The Locker Room(73)

Errr . . . what?

End his college career? As in . . . not this year, right?

“You mean, next year,” I say. I’m surprised she’s confused. My mind’s in overdrive right now too.

“No, this year.”

What? Not wanting to put Mama G on the spot, but needing some clarification, I say, “Oh yeah, this year . . .” What has Knox not told me?

“You know, when Knox told me he was entering the draft after his junior year, I was a little apprehensive because I really want him to finish his degree. But after his talk with Coach Disik, I can see this is the best move for him.”

What is she talking about?

I’ve just been sucker-punched in the stomach by Mama G—like a hit and run—but the culprit sits in the dugout twenty feet away.

Knox is entering the draft after this semester? Was he planning on telling me that at any point in time? What does the draft even entail? Does that mean any team could pick him up? What does that mean for us? I have at least three more years at Brentwood until I earn my master’s in library science, so there’s no way I can move around to wherever he’ll be.

Not wanting to make Mama G feel bad for completely dropping a bomb on me, I play it cool, needing a little more information. “Yeah, it’s such a huge opportunity for him. Do you know who might be interested in him right now?”

“Well, Coach Disik was saying Arizona, Miami, and the Bobcats, of course, but that last one is a long shot.”

Arizona?

Miami?

Those are so far away. A plane-ride away. Too far to comprehend at this moment.

“Wow, that’s amazing.” I swallow hard, my throat growing tight on me. He’s leaving? He’s pursued me . . . but he’s leaving? Surely, I must have this wrong, but Mama G just knocked all the air and hope right out of my lungs, leaving me with a sickening stomach ache and a bruised heart.

What the hell am I supposed to do with this? The man I think I love is leaving . . .





Chapter Twenty-Seven





KNOX





“Not bad boys, not bad,” I say, towel wrapped around my waist as I quickly dry off with another and slip on some boxer briefs. “That’s a great start to the pre-season.”

We ended up annihilating Riverbend eleven to one. After the sixth inning, Coach pulled all the starters and gave the second-string some playing time. Sitting in the dugout, watching the underclassmen perform just as well as us gave me a sense of excitement for the season. We have a solid group of guys with real talent. Even Farkle stopped prancing across the diamond. Riverbend isn’t an easy team, so I couldn’t be more excited about our victory, despite it meaning nothing.

Carson sits next to me, pulling on pants as he says, “I have plans tonight and they consist of me lounging in my bed, a plate of your mom’s brownies on my chest, and watching Downton Abbey.”

I stare at him blankly.

“What?” He shrugs. “I don’t have a girl to go home to after the game like you and Holt, so I’m shacking up with brownies, unless”—he wiggles his eyebrows—“your mom is looking for a young stallion to keep her warm tonight.”

It’s not the first time Carson has joked about wanting to hook up with my mom, it’s been an ongoing joke since freshman year, but with every year that passes, it’s almost like he grows more and more serious about it.

I know he’d never make a move, but if he ever did, I would murder his penis. I would stick that thing so far in a meat grinder, he wouldn’t know I was serving up his own dick in a sausage casing until it was shoved halfway down his throat by me.

“Stay the fuck away from my mom.”

He laughs, knowing that shit pisses me off.

“Are you meeting up with Em?” Holt asks, tying up his shoes.

“Yeah, I think we’re going out to The Hot Spot with my mom.”

“Hey.” Carson slaps my leg. “Want to turn that third wheel into a double date?”

“Fuck off, man.”

“Come on.” He stands and pulls his shirt from the hanger in his locker. “I would be a really good daddy to you.”

Holt mutters, “I would pay good money to see that.”

“So would I,” Turbo, our centerfielder, chimes in.

“Me too,” Brock says from his locker.

I motion to the room, pointing to all of them. “Fuck off, all of you.”

They laugh in unison, and I can’t be too mad if it brings the team together . . . me being uncomfortable.

“Hey cap,” Brock calls out, letting the room die down before he asks his question.

“What’s up?” Pants now on, I do quick work of my shirt and shoes.

“About the locker room rules, as freshmen, are we allowed to bring someone back here?”

Oh Jesus, this bullshit again.

“No,” Carson answers for me. “Only upperclassmen. You’re a fucking baby, how do you even know what a vagina is?”

“I know better than you this year.”

“Ooo,” the team laughs and chants.

“Because I have standards, you motherfucker. I’m not about to fuck any willing pussy that throws itself at me. And the locker room isn’t a place for hookups. It’s sacred.” Carson steps on his “soapbox” and gives a warning to all the guys in the room. “There are only two upperclassmen on this team with serious relationships: Holt and Knox. They’re the only two permitted to bring girls back here.”