Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96790 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96790 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
This entire game they’ve been playing catch up, but they can’t seem to pull ahead. They’re extremely sloppy, like I’ve never seen before, and unfortunately, it’s trickled across the entire team.
Captain hasn’t made a single shot he’s attempted tonight, his frustration etched across his face. He’s pretty much taken himself out at this point, and Royce is playing angry, which translates into foul after foul.
Right as I’m thinking it, another whistle sounds.
All heads turn to look down the opposite side of the court in time to see Royce get in the referee’s face.
“Oh, you’re not gonna call that on his ass, but you wanna call on me all night? I see how it is, ref.” He bends his shoulders back a little, shaking his head mockingly. “It’s cool, I know who signs your paychecks, bitch.”
“Brayshaw!” the coach yells, but Royce ignores him.
I cut a quick glance at Maddoc and Captain, but they stay back, letting him do his thing.
“Man, let’s go. We’ve got a game to win,” a guy from the other team boldly – or stupidly – shouts and Royce whips around, the wild ass look in his eyes caught from here.
Within seconds he’s shoving the dude in the chest, hard enough where the guy falls back against his teammates and I sit up straight, ready for a fucking brawl, but this is Bray’s house, Brayshaw’s town – nobody dares move closer. Nobody except Royce.
“Get in my face again, motherfucker, and you’ll be eatin’ metal.”
The ref throws his hands out, a cautious look in his eyes as he officially ejects Royce from the game.
He flips him off with both hands and stomps over to the bench. He grabs his hoodie and water bottle, throwing it at the other team’s coach, then slams his way through the gym door leading to their locker room.
Bass catches my eye and narrows his, but I dismiss him.
He can blame me all he wants for this shit show, he’s just as guilty and he knows it. All he had to do was go to them with the news about the video, but he came to me instead.
I mean, I appreciate it, but I won’t take his judgmental bullshit when he can right his wrong any time he wants. My guess, though, is he’s not bold enough to know that he already held back information from the three who trust him with their dealings and money flow.
Maybe they shouldn’t.
I find Maddoc on the court, who happens to look over right as I do, but he quickly cuts his eyes back, sliding into position before the ball is in motion again.
The way they’re playing is completely my fault, I know that. I stressed them out, kept them up for almost two days now – doubt any of them slept last night. I know I didn’t.
Maybe they’re having a bad game today, but at least they got to play in it, right? I mean, if the video of the four of us getting frisky while also breaking into the Graven cabin was released, they could have been dropped from the team or be in juvenile hall or something.
There was no need to risk those outcomes when I was able to prevent it.
I’m realistic enough to understand my place in the world, and maybe it wouldn’t have happened today or tomorrow, but the end game is never the girl from the ghetto ending up in a mansion to stay. I know that, and I accept it.
I’ll admit though, I didn’t expect the distance to sting so quick.
Maddoc hasn’t spoken a word to me all day, Royce or Captain either, and they still have no clue what’s in motion.
I can’t even begin to imagine what happens from here, but the damage is done, and I’d do it again if I had to.
I shake off my thoughts and focus back on the game.
Asshole Leo makes a basket and everyone cheers. With a new shot of energy now flowing through the room, all eyes trail the Brayshaw Wolves as they follow the other team down the court.
One of our guys leaps up, blocking the shot attempt, and the ball falls into our hands. The Brayshaw player heads toward their basket, faking a throw down court only to toss it back to Maddoc, who shoots and makes a solid three-pointer.
The crowd jumps to their feet in excitement.
Elbows are thrown around, rougher than should be allowed, but after Royce’s blow up, the referees seem not to want to call fouls on either team.
With Maddoc’s new lead, the Wolves are fighting back.
There are seventeen seconds on the clock – a lifetime in basketball.
Come on, Big Man.
I lift my chin to see over the teammates who hop to their feet in front of me, jerking my head to the side when Principal Perkins plants himself directly at my side.