It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt to think.
Devin had never gotten home from a football game and felt the way he did at that moment. Leaning against a wall in Scarlett’s bathroom, an icepack wrapped around his shoulder, another he held to his leg. It was a chore to take a piss without being able to stand upright. He was surprised that he wasn’t pissing blood.
Flushing the toilet, wincing when swollen fingers pushed on the lever, he hobbled over to the sink to wash his hands and then back out into Scarlett’s room. She rushed over to help him when he stepped into the room.
They made it to the bed and he laid down. Like an old man feeling the aches of a long, hard life. Bruises and cuts covered his body, pads having done nothing to lessen the beating that he’d taken at the hands of a wide receiver. An uneducated man would assume that Devin was the one getting tackled all night by an angry mike.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the doctor?” Scarlett asked, worry etched her face and her words. “I can ask my parents to bring you if you don’t want to drive.”
Devin shook his head. He closed his eyes trying to stop the pounding in his skull. “The trainers looked me over after. They told me if I still had a headache in the morning that I should go to the doctor, but I haven’t broken anything or something like that.”
“You haven’t broken anything?”
“Yeah, that’s—”
“No,” she said, cutting him off. “Of course, you didn’t break anything. Someone else tried to break you. I don’t know much about football, but why didn’t the referees do anything?”
“It wasn’t exactly illegal what he was doing up until that last block. As far as I remember anyway.”
The entire night had blurred into one, long episode of pain for him by the fourth quarter. Even when he wasn’t on the field, it felt like Caesar Jenkins was hitting him, elbowing him on his release, smacking him in the helmet, or a myriad of other ways it seemed like the Vandebilt wideout was out to inflict pain.
Devin’s grandfather had told him that would happen. He didn’t believe it. Call it naivety or willful ignorance, he figured that Caesar Jenkins would care as little about the Jenkins-King rivalry as he did. Boy, was he wrong.
Devin King, Jr. also told him that the referees wouldn’t do anything. They hadn’t even flagged him from the shot to the helmet at the end of the game – the early end to the game. He didn’t think it was a coincidence that the missed targeting penalty would’ve seen Caesar suspended for the next game.
“Well, I don’t think that someone who plays like that should be allowed on a football field. It’s dangerous enough. You don’t have to go out of your way to hurt the other players.”
Devin laughed then immediately regretted it as the pain in his chest and head flared up. He groaned and shook his head. “Most coaches would be praising someone for playing like that. Reckless abandon, playing at the edge, risking his body for the team. Especially a receiver. You expect them to shy away from contact.”
Being on the other end of the beating had somehow endeared Devin to his teammates. Many of them fought at the end of the game for him. Others, of course, just fought because they were embarrassed by the scoreline.
He was most surprised by Trigga and Bart inviting him to a party near the school. They admitted they didn’t expect him to come, but his refusal was more so for his inability to stand than any fear of the neighborhood that it was in.
“Those coaches are fucking assholes, too, then,” she said as she laid down next to Devin. Her phone buzzed, but she didn’t answer it knowing that it was her friends wondering where she was. “I hope wherever that kid is tonight that his conscience is eating at him and he can’t sleep.”
Devin found it hard to believe that Caesar’s conscience would be keeping him up that night.
Caesar took a deep breath then ran toward the edge of the roof. Committing to what he was about to do, he planted his foot on the eaves and leapt into the air.
The illuminated pool seemed to rise to meet him as he broke the water and plunged into it. He sunk to inches from the pool floor. Adrenaline still pumping through his body, he kicked off the bottom and swam back up. The others around the pool cheered and raised their cups to him, likely happy he hadn’t killed himself.
Ron slapped a beer into his hand as soon as he’d pulled himself out of the pool. The quarterback shook his head then laughed and threw an arm around his friend. “You don’t need to literally dive into things to dive into pussy, man.”
“I needed a rush,” he said, putting the cap off the bottle and taking a swig of the beer. He looked around at the people who had shown up to the party. There were dozens of them who couldn’t turn the chance to party at the Jenkins’ mansion even though they were at the guest house. Music blaring, plenty of alcohol, plenty of opportunities to hook up with a willing young lady. He turned to Ron and asked, “Do you believe the guys who graduate and say shit like this gets old?”
“Yeah, if you fucking peak in high school. We don’t plan on peaking in fucking high school,” Ron said.
“Touché.”
The two of them walked into the guest house and up to the balcony that overlooked the pool. Their core group were all there; Britton, Kaden, Bentley, Anthony, Hollie, Francesca and Riley. Caesar had broken things off with Emma – for now.
Anthony and Bentley passed a bong between each other as Kaden spoke with Hollie and Riley. Francesca plastered herself to Ron as soon as he sat down. Caesar noticed two girls he’d never met hanging around with Britton’s girlfriend.
“Who are your friends, Britton?” Caesar asked, pouring himself a shot from one of the bottles of vodka on the table.
His girlfriend answered instead. “They’re my friends from school.”
“Can I invite random people to your house?” Caesar raised an eyebrow.
“Yo, chill, Caesar. You got plenty of people you’ve never met before down there. If Janelle says they’re cool people, they’re cool people,” Britton said, sticking up for his girl.
Caesar looked at Ron for help, but he was otherwise preoccupied. Shrugging, he stuck a hand to one of them, a decently pretty brunette, “I’m Caesar. Welcome to my home.”
She shook his hand, “My name’s Erin.” She nodded to her friend, a blonde. “That’s Tiffany.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tiffany said.
“So, y’all go to Terrebonne with Janelle?” They nodded. Caesar downed the shot before pouring another, then he nodded as well. “That’s good. I can always do with some welfare gash hanging around the place.”
Anthony and Bentley cracked up at the term “welfare gash.” Britton was none too happy, but Ron caught his attention and stopped him from saying anything.
Tiffany and Erin just looked between one another, silent.
“You have to say shit like that?” Kaden asked, interrupting his own conversation. “Not everyone who goes to Terrebonne is on welfare.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Caesar said. “You’re always asking fucking questions. Ruining my fucking buzz. I don’t even know why we hang out with you. Go back to your conversation and mind your damn business.”
Kaden shook his head and turned his back to the rest of them.
“Well, come on. Sit down,” Caesar said, pointing to either side of him on the lounger he sat on. The girls sat down, and he handed them each a beer. He opened a beer for himself then leaned back between them. He looked each of them over, mulling a decision. “Typically, I’m not this crass, believe me. But I’m just going to ask. Y’all want to fuck?”
The two girls looked confused. Tiffany spoke first. “Which one of us are you talking to?”
“Yeah, I’m not following,” Erin said.
Caesar laughed. “Y’all. You all. The plural pronoun which refers to more than one person. I’m talking to you all. Both of you.” He pointed them to make his point.
“Tell your friend to stop being disgusting, baby,” Janelle said to Britton.
“What? They can say no and still kick it with us,” Caesar said to her. He looked back to them. “No pressure. I’m just wondering. Y’all are free to say no.”
Neither of them said anything, just exchanging hesitant looks for a moment. Erin shrugged. “I’m down.”
“Why not?” Tiffany said.
“Wunderbar!” Caesar shouted, leaning forward and slamming down his beer. He turned around and looked back at them. “One more question before that though. Y’all ever hook up with each other?”
Ron choked on the swig of beer in his mouth as Anthony and Bentley started laughing again, their highs getting to them.
Caesar stood up, waving his hand when they didn’t answer. “No worries. There’s a first time for everything.”