{Book 1 of the New York Duet}
𝐈𝐕𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 is a ballerina at the most prosperous dance school in all of New York City. Determined and unbending, she is hell-bent on getting the lead solo in the summer charity showcase by any means necessary...
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PRESENT TIME...
Sweat and aggravation lick every inch of UMaine's boy's locker room as twenty exhausted hockey players flood the room. No one spoke a word. Everything that needed to be said would be expressed by Coach Danvers when he came in after them.
Darren presses his sweaty forehead against his light blue locker. Heavy pants leave his mouth. The flush of red crawling up his neck made its way up to his cheeks. He turns suddenly and beams his helmet at the dark blue lockers on his left so hard it left a small dent. Fuck! Fuckity! Fuck! Fuck! Fuc—
His eyes scan the room sharply like a laser sight on a firearm. Where is the little bastard? Every man looked the same to him in this blurred vision of defeat. The team would have won if that weasel hadn't— found him. Darren made a beeline straight for the young male, shoving him into the white wall where the entrance was.
"What the hell is your problem?" Darren screams as the boy whirls around to see who pushed him. He narrows his eyes at the sight, gritting his teeth to rain in his anger wanting to spew from his lips. "What? Cat got your tongue, Jayson? What the hell happened out there!"
Jayson begins to take his gloves off as he says, "I told you I had it! If you would've moved out of the way, I could've scored!"
Jayson's chest heaves heavily as Darren jabs him in the chest with his index finger. "Move out of the way? For what? Your one-man show," Darren laughs cuttingly. "Face it, man. You've been screwing us all night! On and off the bench."
Tired of Darren's poking, Jayson flicks his head up to remove his droopy curls from his sticky forehead. When his glove hit the floor, he stood up taller, puffing out his chest to assert dominance. Darren was not going to let up. He stopped his poking and came chest to chest with the other boy. He is taller than Jayson by an inch or two, so he leans forward to force a menacing glare into his vision that otherwise would have made anyone else on the team shit their pants.
"What. You gonna hit me? Darren spoke slowly. "Go on. Hit me, you little bitch."
He was rousing Jayson. It was a low move knowing that the boy is quick to anger and usually on previous occasions, Darren was smart about his dealings with Jayson. But right now, he could care less about maturity or lack of. Jayson had been throwing cheap shots all night.
Jayson took the bait and pushed Darren back. He wound his right arm back to throw a punch, yet his fist never connected with Darren's face. Darren stops mid-movement as he watches Coach Danvers grip his son's wrist, slamming it against the wall Jayson was just pinned on.
"Settle down!" Coach yells as Jayson squirms to get at Darren. "I said to calm the fuck down!"
Jayson finally settled on the wall, the brown skin of his face was blotchy and red as he breathed. When Coach could trust that his son wouldn't move, he turned on Darren, just as angry. The older man in his mid-forties grips the middle of Darren's jersey with force. Darren held his glare all the same.
