Game On by Michelle Smith

here’s the verdict from the arresting officer himself: Matt, since your record’s clean, he says you’re free to go.”
    Matt shoves off the bars. “Then why am I still in here?”
    Coach steps toward the cell, hovering over him. “Because
I
didn’t say you were free to go. We’ve got a mess that needs cleanin’. Which is why he called me out here when I’m supposed to be at home, enjoying some quiet time. You’re welcome.” He glances at me, and the disappointment on his face hurts worse than the jackhammer going to work in my head after getting slammed against the pavement. “Eric here isn’t so lucky. Randy claims he started the fight. But Kellen and Blake say that Matt shoved first.” He purses his lips. “I like that version better. We’re going with that one. That one gets Eric out of jail.”
    Yes. Yes, let’s go with that one. You know, the truth.
    He looks back to Matt. “And if you go running your mouth saying otherwise, consider yourself off my team. Got it?”
    Matt lets out a loud laugh. “Really? You’re really gonna take his side in all this? Look at my fucking nose, Coach.”
    Coach narrows his eyes. “I’m doing what it takes to keep this team in one piece. Raise your voice, or mouth off to me one more time, and you won’t play another day of baseball in this town. Do we understand each other?”
    Matt nods, grumbling a “Yes, sir.”
    â€œI’m gonna tell y’all one more thing,” Coach continues, “and I hope to all that’s holy that you’re listening. You’re two of my best veterans. You know good and well that I have absolutely zero tolerance for this crap on, or near, my field. So you’re gonna learn to keep your smartass mouths closed, and you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself. Can I trust y’all not to kill each other this year?”
    I nod as I mutter “Yes, sir” along with Matt.
    â€œUnless you’re on my field, I want you two apart,” Coach adds. “Show up and shut up. End of story.” He points to the door. “Harris, go out and wait by my truck. I’ll give you a lift once I’m done with Perry.”
    Matt’s out the door faster than I can blink. Coach settles that glare on me again, the ticking of the clock echoing in our silence. I swallow hard and finally admit, “Coach, Matt barely touched me. I mean, he shoved me, but I should’ve walked away.”
    â€œ You just turned eighteen,” he says without missing a beat. “Matt’s seventeen. If he and his parents were so inclined, they could press charges for that busted nose. That’s assault and battery on a minor, and your backside would be in here for good. This way, he might actually keep his mouth shut.”
    Coach’s smooth talking to the rescue again. I sigh with relief. “Thank you.”
    He shakes his head. “Don’t. Don’t start thanking me, because I have no idea what I’m going to do with you yet.”
    My eyebrows scrunch. “What do you mean?”
    He blows out a breath and heads for the door, gesturing for me to follow. I trail behind him, lowering my head as he holds the door open for me.
    The night’s cold, but it feels like heaven—my blood’s pumped into overdrive. The moon looms overhead, our only light aside from the tiny bulb flickering above the station’s door. Matt’s sitting on the back bumper of Coach’s truck, talking to Officer Concord. I can’t help but roll my eyes. I scan the parking lot, which is all but abandoned except for the officer’s cruiser, Coach’s truck, and—
    Bri’s car. Which is parked beside Kellen’s truck. They’re both standing a few yards away, staring straight at us. Kellen’s predictable; he’s like freakin’ Batman, always showing up when you need him. But what’s Bri doing