Trouble at Brayshaw High - Meagan Brandy Page 0,26
to catch his breath – Graven Prep clearly doesn’t work on cardio.
“‘Sup, bitch?” Royce grins at him, dropping his bag on the bench.
Collins rolls his shoulders and starts jogging again.
We take our time getting our shit out and switching into our street shoes.
Right when I stand back up, the rest of the team and Coach arrive.
Coach Brail eyes us. “Brayshaw, early as always.” His stare cuts to Collins, who makes his way toward us.
“Always, Coach.” I roll the ball in my hand, eyes on Graven.
“All right, we’re gonna get rained out, so a quick lap and then we’ll go straight into a scrimmage.”
The team waits for my lead, then follows us around the court, stopping in the center as Coach asked.
He separates us into more even teams, each a mix of starters and second string. When he adds Graven to a team, everyone takes a step back, every fucking eye landing on me.
Coach glares. “I said play,” he snaps.
Still, they wait.
I walk toward Graven, slow and fucking steady, and he squares his shoulders, a slight tip to his lips, but I’m a fuckin’ Wolf, I can smell his fear. Under that pasty ass skin and pretty-boy hair, he’s trembling like a bitch.
He thinks he’s showing strength, that his standing here puts us on edge and makes us and those around us see him as brave.
His fake ass, cocky attitude says a lot more than that to us, though.
He’s making a mistake and he’s too fucking dumb to realize it.
No Graven would set foot here like this, not unless they knew they had a safety halo hanging around their head, one we’d later use to noose their asses if and when needed.
Collins is well aware our dad asked us to play fucking nice.
The real fucking question is how and what else does this dick know that we don’t?
I chuck the ball into his stomach, and he jerks, catching it like I knew he would.
“Go on, Graven.” I tilt my head back lazily, walking backward to my position. “Start us off.”
The corner of his eyes tightens as he starts dribbling, and drops back to his place.
The rest of his temporary team still waits at the side, so I nod my chin, giving my team the go-ahead to play with him here.
“Let’s go, assholes,” Cap smacks our boy Mac on the shoulder, who was placed on the opposite side of us.
We talked to Coach last night and told him not to use our playbook or talk any sort of strategizing with him here. We’ll run basic ass shit and nothing more.
So that’s exactly what we do, run basic.
An hour and a half in, and he’s only touched the ball twice, and one of those was for a free throw after he was fouled.
His glare flies to Coach. “You’re willing to chance a loss just to appease these assholes by not exercising the entire team? I need practice before next game—”
Royce cuts him off with an obnoxious, nasty ass laugh and everyone stands to attention.
He grips the front of his basketball shorts and stalks toward Collins.
Collins’ eyes tighten at the edges as he tracks Royce’s every step.
“Next game?” Royce laughs again, but there’s no sign of humor on his face. “Bitch, you really think you or your thousand dollar fucking Fendis will ever touch down on our court alongside us?”
Collins’ head draws back the slightest bit.
“You’ll never play as a Wolf,” Royce tells him. “I don’t give a shit what anyone says. Not Coach, not my dear old dad, not my brothers. Not when it comes to this. You, you punk ass bitch, played your last game of ball the second you decided to come into our house.” Royce takes a step backward. “You’re fucking lucky we have to play nice, Graven, or we’d have snipped you at the ankles the second your feet hit Brayshaw steps.”
Collins stares at Royce, the muscle in his jaw ticking, but then his shoulders square and his eyes slide to meet mine.
My brows drop low as I gauge him.
I know where this fucker’s about to go.
Push me, bitch. I fucking dare you...
“Work me out, Brayshaw.” The corner of his lip lifts and I take a half a step forward. “Work me out today, and I’ll give her the night off.”
I’m in his face, nose to fucking nose, forehead to forehead in the next second.
“Boys—” Coach yells, but when nothing else comes from him, I know Cap or Royce cut him off with a single look.