Red Flag (FSCU Pitbulls Book 2) Page 5

  “Jackson? Get your head out of the clouds.” Chris blows his fucking whistle, making my headache even worse.

  “Yes, sir.” I run back to the sleds while the others wait with disdain, if not pure hate, written all over their faces.

  Yup. Fuck up. That’s me. I can’t do anything right, not even have a little fun with a pink haired groupie.

  After practice, I skip all my classes, and sleep until late afternoon. Later, I borrow a car and Fed Ex meds to my cousin. My checking account is back to zero and a loan shark texts me every hour, but at least Egan won’t need to ration this month.

  With September covered, I got another six months to go. I’ll declare early draft and get on the coveted list of first picks. Then, with any luck at all, an agent will give me some cash to see me through until I start getting paid.

  I drop Quest’s car in the lot barely in time for evening practice.

  “You going to the party tonight?” He holds out his hand for his keys.

  He’s one of the few I’ve trusted with Egan’s insulin issues.

  “I don’t think so…”

  “Did Ryan tell you about his close call?”

  “Nu-uh. I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

  “He dropped off the red head’s homework and saw a pregnancy stick in her garbage.”

  “Holy fuck. Is she…?”

  “No. It came back negative but he wanted us to know. It’s a warning to us all. Make sure to leave plenty of room at the tip or those mother-fuckers break.”

  I close my eyes, recall Star’s hurt reaction last night, and curse myself up a storm. She was telling the truth. She was buying the test for a friend. If that’s true, she’s probably on the pill and I’m one stupid fuck-up.

  Well, chalk up another one. I am one-hundred-percent asshole and can’t get anything right. If I keep on, I’ll screw up my chances at the draft, as well.

  From now on, it’s football and only football, nothing else.

  My phone pings, reminding me I got to figure out how to pay the loan shark’s exorbitant interest.

  Shit. Even when I do something right, it goes wrong.

  Me: I just payed U

  Devil: For last month.

  Me: I need more time

  Devil: You have until nine PM

  Me: I don’t have it

  Devil: Be creative

  Fuck. I got nothing other than my soul to sell and it’s not worth a dime. Maybe, if I ask around, I can find someone willing to front me the cash in exchange for a bigger percentage of me when I make a team. It’s illegal but better than ripping off a jewelry store or some shit.

  I’d do that, too, if I thought I could get away with it. Those expensive stores all got plenty of insurance to cover theft. But my cousin? Does he have insurance to save his fucking life? No. How the hell is that fair?

  Needing to clear my thoughts, after dinner, I ask Quest for his keys again. Maybe there’s a small high-end store in town where I could score. What the fuck else can I do? I’ve maxed my credit cards, borrowed from a loan shark, and got myself in deep with online gambling.

  Guys like me never get a break. Fucking stupid. If I had a few book smarts, I might be able to figure this out. Ryan? Now he’s got brains.

  I’m not even smart enough to know if a pink-haired drummer is telling the truth or to fucking cuff myself during sex.

  Music comes from the dorm down the hill. They’re having a big party tonight at Deacon Hall. There’s not supposed to be alcohol but it’ll be there. I bet Star will be, too.

  Me: Sorry about not believing you. Can you meet me in the parking lot?

  If she comes, I’ll take it as a sign my luck is changing. Otherwise, I’ll go with plan B.

  Star: Give me a few.

  I light up my last cigarette, rest against a tree, and wait.

  Chapter 8

  Star

  When classes and band practice end, I collapse onto the bench in the locker room. I’m tired of being strong, so allow myself a mini breakdown. The tears I’ve held back all day, let loose.

  As I change my clothes, Kira sits down next to me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I swallow hard and try to smile as she digs into her purse.

  “Is it Jackson? Did he break up with you?” She places a tissue in my hand and I blow.

  “Kind of. Oh, I don’t know. You can’t tell anyone. Swear it?” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand so I can see if she’s telling the truth.

  “I won’t, I swear.” Her index finger crosses her heart.

  I blow again, then inhale and exhale slowly until my pulse calms down. “He’s gambling online. After I went to Walmart, I tried to text him. Oh my God, he’s in sooo deep. You have no idea.”

  “Does anyone know?”

  “I don’t think so. I only found out by accident.”

  “Shit.”

  “Right? If his coach finds out, he’s totally fucked.”

  “He needs to get help. If he won’t do it on his own, you need to do it for him. You can do this, Star.”

  I tie my sneakers. “Yeah, I guess… You going to the party tonight? Best to get there early if you want to see Ryan.”

  She nods. “You going?”

  I shake my head, no. “I can’t bear to see my player, not like this.”

  I head back to our apartment, do some homework, then break out the ice cream and a chick flick. Noise from the campus tells me there’s all sorts of parties in full swing. Feeling sorry for myself, I eat some more.

  Fuck Jackson Farnsworth. I don’t need him.

  As if on cue, my phone pings and it’s him wanting to meet up. At least he apologized but it’s too little, too late. No way am I letting my heart pine after him.

  He’s moved from friend category to frenemy. From sometime-lover to a guy to avoid at all costs.

  I guess I feel more than a little guilt about the fact he has a betting problem. I mean, I should be trying to get him help. However, I won’t enable him. I know firsthand how devastating that can be.

  Shit. I’m not changing out of yoga pants and my favorite ripped t-shirt to get a beer. I do slip into a bra. Otherwise, I’ll definitely be sending out the wrong signals.

  As I leave my apartment, I send Jackson a text I’m coming. It’s about a ten minute walk to the back parking lot, even if I rush, which I don’t.

  The full moon lights my way and the wet grass soaks my sneakers. I pass all the dorms, the dining hall, and the noise from a party at Deacon. On top of the parking lot hill, four big guys stand between cars. One is Jackson. The other three surround him in a way I can only describe as menacing.

  Should I call nine-one-one? What if I’m wrong?

  Dammit. I need to climb closer so I can hear what they’re saying. In the lot, I hide behind a black SUV.

  All wearing over-sized hoodies, I still can’t tell if the guys circling Jackson are friend or foe. I’m not even sure they’re collegiate.

  My heart stops when a flash of metal appears in a hand. The other two men circle around behind Jackson.

  Shit. Shaking, I start to dial 911 but stop when three from our football team rush up the hill.

  I wait for the huge players to stop the fight but the Pitbull’s quarterback holds them back. “Stop! Watch and learn.”

  Jackson growls, “You guys should go.”

  “I don’t think so.” The guy with the knife has his back to Ryan and must think Jackson is talking to him.

  I stare, transfixed, holding my breath.

  “Don’t do it.” I’ve never heard Jackson sound so intimidating.

  The other two assailants step away, like maybe they’re scared which doesn’t make any sense because there’s three of them and only one of him.

  Maybe, they noticed Jackson has friends.

  Time stands still and my heart pounds in my ears while the men size up the situation.

  Faster than the blink of an eye, Jackson whips out a leg and one of the men drops to the pav
ement. While he cries out, a second one goes down, and then, the third. Without any help at all, Jackson knocks all three flat like a late-night Kung-Fu movie.

  “Oh shit!” Matt turns his head to a set of headlights slowly coming up the drive.

  “Campus rent-a-cops! C’mon. We need to go.” Ryan grabs Jackson and the guys bolt down the hill toward Deacon Hall.

  There’s a groundhog near where I live. His instinct is to freeze when someone catches him in the flower bed. Like him, I drop to my belly, bury my face in my hands, and wait.

  The campus police car pulls into the lot and a couple guys in tan uniforms get out and flash their lights at the guys moaning on the pavement.

  Luckily, the good guys are so focused on the bad, they don’t see me or the football players dashing down into the dorm.

  “Everything all right here?” Cop number one, a gray-haired dude, picks up the knife, closes it, and puts it in his pocket.

  The other security guard shines his flashlight beam into the field and I hold my breath when it lights the ground near my head.

  Holy shit, I sure don’t want to explain what I saw.

  Hoodie with the knee injury stands and grins. “Just doing a little sparring under the full moon. Jujitsu. I’m Master Kwang.” He bows.

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  The other two stand and bow at the waist with their hands clasped into a fist at their chest.

  Rent-a-cop scowls. “You’re not students here. You need to practice someplace else. Are you hurt? Need me to call an ambulance?”

  “No, no. We’re fine. Sorry to worry you. We got a little carried away.”

  The younger of the campus cops glowers at the other. “I think we need to call 911.”

  “These good gentlemen were just leaving, weren’t you?” The older man helps the three to their feet.

  The goons nod, pile into an SUV with tinted windows, and split.

  “Why’d you let them go?” The younger one still frowns as he writes down something in his notebook.

  “Let it go. If we report it, it reflects badly on the college’s crime stats. In addition to keeping the students safe, our job is to keep that number down. No one was hurt. We’ll keep a look out for them in the future and make sure they don’t get onto campus again.”

  “Okay, Stan. Got it. Not sure if I like it, though.”

  “You’ll get used to it. You…” The rest of their conversation mutes as they get into their vehicle and the doors close.

  After they go, I rush down the wet grass to Deacon hall, hoping to find my crazy gambler. Instead, I spend the whole night with Kira and Ryan in the hospital.

  While I was watching Jackson almost get killed, my best friend was roofied.

  My God, what a night.

  From the emergency room, I call her mother, then, my Dad. I ignore my player’s constant texts.

  Whatever he’s into, I need to stay clear.

  Chapter 9

  Jackson

  There must be coins stuck in my door jamb because no matter how hard I try, I can’t get out of my room.

  “Shit! You guys need to let me out.” I pound on the wood, pennied by Russ, Quest, and Matt.

  The punter shouts, the sound comes from under my door. “So those guys can come after you again? Who were they, Jacks?”

  “Just a few guys from back home. I got into it with them last summer and they wanted to make a point.” While not quite the truth, it’s not a lie, either.

  I need to be with Star and my best bud. “Please, I want to go to the hospital.”

  “Ryan doesn’t need your kind of support, dude.” Matt sounds pissed and can’t say I blame him.

  I drop to my ass with my head in my hands. “Talk to me. How’s his redhead… Kira?”

  “He found her before anything bad happened… as if you give a shit. If you hadn’t been in a fight, he would’ve been with her and he’d be in her bed instead of at the emergency room.”

  “Fuck, I said I was sorry. Is Star there with them?”

  “Why?” Matt tosses a football against the wall, the way he does when he’s freaking out.

  “Just tell me. Is she at the hospital with them?” Hell, I should be there.

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “Because she’s not answering my calls.”

  “I guess it sucks to be you.”

  Me: Star, pick up.

  Me: Star, I’m sorry I missed you.

  Me: Dammit, text me back.

  Me: I’m worried.

  Me: Is Kira okay?

  After about fifty texts, I give up. When I check again, there’s a picture in my inbox of my Mom and Dad sitting on their front porch. At first, I smile but the next text makes my heart stop.

  Unknown: Call me back or they get hurt.

  Adrenaline racing, I pick up my phone and dial the most recent number.

  “That was a real stupid move, kid.” The guy I’ve dubbed Devil sounds more annoyed than usual.

  Well, it makes two of us. “Was I supposed to let your goons beat the shit out of me?”

  “Listen, I’d like to help you out, here but I got a business to run. What if I let everyone not pay me back?”

  “I sent you a payment.”

  “Barely covered last month’s interest.”

  “I told you, I’ll have more next month.”

  “And I told you to get creative. I guess you aren’t clever enough to figure out what I meant by that so I’ve done you a big favor. All you got to do is see to it the Pitbulls lose their first game by six points. Then, I will consider your principal on last month paid and these nice folks won’t get hurt. Do we understand each other?”

  Fuck. I am so screwed. “I got you.”

  “Good. Y’all have a nice evening. See you at the game. And uh, make sure you don’t say anything to anybody. Capisci?”

  “I understand.” I pace my room, trying to figure out a way out of this.

  If I go to the police, Devil will be sure to find out. The only thing I can do is pay this guy off, but how? If only he’d wait until I make it into the NFL. Then, I’ll have plenty of dough.

  In the meantime, the two thousand I borrowed has doubled and no one will offer me credit, except my online betting site which I’ve been real careful to not overstep or go in too deep. So far, I’m up a few hundred which until yesterday, was plenty to pay down my debt.

  If I skip a few classes, I can use the time to win a few hundred more. Maybe, it will be enough. However, when I ping Devil, he doesn’t respond. I’m up by five hundred by Friday and still, the damn loan shark doesn’t call me back.

  “Hey, Quest, can I borrow your phone?” I show him my dead one. “I lost my fucking charger.”

  He tosses it over and I call home.

  “Dad?”

  “Hey son, good luck today.”

  “Thanks. I need you to do something for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Make sure you and Mom are safe… Call the police… tell them I got some threats.”

  “Jackson? What’s this all about?”

  “Sorry, I can’t say more.” I hang up breathing hard, hoping like hell I did the right thing.

  I shake my head and swallow back bitter bile. That’s what got me into this mess, trying to do what’s right.

  Now, everything is fucked.

  As I get dressed for the game, I tune out my teammates, all anxious to get out on the field. Can I let them down, miss a catch or two? Ryan always relies on me. All I have to do is hold out my hands and instead of bringing the ball to my chest, let it slip out when someone hits me hard. It happens all the time.

  Just not to me.

  We pray before the start of the game and I add my own. “Hey God, I totally screwed up and I need some guidance, here.”

  He’s never listened before so I don’t know why I expect any different. It tells me how desperate I am. We run out onto our home field as our marching band plays our college song. It’s some wild arr
angement which mixes in the tune of We are the Champions.

  We need to win or I don’t get into the NFL. And, if I throw the first game, I seriously ruin my chances. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. For me, it’s a no-win situation.

  The first quarter, we play like shit, and we’re six points down without me doing anything. My pal doesn’t throw me the ball but it’s a fucking relief.

  Star, bangs her marching drum as the cheerleaders urge us on to victory which makes me feel shittier. After the next huddle, I’m not so lucky. I move unexpectedly, Ryan sees me, and throws.

  The next few seconds, I watch in horror as the ball comes right at me. If I catch it and we win, some goons will hurt my parents. If I don’t, I ruin my chances at the draft. I jump up three feet, catch the ball, and as I get tossed to the ground, let it slip out of my grasp.

  The whole fucking stadium groans when the referee points out the ball has changed hands. Tail between my legs, I walk the walk of shame back to the sidelines where the coach and assistant coach glare.

  The assistant coach pulls me aside. “What the fuck?”

  “Bench me and I’ll explain later. Please. Ream me out, I’ll give you some lip and you lose your cool.”

  “Dammit, Farnsworth. What the hell is wrong with you? You are one fucking worthless piece of shit! Sit this one out.” He points to a freshman. “Get in there, see what you can do.”

  The game goes downhill from there but at least I’m not the cause of it. At halftime, Chris pulls me into the infirmary and clears everyone out.

  “What the fuck?”

  “I am so screwed.” I put my hands in my face. “You can’t let me play this game.”

  “Why not?”

  “I owe some guys some money.”

  “Fuck. They asked you to throw the game?”

  I nod.

  “Who knows?”

  “Just you… Listen, it wasn’t for me. My cousin? He almost died from rationing his insulin last summer.”

  He rolls his eyes and paces in front of me. “How deep you in?”