Page 230 of Tell Me I'm Enough

Bash snorts. “I can’t wait to be his best man one day at y’all’s wedding.”

Lani turns and makes a gagging noise so loud that a couple of people look over. “Don’t mind me. I’m just gonna throw up right over here on the turf.”

Lydia bursts out laughing, which makes Bash laugh harder, and for a second, it’s just our little circle in the middle of all this noise.

Then chaos erupts.

Voices spike, and people start running over.

I turn, and my stomach drops when I see Mason in the middle of a crowd of players, arguing with one of them. The guy shoves Mason hard enough that everyone around them moves. He walks closer to the guy with this dangerous ease in his steps, chest to chest with his teammate now, helmets off, sweat shining on his forehead.

The other guy is yelling, face red, and his hands up like he wants to swing.

Someone grabs Mason’s shoulder from behind and tries to pull him back, but Mason jerks away, taking the first swing. My heart drops, and I’m moving before I can think any better of it, but then Erik stops me, giving me a look to let them handle this. I stop only feet from the altercation as Bash and Erik rush over.

Security starts moving in just as Bash pulls Mason off the kid and Erik steps in front of the other guy, daring him to try anything else.

The coach’s voice cuts through everything, sharp and brutal. “HEY!”

My feet start moving again, but Lydia quickly grabs my wrist. “Simone—”

“I’m just looking,” I say as I’m already pushing closer.

The guy is still talking shit just as Bash releases his hold, and Mason’s face changes instantly at whatever he said. It’s like something in him snaps. He lunges, but more hands shoot out, stopping him. A bunch of the other players rush over just as the coach moves in fast and smacks the back of both their heads—not hard enough to hurt them, but hard enough to embarrass them.

“Get your shit together,” he snaps. “Don’t make me bench you, Sinclair. Youjustgot back on the field.”

Mason’s chest rises and falls like he’s trying to swallow his rage down.

Coach points at the other guy. “And you—shut your mouth. If I hear either of you bring this crap onto my field again, you’re done.”

Security steps closer. “You guys good?”

“We’re fine,” Mason says flatly.

“Fine,” the other guy echoes.

Coach stares them both down. “Practice. Tomorrow. And you better show up like men. Not like babies with fragile little egos.”

Mason turns away sharply, shoulders rigid. It makes my chest tighten because I want to walk beside him. But I don’t.

Erik and Bash lead him over to us, and my heart skips when his eyes land on me and soften, the rage simmering down, replaced with something else…something almost sad.

Erik falls in beside Mason. “What was that?”

The laugh Mason lets out is humorless. “He was talking shit. Like always.”

“About what?”

Mason’s eyes flick to me again, then away. “About the accident. About my dad getting me off and then some more colorful choice words.”

Bash shakes his head. “Why can’t people get a life? They stay stuck up your—”

He catches himself, and Mason looks over at him, smiling. “Ass?”

Bash laughs. “Yeah, basically.”

Mason shrugs like he doesn’t care. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I let it bother me so much.”