Long Way Home (Thunder Road #3)(53)

CHEVY

COACH TEACHES FRESHMAN GEOGRAPHY. Multiple world maps cover the walls in his room and little else. Most teachers try to make places welcoming by adding posters of baby animals or maybe posting some sort of inspirational saying on the bulletin board. He’s got none of that. World maps put up with gray tape. That’s his best.

It’s his planning period and I’m supposed to be an aide in wood shop—keeping the freshmen from cutting their fingers off. Parents get pissed when that happens.

I knock on Coach’s door and he pops his head up from the pile of papers on his desk. “Tell me before I lose my mind. I taught you what the capital of the US is, right?”

Already knew it before I took his class. “Washington, DC.”

“Thank God. These kids are morons.”

Considering how many of them I’ve had to stop this year from losing digits, I have to agree. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah.” He leans back in his seat, causing it to roll. “Take a seat.”

The chair in front of his desk is too small for me, like it belongs in an elementary school, but when Coach tells you to sit, you sit. He’s a great guy. As big as a tank. Played football in college, then a year in the pros until he busted his knee. Gentle black man when he chooses, but on the field the man morphs into a rabid wolf, tearing hunks out of us until we break.

He’s made teammates of mine cry. He’s run me so hard I’ve vomited on the sidelines. He demands respect, we give it and bust our asses to receive it in return.

“I heard about what happened to you,” he says. “Want you to know that my church and I were pulling for you. We had a special prayer session for you the morning you were gone. The entire team came. I even heard that some of the guys had grouped together and went searching for you and Violet in case you had been dropped off on the side of the road. You had a lot of people thinking of you.”

Didn’t know any of this. Something deep and unknown inside me shifts. People said prayers for me and Violet. It’s weird and welcomed. “Thank you.”

“You doing okay? I heard you were roughed up.”

I shrug. “About the same as playing Riverside.”

Coach grins, but it’s short-lived. “Listen, I’m going to give it to you straight. There are some in the school’s administration who have never been happy I’ve had you on this team.”

My skin begins to feel stretched and there’s not much I can do as I balance sitting in this tiny chair.

“Some people argue the Terror are a gang and you know the school board doesn’t allow anything gang-related within the school.”

Son of a bitch.

“This is why I ride your back to make sure it appears like your loyalties are with the team and not the Terror. I take a lot of heat for sticking my neck out for you, but after this kidnapping...parents are scared.”

“I wasn’t kidnapped by the Terror.” I cross my arms over my chest and dare him to push me on it.

“I know. But you were taken by a rival motorcycle club. Maybe if this was fifteen years ago, things would be different, but now with terrorist attacks, school shootings and workplace shootings... Hell, insane assholes are shooting up movie theatres. People get scared. The members of this community know you’re the son of a Terror member.”

“A man who died before my birth.” A man who might have been loyal to the people who took me.

“And your grandfather is the head of the Terror and he’s come to every parent-teacher conference and every game. People see you, they see the Terror and some parents have expressed concern that your being on the team is inviting problems.”

Problems. “What the hell does that mean?”

Coach lifts his fingers in a way to indicate a who-knows. “Parents are concerned if you’re on the field, a gang war will erupt and their sons will be taken out in the process.”

I’m being punished and judged based on someone else’s mistakes? “This is bullshit.”

“I agree, but the parent making the most noise has got the ear of someone on the school board. Until the board meets again, I’ve been told to bench you.”

“Bench me?” I repeat.

“You aren’t thrown off the team. Just have to sit out games until we get this figured out.”

“I’m not Terror. I’m not even a prospect.”

“As I said, I know. You’ve been given permission to sit with the team. Wear your jersey to games. They don’t want you to feel entirely left out. They said they want to do what’s best for the greater good.”

Fuck this. I stand, the small-ass chair banging against the floor. “Because if I dress out and play, that’s when the shooting begins, but if I sit my ass on the bench, everyone’s safe? How does that work?”

“It doesn’t.” Coach rises to his feet, his hands in the air in a sign for me to calm down. “Between me and you, this is politics, son, and it’s higher than my pay grade.”

Politics? I run through what Coach said and my head falls back when the answer hits me like a freight train. Some parents raised concerns, but he said there was one loud bastard with the ear of a board member. The kid who’s my backup if I get hurt hasn’t played much this year and his father’s been an asshole about it, shouting at Coach from the sidelines at practice and during games.