“Whatever. You want to hold her? Fine.” Her eyes smile as she looks at me, but she speaks to Scott, “Go ahead and get your kicks. You won't have much time.”
“That's not—” He shuts himself up as the front door opens, footsteps thumping through the kitchen. He leans forward, arm still draped over me like a seatbelt.
And at the moment, with multiple male voices in the kitchen and my sister with a gun, Scott's presence feels like a shield instead of a restraint—a weak one, but my only option while my head swims with nausea and disorder.
“Scott,” I request as London steps out of the room. “What's going to happen?”
“They only want to talk to you.” He twists towards me, eyes dropping over my sweater and I follow his gaze to the deep dark spots of still moist blood absorbed by the thick fabric.
But it's worse when he looks at me, because his light gaze is clouded with uncertainty. “They only want to talk. That's all this was supposed to be. They promised.”
“Where's my phone?” I whisper deathly low. I need something. I need some option other than him.
He shakes his head. “It's gone.”
My lungs constrict with loss of hope, and he pulls me to his side in an embrace that’s a steel trap I can’t escape. He doesn’t let go when I push on him, but tightens his hold.
“It’s going to be okay.” He’s shushing me with his head dipped to the top of mine, his hands holding me to his chest. “Stay calm.”
“What the hell did you do to her?” Coach Kelley questions as he steps into the room, London following him.
Scott allows me to break free then, and I sit back against the couch, watching all of them.
“She was about to drive off. I didn't think she was going to leave the house that soon. And then she was on the phone, about to yell out everything—I had to shut her up.”
“I know, fireball,” He pulls her into his arm with a groan, calming her hysterical explanation. “You're a quick thinker. You did what you thought you had to.” He looks towards the kitchen. “Did you take care of your friend, shut him up?”
“He wasn't sure what happened. He's not saying anything.” TJ walks through the doorway, and he plops on a chair to our side. “But, fuck, I don't want to be pulled into whatever this is. I'm not getting this shit pinned on me. I didn't ask for this. Get her the fuck out of here.”
“Ha,” London's sarcastic laugh is harsh. “You're already in this. You guaranteed us buyers. What happened to that?”
“That's why Drew's locked up, that solves that. The players will start coming around again. So will the frat's, won't they Scott?”
“I don't deal with the drugs.” He leans forward, blocking me, dropping his head with a groan. “But nobody's going to bet on a team when the main players are suspended. And if there's a conviction, and Fayden's out the rest of the season, then I'm out a lot of money.”
I look around for anything, a weapon, a way out.
“Yeah, our business is pretty much screwed. But we're willing to forgive that, if this all gets smoothed over.” Coach nods his head towards TJ. “We're willing to forgive what you owe as well.”
“In exchange for what?” TJ braces his thick forearms on his knees as he leans forward, his loose hair falling over his shoulder.
“You said you only wanted to talk to her.” Scott springs up from the seat the second London and the coach turn their head to me.
“Well, things have gotten a little fucked since then.” London steps out of Coach Kelley's arms and waves her gun towards me. “We can't just talk and let her go now. She'll fucking blab everything. Look at her, she's bleeding everywhere. You can go ahead and kiss medical school goodbye if this gets reported. It's kidnapping, you know how long you can go to jail for that?”
“No.” I rise to my feet, through the blinding pain that flickers behind my vision, my energy dripping down the back of my head, heat leaving me as my blood continues to flow. “I won't say anything. I promise. You don't have to do anything.”
“She looks like she’s about to fall over.” London sweeps her hand to me. “She can’t even stand.”
“You're going to kill her?” Tj asks.
Scott pulls me into his arms, his hushes in my ear only make me scream, but I can't break free.
“God, shut her up,” London demands.
“You're my sister,” I yell to her, still stuck in Scott's tightening grip, unable to see straight through my watery vision. “We're sisters. Don't do this.”
“We haven't been sisters since Dad died.” She speaks so cold, and callous. “Maybe if you hadn't been a selfish fucking brat that night, then we would have all been in the car, and he wouldn't have crashed. But you didn’t stop there, you try to take away anything good I ever have in my life. You're not my sister, you're a parasite.”
“It was never going to be just a talk, was it?” Scott questions low, his voice vibrating through me as I choke down my sob.
“Maybe.” She lights a cigarette between her lips, back to her anxious calm. “But that options gone.”
“What’s the plan?” TJ looks up to them, his leg bouncing.
“Make it look like a suicide.”
“But the back of her head is bleeding.” The coach points out the flaw to London's plan.
I fight in Scott's arms, thrashing my body around, but he doesn't loosen. Each move only makes his hold tighter.
Then I'm ripped from his arms and pulled against a larger chest. Coach sits down with me, strong arms are wrapped too tight to move in, legs pinned over my own, and a wide hand over my mouth.
“So what are we going to do?” TJ questions unfazed.
London narrows her eyes at me, watching my struggle as she takes long drags of her cigarette. “Put a pillow over her face, right now. Then we’ll burn the house down.”
Scott stands in front of me, his hands shaking like a leaf, but his gaze is steady on mine. And I beg him with my eyes, but he doesn't move.
Please, please, please. Please God. The prayer repeats in my head as I keep testing the coach's hold for any way to get free. I can't think of anything else. I don't allow myself to accept what they're saying, something about the gas stove. There has to be a way out. I'm going to get out. Please God.
The creak of the front door opening has TJ springing to his feet, and the hand on my mouth tightens, stretching my neck to a painful angle.
“What the hell are you doing here?” TJ asks as he disappears into the kitchen.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Tatum responds with a confident attitude. “I'm surprised you'd show up here.”
“I didn't do anything wrong.” TJ’s voice is more distant. “But Drew's not here. You should leave.”
“I know he's not here. He was arrested, my Dad just called. But you knew that, since you were part of the report against him. What the hell do you think you're doing?”
“Leave.”
“Don't touch me,” she spits out. “You'll spend more than one night in jail if you lay a finger on me. You know my family can destroy more than just your college football career.”
“I'm not touching you. What are you doing here if you know he's in jail?”
“They said Brook was here when he was arrested.” Quick footsteps cut through the kitchen, her voice getting closer and London lifts her gun. “I thought maybe I'd find her before Andrew—” She freezes in the doorway, her words morphing into a gurgle and her eyes bulging from her head as TJ wraps his arm around her neck.
“Let go.” Scott calls, but it sounds distant as her body crumples to the ground in front of me.
She's not moving, but I can't focus enough to see if she's breathing as a fresh wave of energy surges in me, and I struggle in the coach's arms.
“What the hell are we going to do now?” TJ stares at Tatum. “Fuck. Fuck, I didn't think, but she's seen everything.”
“It’s done now,” Coach’s tone is final. “But you’re going to clean this up.”
&nbs
p; London circles Tatum's body as Scott hovers over her, pulling her limp head into his lap.
“She's alive.” He lifts her eye lids, and there is no white to her eyes, only red from bursts veins. “This is too much. Oh, shit. We're never going to get away with this. We should stop now, before it gets worse. Do you know who her family is? You heard her, they can—”
“Shut up,” London screeches. “Shut up. There's no stopping now. Do you see this shit. I'm not going to fucking jail. So quit your bitching.”
“She's right.” The coach rises to his feet with me in his arms. “So either do your part and hold this one quiet, or walk out now.”
“What?” London snaps her eyes to the man behind me.
“If he doesn't have the stomach for this. He should leave now. But then nothing is forgiven, and he will have to pay the price.” I can't see him behind me, but his tone is dangerous.
London breathes deep, a small smile on her face as she looks at Coach Kelley. And Scott only stares between the two, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
“So what is it?” London asks.
“I'll stay.” He rises to his feet and reaches for me.
I run the second the coach lessens his hold, but hands grip my shoulders from behind and toss me to the ground. London stands over me, her tennis shoe pressed to my chest and the darkness of a gun barrel filling my vision.
“That one’s up?” She questions, not taking her eyes from me.
Tatum is coughing, spluttering, but I don't turn to see.
“Get her to her feet. I have a new idea.” Her lips turn up in a scary sweet smile. “Stand up, sister.”
I rise to my feet. Not for her command, but to better assess the situation. My gaze swipes all around the room. The kitchen door is blocked by TJ, but only my sister stands in the way of the back hall. If I could close myself in one of those rooms…
“What the hell is going on here?” Tatum questions, her wild gaze traveling around the room. “Do you have any idea how much fucking trouble you all are asking for? None of you are getting—”
London's fist crashes into her ribs, and the air whooshes from her as she folds over.
“I don't want to hear your threats. Now shut the fuck up and listen.”
Tatum snaps back up, a flash of metal as she swipes her fist at London.
“A blade?” London jumps back before it makes contact, and points her gun at Tatum's head. “You have a knife? Even better. But it's not me you should be swinging at. It's her.” She points to me. “Take her down, and I'll let you go.”
The noise Scott makes isn't normal, and he steps to the kitchen doorway.
“Where are you going?” London barks after him.
“I can't watch this.” He quickens his pace.
Her eyes flash to Coach and he pulls his gun from his waist. With sudden bursts, Scott’s body jerks several times, and drywall floats in the air as he hits the ground. Blood splatters the wall on the other side of him and pools on the floor under him. All without a sound. No gun blast. No cry from Scott.
I run the opposite way, uncaring if my sister shoots me, uncaring about Tatum's knife, just needing to get free. To get help. My throbbing head slows me down like an anchor, and running is a clumsy trot.
I try, but I get nowhere.
The coach grabs me and tosses me back toward Tatum. A hot burn slices my arm as her blade makes contact with my shoulder, and then I hit the floor, landing on my side.
I hiss with the pain and grab the bleeding cut on my upper arm, backing away from her as I scramble to my feet.
“Oh God. I'm sorry.” Tears pour from her red eyes, but she still holds the blood-stained blade up. “But they shot him. They’ll shoot us, too.”
“It's you or her,” London encourages.
Tatum looks to me and takes a step forward.
TJ turns away from the sight, silent as he looks towards the kitchen.
“They're going to kill us both.” I stand there, empty handed, finally putting words to my fate. “It doesn't matter if you fight me or not.”
“That's not true. I'll let you go,” London assures her with a low voice.
“Why?” She cries out.
“Because she deserves it. You know it. You said yourself you hate her,” London continues to egg her on. “She takes from everyone. That’s why you came here anyways, isn’t it?”
“No.” Tears roll down Tatum’s face as she looks back to Scott on the floor. Then she wipes her cheeks and steps towards me again, knife up.
I don't move.
“Are you even going to try?” she asks, voice strained with panic.
I shake my head and meet her eyes, calm settling on me, or maybe too drained to feel anything but numb. “They're going to kill us either way. We shouldn't be fighting each other.”
She moves, and so do I. On instinct, I lunge for my sister and her gun, wrestling to take it from her hand. It goes off in the struggle, shooting Tatum in the side with a deafening blast.
Tatum falls to her knees with bloody fingers covering her wound, and then she collapses forward.
I dive to the floor to scoop up the dropped gun and aim it at London. But I stay at Tatum's side, my free hand adding pressure over her hands, covering the seeping spot on her side. Her shirt is drenched in blood, and it continues to flow.
“Fuck, that was loud.” TJ pulls at his hair as he paces the room. “Someone's going to report that. We've got to go.”
“Drop the gun.” Coach Kelley has his gun aimed at the side of my head.
I don't know what I'm doing, the gun doesn't have a safety or anything to cock that I can tell. But I know I can’t drop it. It’s the only defense, probably the only reason he doesn’t just shoot me now. I hold my hand steady like I'm sure in what I’m doing and keep it aimed at London.
“You won't shoot. I'm your sister,” she says.
“I will if any of you come any closer.”
Lights streak in from the large living room window. Red and white and red and blue. Silent sirens. They grow brighter as they pull up the driveway, and I choke on my relief.
TJ takes off running, darting down the back hall.
“That was damn quick,” Coach Kelley mutters, taking a step back. “I’ll put my gun down, if you put yours down.”
My grip is sweaty, my arm beginning to shake. I’m not sure I can physically continue to hold the gun up, but I shake my head, the room streaking in my vision. I hold myself up, bracing on Tatum’s wound to add pressure, but my hand is covered red.
“We’ll stay back.” Coach Kelley takes cautious steps in a slow wide circle towards London, lifting his gun towards the ceiling. “Back away, London. We’re getting out of here.”
“She won’t fucking shoot.” London screeches as Coach pulls on her arm. “Shoot her first.”
“Don’t.” I grip the trigger tighter, ready to press if need be.
“Eastern Police.” A voice booms from the front door.
“In here. Help,” I yell out, voice flooding with held back pain, and tears, and overwhelming relief.
My sister and coach are already down the back hall, disappearing into a room, and I add the pressure of my hand with the gun in it to Tatum's wound.
“Put the gun down.” An officer calls, but it sounds like it's down a tunnel.
I let it fall from my fingers, my strength slipping away with it.
Officers crowd close, moving too fast, and the room spins, swirling as I collapse to the ground.
Drew’s words comfort in the darkness.
I love you
33: Last
The world flashes and streaks as they move me on a stretcher. Too bright to see anything clearly, but I feel it all, the chaos around me, throbbing in me. The frenzy of uniformed officers. My sister, Coach, and TJ in handcuffs in the yard.
Shouts and clashing invade my blood, louder with every pounding heartbeat, and I can't tell what's real or not. The blood on my hands, that's real, and I shake with the co
ol stickiness of it. Tatum's blood.
Then I'm in an ambulance, and the faded glow of stars in the evening sky is gone, the only calm I had to focus on. Without it, my panic rises. The night crushes me, like an elephant on my chest. Hands prod and poke my pounding head. A light shines in my eyes, and a mask is slid over my face. But someone's got my hand, one of the techs. My blood covered hand.
“She's pregnant.” I try to talk, to tell them. It sounds like a scream in my blood. But I'm not sure if anyone hears me.
I can't hear what they say. Beeps and sirens vibrate through my bones, rattling in my skull like a freight train.
* * *
I only blink, but then I'm lying in a hospital bed, that same beeping, echoing and faint. Only a curtain separates me from a much larger, brighter room. Through the crack, I can see the activity of the ER.
I observe the people in scrubs walking back and forth, the IV and blood pressure cuff attached to my arm, the gown that replaces my clothes, all with an empty detachment. Touching the back of my head, my fingers outline the spot behind my ear that’s covered in a bandage. Then I do the same to my upper arm where Tatum cut me, it's got a bandage over it as well.
It's hard to determine what I'm feeling. It's too much. I feel it all, but nothing at the same time. And I grip the nothingness, the void, unable to handle the rest.
But as the seconds tick by and I glimpse police uniforms in the room beyond the curtain, avoidance becomes impossible. A kaleidoscope of memories and thoughts rise in me, no matter how I push them down.
But while my hands shake and bones ache, I stay calm. The toxic panic doesn't reach my mind. I raise myself into sitting with unsteady arms and wait for whatever will happen next.
A nurse pushes the curtain aside and smiles at me as she comes to my side.
“How are you feeling?” she asks as she checks the monitor and adjusts my blood pressure cuff.
I shrug, nausea beginning to spin in my stomach, and she adjusts the pillows behind me, using the remote to lower the back of my bed down.
Hustle Page 38