Page 124 of Puck the Coach's Son
Theo goes rigid under me. Every muscle. His breath stops.
I pull out. Fast. I get the rubber off, tie it, shove it in my pocket, yank my shorts up. I yank Theo's up over his hips and thetop of his base layer down. I turn him around. His face is white. His mouth is open. His pupils are the size of pennies.
“Open this door. I saw you come in here.”
I put my hand on Theo's jaw. Make him look at me.
“Hey. Breathe.”
“He—”
“Breathe. Look at me. Breathe.”
He breathes. One in. One out.
“Theo. Open the door.Now.”
I don't think. I step in front of Theo. I put him behind me. I reach around and turn the thumb-turn.
The door flies open.
Paul is in the doorway.
He looks at me. Then past me. Then at the desk. Then at Theo's hair, which is wrecked. Then at my mouth, which is swollen. Then at the foil wrapper that I forgot to pick up from the floor.
His face doesn't change at first. It goes through a sequence I can see in real time. Confusion, calculation, then the arrival. When the arrival lands, it lands in his jaw. His jaw goes tight enough that I hear a tooth grind.
“Theo,” he says. Soft. Which is worse.
Theo makes a sound behind me. Not a word. A sound.
“Come out from behind him.”
I don't move.
“Move, Creed.”
I don't move.
Paul looks at me. Really looks. I haven't seen Paul's eyes this close before. They're the same color as Theo's and nothing like Theo's.
“Get away from my son,” he says.
“No, Coach.”
Behind me, Theo's hand finds the small of my back. Five fingers. A press. A grip. He's not telling me to move. He's telling me he's here.
I plant my feet a half-step wider.
The door is open behind Paul. Anyone in the corridor can see. Anyone could be in the corridor. I register that. I file it. I don't move.
Paul's shoulders rise. His fists close. His weight shifts forward onto the balls of his feet. I've seen this stance before. Every coach who ever swung on me stood exactly like this half a second before the swing. I keep my own hands open at my sides. I don't raise them. I don't need to. If he comes at me, I will turn and I will absorb—because the one thing I will not do in front of Theo is throw first.
The fluorescent hum in the corridor is the loudest thing in the world. Theo's breathing behind me is the second loudest. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughs about the win. They don't know. Nobody knows yet except the three of us in this room.
And then Paul takes a step into the room and the door swings shut behind him on its own weight, and the click of the latch is the last quiet sound I am going to hear tonight.
19
