Page 20 of Coached By the Grumpy Gargoyle

I break the kiss and push back off his chest.

His eyes have gone almost all the way black; his pupils are so dilated. My lipstick is on his mouth, red smeared on gray, and his wings are still half open behind him. He lets me go, and neither of us says one single word.

I still don’t have his answer. I leave the towel where it is. He can look at it while he decides. Tomorrow I’m going to Patricia, with or without him.

I’m out the door before he can say anything. Apparently it’s now my signature move.

The corridor is after-hours empty, and my heels are the only sound I can hear, click, click, click, past his window and toward the junction. My mouth is smudged with lipstick. I don’t need a mirror to know it. I don’t fix it, either. The last time I looked at Bram, he was wearing the rest of it, and I can’t seem to stop thinking about his face.

Four days ago, I told that man we’d be colleagues, Monday through Friday. Like always.

It’s Monday.

I’m in so much trouble.

Chapter 8

Bram

I hear Cole's voice through the locker room door, then the clang of a body hitting metal.

It's quarter past five on Wednesday, twenty minutes after practice. For two days I've been walking this wing at different hours, coming in quietly, trying to find out what happens when the kids think I'm gone. Now I stop outside the locker room and listen. Cole is speaking too softly for me to make out the words. Nobody answers him.

I push the door open. The room runs three bays deep, and I can't see into the last one until I come around the second row of lockers.

Cole has Eli against the double-wide lockers at the end of the row. One gray hand is fisted in the front of the kid's hoodie, knuckles up under his chin, holding him so high that his toes barely reach the floor. The laundry bin lies tipped on its casters, towels fanned across the floor. Eli has both hands around Cole's wrist. He looks so small next to the looming gargoyle teen, like they’re not the same age at all. Cole is bent down into his face, still talking, and then he gives a short, hard shove, and five foot two of slight teenage boy bounces off the lockers. The taped glasses jump crooked on his nose.

Heat burns through my chest. I cross the room with my wings drawn tight behind me and close my hand on Cole's shoulder. I haul him away from Eli, and his grip on the hoodie breaks. Eli's heels hit the floor. I step between them before Cole can turn back toward him.

Cole jerks around, his eyes wide. For a second he just stares at me. Then he offers me that familiar, easy smile.

"We were just messing around. Eli's fine. Tell him, Eli."

Eli stays flat against the lockers, his hands still raised in front of his chest. He looks at Cole, then drops his gaze to the floor and mutters something that vaguely resembles words but is more a jumble of nonsensical sounds.

"The bin's tipped," Cole tries, nodding at the towels. "We were horsing around and it went over. That's all this is."

He says it so easily. I have to take a breath before I trust myself to answer.

"I saw you. Don't tell me you were playing." I keep my hand on his shoulder until he looks at me. "You're benched Friday. I'm reporting this to the principal, and I'll get you removed from this roster."

Cole's smile falters. I let go of his shoulder, and he takes a step back, staring at me as if I'm the one who's done something wrong.

"You can't do this." His voice rises. "Friday's the playoff. Recruiters are coming to that game. That's my future, and you're going to burn it over some nothing kid?"

His jaw juts at Eli without his eyes ever bothering to make the trip. Behind me, Eli draws a quick breath. I want to put Cole through the fucking wall. Instead, I move a little farther into his line of sight, blocking his view of the smaller boy.

"His name is Eli. And you don't get to hurt him because you can throw a football."

Cole's mouth opens. I don't give him the chance.

"Friday's roster posts at three," I say. "Your name won't be on it. Go home."

He snatches his bag off the bench and shoulders past me, wings furled tight under his jacket. I turn with him and stay where I am until he's out of the room. The door bangs, and his footsteps carry down the corridor.

When I turn back, Eli is already on his knees gathering towels. His hands shake as he tries to drag the bin upright with a fistful of laundry still clutched in one of them.

"Leave the mess. I’ve got it."