Back To You | complete

Chapter 05| Like a Moth to a Flame

Chapter five: Like a Moth to a Flame

K A I S O N

I grunted as Karl slammed into me once again, more roughly than ever. We tumbled on the ground, the ball still wedged between my arms. I winced as pain shot up my hand like a bolt of lightning.

"Martinez!" Coach yelled angrily. Loud footsteps vibrated in my ear as our teammates approached us. They got Karl off me and then helped me sit up me up as well. I winced again when one of them pulled my arm.

"Fuck!" I hissed.

Milo frowned, taking in my posture and expression. "You okay, bro?"

"I'll survive," I gritted out, glaring at Karl. He had the nerve to smirk back.

"I told you not to tackle his left side hard," Coach all but shouted as he parted through the team that made a circle around us. "Jennings, get up."

Reluctantly, I stood up. I almost screamed out loud when a sharper pain took over my senses, its epicenter being my arm. I was pretty sure my face had contorted into an ugly grimace.

"What is it?" Coach demanded. I smoothed my expression with effort, consciously fixing my posture to make the upcoming lie more believable.

"I'm fine," I brushed it off.

He glowered at me, exasperated. "Jennings, this is not the time for bravado."

"It doesn't even hurt," I said. Coach looked at Milo. So, I looked at Milo. Then Milo looked at me.

He gave me an apologetic look before pulling at my arm a little more than what can be called 'gentle'.

"Arg-" I ripped my throbbing hand away from him. "What the fuck?!"

"What was that?" Coach demanded.

"Nothing," I denied, turning my gaze to him with a scowl.

He scowled right back. "You're hurt. Go get our ass down to the infirmary."

"Coach, it-"

"Now, Jennings!" He snapped. "I'm tired of you always downplaying your injuries. And you, Martinez! What did I tell you?! Why can't you fucking listen?! I'm sick of your attitude. You better fix it or else you're off the team." Coach turned back to me, "What are you still doing here? I believe I told you to see the Doctor. Get out of here!"

"Yes sir," I grumbled, walking to the bleachers.

* * * * *

"Are you kidding me?!" Coach roared at Dr. Pearson.

Ah, what was going on? Well, after the doctor at the infirmary had told us that I needed to rest because I had torn a tendon, Coach Brown had become livid. He refused to believe that I was unfit to play in the match this week, and possibly longer. And so after spewing multiple threats at the team to tell them to behave while he was away as if they were mindless toddlers, he had dragged me here for a second opinion.

Which, apparently, wasn't very different from the first. I exhaled, trying to process that as I leaned back in my chair.

"Calm down, Mr. Brown," Dr. Pearson addressed him calmly. "And please, take a seat."

"I will not do anything as such!" He raged. "You're telling me that my Quarterback can't play the game this week. How is the team supposed to go on without a key player?"

"I'm sure you have a spare," she said patiently.

He fumed. His ears deepened in color and I imagined smoke coming out of his ears as he continued to rant indignantly. "A substitute! It's a substitute!"