Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,76
game time, and I needed to get my head on straight.
Most of the guys were already in the locker room, either buzzing with the electricity in the air, or silent and solemn as they prepared for what would either be the first step in a Superbowl season, or the last game of this year.
At least the bench felt familiar as I sat. Everything else in my life had turned upside down. Football had always been like that for me. Relationships went sideways? So what. Failed a test that week? Who cared. As long as I showed up on game day and did what I needed to, shit fell into place.
But that center, that grounded place inside me where I prepped for every game was missing. It had been the same last week—my first game back after the concussion. I could fight it all I wanted to. The truth stared me abashedly in the face.
I would trade it all—the fame, the money, the game itself—to have Teagan back.
“Looking a little nauseated there, Padilla. You nervous or something?” Baker asked as he plopped down on the bench in front of mine, wearing the mother of all smirks.
Fucking asshole.
“I’m fine.” I grabbed a bottle of water from my bag and twisted it open.
“You sure?” His face tilted to the side, and he almost looked concerned, but there was a menacing little spark in his eyes. “I mean, I know firsthand what it feels like to play after the woman you love puts your heart through a meat grinder.”
No one had been happier to hear about the demise of my relationship than Baker.
“He’s fine,” Hendrix snapped, taking the empty seat beside me. “Focus on your own game, twinkle toes. We can’t afford to have you tripping all over the place today.”
“Stop,” I muttered under my breath at Hendrix. We had a policy on this team. We watched the game footage and got better, but once that footage was analyzed, we didn’t harp on one another.
“Fuck off, Malone,” Baker snarled, flipping off Hendrix.
“No, thanks, I’m busy tonight.” Hendrix winked.
“Knock it off,” I lectured them both. We were hours away from playing for the AFC Championship. We didn’t need this shit in the locker room.
“Relax, Padilla. Just men being men,” Baker crooned. “Not that you’d know anything about being a man.”
Rage rushed through my veins even as my stomach twisted. He knew.
“It’s okay, though.” He crossed his ankles and braced his weight on his hands beside him. “Now that Teagan’s gotten over her little rebellious phase, we can get started on that family she’s always wanted.”
“You fucking prick,” Hendrix seethed.
Every muscle in my body coiled, testing the bounds of my self-control. Not in the locker room. Not in the locker room. Not. In. The. Locker. Room.
“How does it feel to not even rate as a rebound? Because you know she’s coming right back to—”
I was across the locker room before he finished, my fist stopping the barrage of bullshit from his mouth.
We toppled over the bench as I swung again, pounding his face with my fist.
“Holy shit!” Someone shouted.
“Okay, okay.” Hendrix grabbed one of my arms as someone took the other—Nixon. “We’re going to need that hand today, buddy.” They hauled me away.
“He assaulted me!” Rick cried, scrambling to his feet and holding his face.
“You want to talk about assault, asshole?” I fired back, surging against the hands that held me back. “You really want to go there? Let’s talk about the mother-fucking bruises!”
He blanched as his gaze darted around the dozens of players surrounding us. “You sucker-punched me right in the face!”
Nixon scoffed. “That was hardly a sucker punch. In fact, I didn’t see anything. Did you, Hendrix?”
“Nope. I saw Roman trip and fall…just like you did a few weeks ago.” Hendrix shrugged.
The blood rushed back into Baker’s face, turning him red as a cherry tomato.
Nixon sat me on the bench. “Put some ice on your fucking hand.”
“Show’s over,” Hendrix announced.
Conversation resumed, but there was more than one questioning glance thrown in Baker’s direction.
“How did it feel?” Hendrix asked a few minutes later as I iced my throbbing hand.
“Better than it did the first time,” I admitted quietly.
“Look,” Nixon started from my other side, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ve both given you some space for the last few weeks, and I know that right now, our heads need to be on the game…”