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Chapter 30: Electric Love

Chapter 30: Electric Love

January

Coach Murphy sits behind the desk with hands folded over his substantial paunch. Murph is probably fifty, the hair peeking from underneath his ballcap is gray and thin, cropped close to his thick neck. I've only seen him a few times without a cap—he's bald underneath. I've always liked him because his dry sense of humor and kind face are a nice contrast to Coach Carson's more alpha-male attitude. Murph's blue eyes sparkle at me as he kicks his tennis shoes up on the desk and leans back in his chair.

"Boy, what the hell were you thinking?" he finally asks me.

I shrug, look out the window. "I don't know sir. I guess I wasn't thinking."

He takes a deep breath, then stretches his arms up before clasping his hands behind his head. "What's the deal with you and Thomas?" He studies my face, searching for his answer.

"She's a friend."

"Just a friend?"

"Yeah. I watch out for my friends."

"That's good. I suspect she's been through the wringer, that girl."

I nod. "Yessir, she's dealt with some things that most people don't even know about."

"She ask you to do it?"

"Do what?" I ask. "Kick his ass?"

He nods.

"No sir," I say, shaking my head. "No...she's pretty ticked off about it, actually."

"Why's that?"

"A few things. She was worried about Marshall. And she doesn't like anyone protecting her. I think it makes her feel weak."

He nods. "Tough cookie, that girl."

"Yessir."

"Well, I'd be lying if I told you I was all broken up about you beating the tar out of Cash. But, son, you know who his dad is. There's gonna be hell to pay if Cal can't talk him off the ledge."

"Yessir. I am prepared for the consequences."

"Good. That's good."

"Um, so, what are my consequences?"

He tilts his head, narrows his eyes at me. "Not sure yet. I'll have to talk it over with Cal. But I'll try to minimize the collateral."

"What about Payne?" I ask.

"What about him?"

"I noticed he wasn't on the roster."

"We'll clear that up too," he says.

Something about that doesn't sit right with me. I cross my arms over my chest. "So, when you thought it was Marshall, you didn't give him a spot on the seven-man team. Now you know it's me, but my spot's still secure?"

"What are you getting at, Chaplin?"

"Well, sir, I'm white. He's...not."

He clears his throat. "Yeah, I don't agree with it either. But I'm a bit of an outlier on the coaching staff when it comes to how we handle the minorities on the team—whether they're black, brown...or female."

I nod.

"Just try to stay out of the muck, Chaplin. Keep your own nose clean. The rest'll take care of itself."

"Yessir."

I come out of the field house long after practice is over. I walk briskly through the cold damp air to my truck, hands stuffed in pockets, head down.