The Number Seven (bxb) - Birds of Prey Series: book 1

When Asher stormed into Coach's office, he had been kicked back in his leather chair, his feet on his desk and snoring while recordings of games played on his new laptop screen. He jolted at Asher's arrival and shot upright.

"What the fuck is this?" Asher asked, slamming down the crumbled paper. "Full Scholarship Athlete. You didn't actually want me on your team because you think I'm a decent kicker. You made a deal with the Dean to get me a football scholarship."

"And?" asked Coach. His voice was thick with sleep—and probably some sort of alcohol or substance. "What difference does it make? A full ride is a full ride. Your pops needed a tuition-free education for his kid. I did what any good—" Coach was about to sound the word brother out, but Jack was coming around the corner. When he saw him through his office window, Coach's eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat. "What any good educator would do. I gave you what you needed."

"You didn't do it for me," Asher seethed. "You did it for the scholarship numbers. You want to advance the team into a higher division. This is why this fucking place requires us to participate in sports, isn't it? To fill the empty slots no one wants. It was never that you thought I was a decent player. You dragged me into this shit, and you forced me to play, and I was actually letting myself—" Asher bit his tongue, too exasperated to continue the thought out loud.

I actually let myself think I belonged.

Even if for just a moment, he had let his guard down. It felt like he'd swallowed hot coals.

"I didn't need your fucking charity," Asher spat. "Take me off the varsity team."

Coach crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. His voice was husk and low—the very same as it was the night he'd dragged Asher to the field. "The fuck are you so afraid of, Greenly? You worried you'll fail? And so what if you do? Or is it something else?" He leaned forward and Asher felt a string of taut dread pulling at his gut.

His nape bristled as he felt Jack come up behind him, but he didn't look and he didn't move out of the way to let him in through the open door. He stayed with his back to Jack and studied Coach's face, wondering just what it was that the man seemed to know that Asher didn't.

"You worried it'll happen again?" Coach said. "That you'll get pummeled on the field, break every bone in your fuckin' body? Or are you scared that something might actually come from this?" He stood, the large shape of him eclipsing the light in the room as he broke the distance to Asher. Coach stared down at him, a wicked, gratifying look on his face. "I saw the tapes from that day. Some fuckin' miracle you survived. But no—I don't think that's what you're afraid of. You're scared of it, aren't ya? Scared of being something. Scared of being seen. Let me guess, you spent your whole life hiding yourself away in whatever nooks and crannies you could find. Spent your whole life stayin' invisible, unnoticed."

Asher froze, frightened—not only by the glowering presence of Coach Hensky, but by the fact that he was...right. How did he know? How could he see this side of Asher, when he kept every bit of him hidden from the world?

No number of old football tapes could show it—the way he spent three years of his life, trying to fade away into the shadows. This was something else.

And then Coach said it: "You're a pussy, just like your father. He did the same shit. Always cowering in the corner—letting the world wail on him. Taking the bruisings and the beatings and looking like a pitiful piece of shit because he was too fuckin' scared to stand up for himself—"

Asher threw a punch.

It was so sudden, so unexpected, he hadn't anticipated it himself. He surely hadn't anticipated that it would land—that it would clip Coach right in the jaw, before he was reeled back by Jack.