Taken by Storm (Give & Take) - By Kelli Maine Page 0,4
he saw Paul had a hand on the other guy’s chest pushing him back.
“You’ve got way to much piss and vinegar in you, Son,” Coach said from behind him. “Let’s get you back to the office and sobered up.”
Looking up into Coach’s face, etched with disappointment, MJ wished he’d make good on his promise and kick his ass. He deserved it.
Two
Your boy’s drunk off his ass, Peach. Got in a fight. Come get him.”
From his spot lying in the old, battered booth inside Coach’s office, MJ heard Coach’s words spinning around in his head. Peach. Maddie’s nickname. “I’m not her boy,” he mumbled, incoherently. “I’m not her boy,” he said again, to make sure it was understood.
His bottom lip throbbed, and when he swiped it with his thumb, he realized it was split open and bleeding. One punch was all he let the other guy have. Or maybe it was the only one he remembered.
“Paul says you been in here talkin’ about her all night,” Coach said, putting a hand over the receiver to talk to MJ. “I’ve known you both too long to fool me, kid.”
MJ could only imagine what Maddie must be thinking, must be saying on the other side of that phone conversation. The last thing she wanted was for him to be her boy. She’d made that perfectly clear.
MJ grabbed the sides of his head. Jesus, why did she have to come back? Thinking about her sent a freight train loose inside his head. Off the tracks. Derailed. Combusted into a million flaming pieces. Or was it the music blaring on the other side of the wall, and the crack of billiard balls breaking his brain in half?
Fuck, he was dizzy. And his stomach hurt like hell.
“Thanks, Peach. The kid owes you one.” Coach hung up the phone and loomed over him, glaring down into the booth. “Your woman will be here in ten. Get your drunk ass out of that booth.”
MJ grabbed the top of the booth and pulled himself up. “You know she’s not my woman.”
Coach cocked a gray, hairy eyebrow. “She’s back, ain’t she?”
MJ couldn’t help but smirk. She was back. He didn’t know why that made him feel like grinning like an idiot while facing Coach. Maybe because he couldn’t hide anything from the man. Maybe because he was drunk off his ass.
“Make her stay this time.” Coach smacked him on the back, sending spots flashing in front of his eyes and the room spinning.
Coach grabbed a bowl of peanuts off his desk and slid into the booth across from MJ. “You didn’t come in here hell-bent on oblivion just because of her.” He rested his arm across the back of the booth. “Tell me what’s eatin’ you.”
How could he tell Coach what he’d come to the bar to drown? How could he admit that his father found out he existed and bolted without a word? Didn’t even talk to him on the phone.
This fucking day. Why was he still conscious? “Same old shit, Coach. Just wasting time until classes start again. Had to get out of the Old Man’s house for a while.” His words slurred in his ears. Slurred or not, they didn’t sound convincing.
Chuckling and chewing peanuts, Coach shook his head. “Nah. You’ve been tame all summer long. All the sudden you get ants in your pants about getting out of that house, get shitfaced and start a fight in my bar? Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, boy? Something’s got you riled up tonight, and it’s not just that pretty Peach coming back.”
“Peach,” MJ muttered. Coach had started calling Maddie Peach when MJ was in fourth grade and addicted to playing Mario Bros. video games. Coach said MJ was Mario, the Italian stallion, and Maddie was Peach, his pretty princess—even though she could field a ball better than him back then.
MJ patted the scratched tabletop with his palm. “Really, it’s cool. Sorry about the fight.”
Coach narrowed his eyes but didn’t press him. “I’m risking my business serving you underage you know. Don’t start pulling this getting into fights shit and get the cops on my ass.”
MJ patted the table again. “A few more months, and I’m legal. I’ll keep it straight until then.”
He laid his forehead on the table. The room had just stopped rotating when the door flew open and banged against the wall. The sound was like a nail being driven into the back of his skull.