Keeping Score by Cathryn Fox
Rocco
Ifinish my passing drill and Coach blows his whistle. I tug my helmet off and glance around the bleachers, searching for Reagan, even though I know she’s in class. Still, I can’t help but hope to see my girl out there watching and cheering me on.
We all head into the locker room and get showered and changed. Alistair steps up to me as I’m pulling on my team jacket.
“Any news on getting your bike fixed?”
“Yeah, I got a couple calls in, and I’m waiting to hear the quote.”
He nods, and knows better than to offer me money. “You know if you need anything…”
“I know.” I pat him on the back. “Thanks, man. I got this covered.” I don’t really. I’ll have to find a way, though. I made my high school coach a promise to take care of her and I’ll find a way somehow. I tug my phone from my pocket to see if there are any missed calls or messages from Reagan. I smile when I see her text, telling me she’ll catch up with me after class.
“Reagan?” Alistair asks.
“Yeah.” I can’t seem to wipe the stupid grin from my face.
“Rumor has it Cochrane is pissed and out for blood.”
“He should have thought of that before he put her in my hands.”
“You like her, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do. A lot.” I take in his frown. “What?”
He shrugs, but I stare at him. He’s got something to say. “Out with it.”
“I don’t know. I just…she’s not the kind of girl you usually go for and I don’t trust Cochrane one bit. He could make things difficult for you.”
“How?” It’s a question I already know the answer to. But if he fucks with Reagan, I’ll break every fucking bone in his body.
“Be careful, that’s all I’m saying.”
I nod and I’m about to tuck my phone away when an email pops up. I open it and quickly read the message from the Dean of Science. “What the fuck?”
“What’s going on?”
“The Dean wants to see me.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with my scholarship. I might have forgotten to send a form in last month.” I make light of it despite the sudden storm swirling in my gut. I’ve been in the Dean’s office before, for paperwork and career talk. This feels different, though. This feels bad. I shove my phone in my pocket, and try to shake off the burst of nervous energy in my blood. I scoop up my bag and head toward the door.
“Text me and let me know, okay?”
I nod, my mind on a million things. “Yup,” I agree and head out the door. With the sun shining today, lots of students are out on the lawns studying, and I keep my head down and make a beeline to the administration building. I step inside and the scent of pine cleaner fills my nostrils, and amplifies the dread inside me. Why do I feel like I’m walking into the executioner’s office?
I take a breath and shake it off. It’s nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just here to sign a paper. I head down the hall and stop outside the Dean’s office. His door is cracked, and it’s opens slightly as I knock.
“Come in,” Dean Blakely says.
“Hey.” I enter his office and find him sitting behind his colossal dark mahogany desk, which is always littered with files, paper coffee cups and books. He usually has a smile for me. Today, not so much. The dread in my stomach mushrooms, and my heart picks up pace as he gestures toward the chair across from his desk.
“Have a seat, Rocco.”
I close the door, leave my football bag by the door, and drop into the seat across from him. I keep my mouth shut as he checks something on his computer. He presses a few buttons, and sits back in his chair, the leather squeaking under his weight.
“I’ve heard some disturbing news.”
Fuck me. Twice.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” As I sit there looking at his frown, his gray bushy eyebrows knitting together, I continue to tell myself this is nothing. But that’s a lie born out of self-preservation, because right here, right now, this is about to change my trajectory. Every instinct in my body tells me so.
“I heard there was some gambling going on, and you were involved.”
I take a couple deep breaths, brace my elbows on the arms of the wooden chair and steeple my finger. “Who told you that?”
“That’s confidential.”
“If someone is talking about me, I think I have a right to know.”
He picks up a pen and taps it on his desk. What does he have to be nervous about? I’m the one getting thrown under the bus here.
“Let’s just say, the information came to me from a very reliable source, and if it’s true, you could be in very big trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
He squirms a bit, and tugs at his collar. Whatever he’s about to say, he’s either uncomfortable doing it, or he’s been put in a situation where he has no choice. What the fuck has Cochrane done?
“There’s been an investigation at Wolf House. Your name came up repeatedly.”
I shake my head. Of course it did. Cochrane has pull there, just like he has pull here in the Dean’s office. My guess is Cochrane’s daddy and Dean Blakely go way back. Isn’t that the way it is? The rich protect the rich. Isn’t that why Reagan landed in my arms—to protect her asshole boyfriend.
“If this is true…”
“I’m the only one named? No others are being implicated here?”
He picks up a piece of paper and reads it. “There is another name.” My heart jumps into my throat and cuts off my air. Please don’t say Reagan. Jesus Christ. I can understand Cochrane dragging my name through the mud, but is he that much of a bastard that he’d ruin Reagan’s name too? Ruin her education, her future? “I take it you know Reagan Ellison?”
Holy fuck. Cochrane is a dead man.
DEAD.
My hands shake and I tuck them under my legs as sweat breaks out on my body. What the fuck am I supposed to say, or do? “I know her, yes.”
“Apparently, she’s involved in some payout scheme. She gave herself to you in lieu of payment of sorts. That’s very unorthodox and could result in a suspension, for her and for you.” His head lifts, his eyes zeroing in on me. I catch the worry there. This man knows he can ruin careers, and I suspect it’s to save his. “If that’s true, I will need to speak to her.”
As the room spins—my life, Reagan’s future—flashing before my eyes, the lie easily spills from my lips. “She’s not involved in any of this. You don’t have to talk to her.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Is this really happening? Did Cochrane really throw us both under the bus? He’s every bit as guilty as I am, yet I’m the one here in the office, about to lose everything I spent years fighting for.
“If I take full responsibility, will you leave her out of this?” That’s when it hits me. This is what Cochrane wanted all along. The fucker knew I’d take full blame and protect her. I shake my head. Well done, Cochrane. Well-fucking-done. Looks like he won this war after all.
Dean Blakely nods slowly. “I could take that into consideration.” He leans forward, and links his fingers together. “She comes from a very well connected family. Her father is a donor to the new wing of the library. We probably don’t want to drag her into this scandal.”
“Yeah.” I get it, I get exactly what everyone with more power than I have is doing.
“You should probably keep your distance, don’t you think? You know, for her sake.”
With my words lodged in my throat, I nod, grab the back of my neck, and dig my fingers into my tight muscle. At least Reagan won’t be fucked over because of my fight with Cochrane. I shake my head and glance at the ceiling. I once asked myself what I’d do for love. I guess I now know the answer. Reagan and I, though, we never stood a chance and I guess there is a part of me that always knew it. The Dean’s chair shifts and my gaze flies to his as my anger once again flares.
“You know I’m not the only one, right?”
He tugs at his collar again. “The others will be dealt with.”
I lean forward, not ready to let this go, and maybe there is a part of me that just wants to see him squirm some more. “What others?” Shit, I hope Andrew isn’t in trouble. He’s the only one from Wolf House that I like.
He shuffles papers on his desk and avoids my direct gaze. “I’m afraid that’s confidential.”
“What happens to the person who came to you with this information?”
“That person will have different consequences of course. They are, after all, the person wanting to right the wrongs taking place at Wolf House.”
A humorless laugh crawls out of my throat. When Reagan said Cochrane had a way of getting what he wanted, she wasn’t wrong. “You know this is fucked up, right?” I ask, unable to contain my temper. He bristles before me, shocked at my blunt language.
“Rocco, I’d appreciate a little respect.”
“Why are you doing this?” I grip my hair and tug. “What does Cochrane have on you?”
His throat makes a sound as he swallows, like he’s surprised, but the truth is written all over his face. “That’s enough, young man.”
I laugh. “Why? Why can’t I say what I really feel? What else do I have to lose?”
“Your scholarship.”
I go still. “Are you saying you’re not taking that from me? I get to stay here?”
“No, I’m not taking it from you. You can finish your degree.”
I push to my feet, and put my hands on his desk. “Then what are you taking?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I don’t want to hear the answer poised on his lips like a sharp blade ready to pierce my heart.
“You’re being pulled from the football team. I’ll have a talk with Coach Myers and will explain all this to him.”
My blood drains to my toes as he confirms what I already knew. I stare at him and he fusses with the papers on his desk, indicating the meeting is over. This might be over, but it’s not over between Cochrane and me. Oh no, it’s not over by a long fucking shot.
I move around the chair, snatch my duffel bag and walk out of his office. The hall narrows in on me as I work to get my anger under control and step outside. I stalk across the campus, scanning everyone and everything I see. My phone pings, and I ignore it. My only focus is on finding Cochrane and giving him a Burnside beating. No one deserves it more.
I search the campus, but it’s now late afternoon, so he’s probably back at Wolf House having a celebratory drink. The guy finally fucked me over. Why I was such a threat to him is beyond me. Maybe he knew I had a thing for his girl all these years. Maybe he only put her in my arms to finally show me that I was nothing—would always be nothing. But I wasn’t ‘nothing’ to Reagan. I was her everything, and she was mine. That shit was—is—real. I guess in the end, I really did prove to him that I could make her fall for me.
Was that my goal? Is that why I moved into her house? To take her from Cochrane and show her I was the right guy for her? Talk about everything blowing up in my face.
“Rocco.”
I turn at the voice, and Miranda comes into view as she hurries my way. My heart stalls when I see the worried look on her face.
“Is Reagan okay?” I hold my breath. He better not have gone after her, hurt her or upset her in any way.
“It’s not Reagan I’m worried about.”
“She’s good, then?” I ask, the panic in me subsiding slightly. Reagan’s been through enough, and I’m not going to be the guy—won’t be the guy—to tell her what Cochrane did, how he was willing to throw her under the bus, again, just to win. One thing I know about Reagan is she’s a fighter, smart enough to figure out she’s better off without Cochrane in her life.
Miranda looks me over, and I get what she sees. A goddamn animal on a rampage. It will take the Falcons entire defensive line to stop me from fighting Cochrane, and I’m not even sure that will be enough.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you look it.” She reaches out to put her hand on my arm and I flinch. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I plan to talk about it, with my fist. “I have to go, Miranda.”
“Rocco, please, you look like you’re ready to murder someone and I can only guess who that someone is. I don’t like him any more than you do.”
“Then you shouldn’t be trying to stop me.”
“I’m stopping you for you. Because I care about you and your future.”
I laugh, and it comes out sounding like an animal caught in a trap with no way out—except to chew off its own leg. Come to think of it, that seems to be a fitting description for my life. Fucked.
“I have no future, Miranda.”
The worry in her eyes deepen. “What are you talking about?”
I swallow, and shift my bag on my shoulder. I shouldn’t say anymore, I’ve said enough, yet the words, “It’s over. Football is over. No chance of the NFL now,” spill from my lips.
She pales before me, her lips practically trembling. She glances around, searching for the same man I’m after. “What did he do?”
“Does it even matter now?” I start to walk away and she reaches for me.
“Rocco, please don’t.”
“Go home, Miranda. None of this has anything to do with you, and I’ve dragged enough people into my life as it is. I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.”
Confusion moves over her face, and of course it does. How could she possibly know the extent Cochrane would go to even hurt Reagan just to get back at me? It’s my fault, really. I never should have gone to that fucking card game, never should have shown up at her place, demanding a room. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And you can’t fix stupid, right?
I walk away and glance back over my shoulder, but Miranda is on the move, running in the opposite direction. I pick up my pace and start jogging toward Wolf House. My chest swells with all the rage welling up inside me as I cut through the parking lot and head toward the impressive front entrance to the stone building. Blood boils in my veins, a cauldron overflowing, ready to erupt, when I find Dick standing outside laughing with his friends. I drop my bag, and his head lifts, like he was expecting me, as I close the distance between us. He grins at me, and it only stokes the anger inside me.
“What the fuck do you want, Rocco?” he asks, and cracks his knuckles.
I’m ready. Come at me, asshole. I take in his friends as they close in. It’s not going to be a fair fight, but there’s definitely going to be a fight. Maybe I want the beating. Maybe I want the pain. Maybe it will take my mind off the hurt of losing what was never mine to begin with.
“Fuck with me, but you don’t fuck with her,” I growl through clenched teeth.
He snorts. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Blind rage grips me, and I’m fucking done talking. I pull my arm back, and take the first swing. I punch his jaw, making it a good one because I’m sure it’s the only one I’ll get in. I knock him into the arms of one of his friends. They push him to his feet as someone jumps me from behind and Cochrane comes at me swinging. He hits my jaw and as pain rockets through me, so does a high-pitched female scream.
Reagan.