Complications

1|flour?

Walker Prince

"Walker!"

I knew it was coming, but still, the sound of his voice had my shoulders hunching in trepidation. Out of pure instinct, my body freezes and waits in anticipation for what he'll say next. This is one of those situations for me where I probably should've thought it through. Per usual of myself, I let my fists do the talking and here I am.

I make sure to distance myself from Rivers but that distancing puts me further from coach than closer. No way am I willingly heading in his direction, that's suicide.

"Get your sorry butt over here!"

Slowly I turn my head, thinking through my words about a thousand times before I say them, "Coach, I told you it's not my fault!" When I see his face and the way his mouth has thinned into a straight line I know that was the wrong thing to say.

Of course it's the wrong thing to say, I don't think I can say anything right in this situation, especially in his mind. His eyes had to be on fire underneath his sunglasses, I can feel it. His grip on the clipboard in his hand tightens and he stops.

I try to avoid looking at him, he probably can't see my eyes really well anyways. I'm not guilty, Rivers deserved it and I'd tell that straight to his face, I did in a way by punching him. Some times your fists have to do the talking, he'd understand that.

"You knocked one of my players out!"

He definitely won't understand that.

'He deserved it,' is what I want to say, because it's true. Instead I say, "Dad, it wasn't my fault." We both know that's complete bullshit, so when my dad's face doesn't soften in the least I know I'm in some serious trouble.

I think he's getting angrier if that's possible. Is he shaking? Probably. Am I dead? Probably.

I repeatedly clench and unclench my fists as my dad resumes his sauntering act towards me. The ache from smashing it into Rivers face is oddly satisfying, I'm not going to say I regret it. You back talk me and I'll put you in your place, now everyone on this field knows that, and the team will stay in line. Too bad dad doesn't see it that way.

Though he never sees it my way so why am I not surprised.

"Don't call me that while we're on the field! I'm coach while we're standing here!"

I clench my fists, the skin of my knuckles stiff and sore, I glance down at it, the tops of my knuckles are red, and tomorrow they'll probably be purple, I bite my lip to hide the smile that the pain brings on, and fully turn to face my dad. If he wants to hear me admit it, fine. Playing dumb won't get me anywhere at this point.

"Fine Dad," I say enunciating dad, "I punched him! He stepped out of line, so I put him in his place. I'm the captain...."

"And I'm the coach," my dad hisses closing the gap between us and poking me in the chest, "you don't see me punching people."

I glare at him from underneath my helmet, I'm sure he can see it now, but I don't care. He knows how Rivers and I get along, why is he acting surprised that I finally hit him. I should be surprised that it took this long for someone to. If he wants to be mad at me fine, but I'm not sorry, I'm not going to apologize, and I am not going to lie down and take some stupid punishment for something someone else deserves. If he wants to do this here and now, we'll have it out.

"Maybe you should," I mumble in response.

He lightly shakes his head, confirming that he heard me and I widen my eyes as if to say, 'your move old man.'

"Maybe you should be the first then." He says lifting his eyebrows up over his sunglasses.

"He deserved it Dad."