the hell do you think I see in the parking lot? Any of you ladies know the answer I’m looking for?”
Crickets.
“No one has anything to say this morning?”
We all stare dumbly at Coach, who looks like he’s about to pop the straining blood vessel in the center of his forehead. He is fucking pissed.
“I saw Rhett Rabideaux’s Jeep wrapped in fucking plastic. Who here thinks that shit was funny? Who here thinks it was safe? Show of hands.”
His question is met with stillness, silence, so he powers on.
“What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” He paces to the side of the room normally reserved for reviewing tapes, slamming a clipboard onto the table he uses for transcripts.
Coach rakes a weathered hand through his graying hair, hands behind his head, staring at the wall. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. I have to hold someone accountable. If no one speaks up, you’re all suspended until we figure it out.”
Still, no one utters a word.
Until, “Coach, I don’t think it’s fair to suspend everyone because of a stupid prank.”
Coach doesn’t even turn around. “Shut the fuck up, Tennyson. Unless you can supply me with a name, consider yourself on probation.”
Someone coughs.
“Come on Coach,” Brandon Tennyson argues. “I’m sure whoever did this”—he glances around the room, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits—“whoever did this was just trying to be funny.”
“I assure you, ladies, the staff didn’t get the joke.” Coach turns toward Iowa’s coaching team, gesturing toward the support staff. “We’ve been here for hours, discussing our options. The way we see it, there aren’t many alternatives. We cannot have a team full of little pricks who think hazing a new teammate is tolerated. You are adults. It’s time to take your punishment like grown men.”
One of the freshman redshirts raises his hand. “But Coach, won’t we have to forfeit the season if you suspend us?”
“BINGO!”
Throughout the room, a ripple of countless murmurs, profanity. Complaining from a few braver souls.
Sebastian Osborne clears his thick throat, speaking up, humor infusing his deep voice. “Coach, come on, isn’t there something we can do so we’re not fucking up the rest of our season? Some of us depend on the scholarship money.”
One of those someones being him.
Coach studies his cuticles. “You boys should have thought of that when you left Rabideaux stranded in the parking lot last night.”
Osborne isn’t giving up. “Isn’t there something we can do? There has to be.”
“Funny you should ask. As a matter of fact, there is.” He motions for Roger Danvers, our conditioning coach, to join him in front. Danvers ambles forward with a scowl, tossing a pair of keys at Coach, who holds them up, jingles them. “See these keys? These are your ticket to freedom.”
Confused glances around the room.
“Danvers is going to list off our suspects. Those people are going to take Rabideaux and these goddamn keys and head up to my lake house for a little team bonding, and I don’t want to see any of your fucking faces back in this room until you figure this shit out. The next little asshole to pull a prank gets suspended from the team, and expelled from school.” His beady eyes scan the room. “Are we clear?”
A collective nods waves through the group.
“I didn’t hear you: are we clear?”
“Yes.”
“Not one goddamn prank or I will make sure your time at Iowa is over.”
Silence.
“Gunderson. Johnson. Ryder. Tennyson…” Coach rattles off the ten names he suspects of guilt. “That’s it. Now get the fuck out. You have one hour to hightail it out of here and get your asses to the cottage before I have them in a sling.” He raises his voice a notch, pointing to the team captains. “Zeke and Oz? Congratulations, you’re playing chaperone. My office, now.”
Well shit.
Laurel
The last person I expect to bump into at the campus coffee shop is Rex Gunderson, the wrestling team’s manager and Rhett’s roommate. He spots Alex and me in a corner booth, smiles wide, ambles over when I catch his eye.
“Mind if I sit for a second?” He takes the seat next to Alex without waiting for a reply.
“Uh, sure.” My cousin rolls her eyes. “Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” He wastes no time eyeing up my blueberry muffin. “Mind if I…”
No manners, I swear. “Yes, I kind of mind.”
Rhett’s roommate ignores me, splits the top off my muffin, breaks in it half, and shoves my fluffy, berry-filled pastry down his gullet. Swallows. Eats the other half. “You talk to Rhett yet?”
“Not today.” I swear this guy always has an agenda. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
When he moves for the bottom half of my muffin, I slap his hand away, irritated.
“Not to be rude, but want to tell us what you want?” Leave it to Alexandra to cut to the chase. For once, I’m grateful for her rude demeanor. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”
This doesn’t seem to faze Rex Gunderson. “So we had an emergency team meeting this morning. I don’t know if Rabideaux told you about it, but since I walked in and here you were, I might as well give you the good news.”
“What news? Is he getting an award for something?”
“Uh, no. A few members of the team are being sent on a retreat this weekend.”
My brows rise. “Oh?”
“It’s at a cabin in Big Bear. Hour from here, know where that is? Google it.”
I peel the paper liner off my muffin. “Uh huh.”
“You wanna come?”
I raise my eyebrows again. “Me?”
“Yeah. All the girlfriends are going along. I figured Rhett would want you along too, but he’s such a damn pussy.”
“You really think he’d want me to go?” It’s still early in the day; surely he’ll mention it if he wants me there.
“Of course. You’re hot.” I do a mental hair flip. “Plus, don’t you think he’d feel like an asshole if he was the only guy there without his girlfriend?”
That’s the second time Rex has used the word girlfriend, and I wonder if he’s daring me to contradict him.
I don’t.
“I don’t know Rex, I think that’s something he should ask me himself.”
He laughs. “We both know he doesn’t have the guts.”
True. Rhett is a tad insecure about our budding relationship; the last thing he’d want is to leave himself open to rejection.
Still. “Are you sure it would be okay? Other girls are coming?”
“Oh yeah, I’m totally sure. You can even ride with me and surprise him when you get there. He will piss himself.”
I nibble my lip. “I know, but I really don’t want to have any secrets from him.” Not after lying to him in the past. “You understand that, right?”
“I get that, and I respect that.” When he goes to pat me on the hand, I pull it away. “But! Don’t you think surprising him will be way more fun?”
He has a point: surprising Rhett at the wrestling retreat would be fun. Spending the night with him in a secluded cabin in the woods? With possible naked body parts? Yes please. Who knows what would happen between us in that kind of secluded setting…
Although, the thought of keeping the secret from him already plants a small seed of guilt inside my belly, given the rocky way we started our relationship. Lie after lie.
Would not telling him be a betrayal?
Rex stands, grabbing the last bite of muffin off my plate. “Just think about it. Take my number and text me if you change your mind.”
He rattles off his cell, and I program it into mine—just in case.
“Okay, I will. Thanks.”
Alexandra leans forward when he finally struts off. “Dude, you totally have to go.”
“I know, and I’m going to, I just can’t decide if I should do it without telling him. I don’t want to freak him out or add more pressure. Those guys are such assholes.”
“Maybe he’ll tell you about it later. It’s only like, one o’clock.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you trust his roommate?”
“I don’t know—Rhett doesn’t trust him, so no, not really.”
Alex takes a bite of celery stick, crunching as she chews. “Know what I think? I think you’re being paranoid.”
“About what?”
“About what would happen if you went. He’s not going to be mad, Laurel. He’s a guy, and guys think with their dicks.”
Shrug. “Maybe.”
But maybe not.
“You always overthink everything. Seriously, what’s the worst thing that could happen if you go? You finally get laid? The other girlfriends are going—do you really want him to leave him there stag? Some of those WAGS are bitches.”
“I do not overthink everything. I’m using my common sense and trusting my better judgment instead of being impulsive.”
“But think about it this way: this is your chance to get him alone in the middle of nowhere. You’ll probably be sharing a room.” My cousin’s black eyebrows wiggle. “Or you can sneak away for some alone time, maybe go skinny-dipping.”
“Are you out of your mind? It’s cold out.”
“True, and there is that problem of shrinkage.” Alex dangles a limp straw wrapper over her tea mug. “I know you want to go. Stop pretending you’re not going to.”
She’s right.
I do want to go.
If Rhett is going to be stuck in a cabin with all those dicks for the weekend, he needs a friend, an ally.
And that person is me.
Rhett: We had a meeting this morning. Just wanted to let you know I won’t be around this weekend, you know, in case you wanted to hang out.
Me: What’s going on?
Rhett: Coach is making us do a team retreat at some cottage in the woods? Won’t be back until Sunday but I’ll have my phone.
Me: I’ll miss you. Have fun…