Chapter 145 TALK
Chapter 145 TALK
MAX'S POV
Today's practice ends with Coach's loud voice practically ringing across the walls.
“You all have two days!” He clutches his clipboard tightly, before turning to look at each of our faces carefully.
“I want you all to ignore the current drama, and instead focus on the fact that you're about to play your hardest and most important games that will determine for some of you if you will go pro, or get a teaching job like me!”
The guys all snicker after that.
Coach Ramirez is a hall of fame star that got bored of retirement and came to teach.
“I want focus! I want discipline! And anyone carrying emotional or outside baggage can sit and watch the rest of us win from the stands!”
Nobody argues with him.
The good part about King's is that even though it's a school for rich people, the sports aspect is off limits to any patron’s influence.
The King family heavily refuses anyone without much talent, plus Coach Ramirez is richer than some of the students he coaches.
Even though he likes stealing booze and pretending to be a middle aged man with car loan debt.
But no one is focusing on that right now.
The air is already heavier and tighter than it usually is, as we all hear up for the final games.
Scouts will all be present, for the first elimination games, and one bad night can make us all cautionary tales in the junior championship games.
I wipe off the sweat from my face, keeping my face neutral as the rest of the team file out towards the locker room.
Dante is quiet and not saying anything as usual, but he's been ignoring me since the day he threatened me.
Micah looks both focused and confused at the same time, if that's possible.
Tyler still looks guiltily at Micah, as Caleb looks worried.
I don't know which is worse.
Not being able to play properly, or playing with a team that looks like it's been held together by cello tape and spite.
I hang around even after they've all gone on purpose.
The first trickle of blood started coming out while I was stretching out my hamstrings earlier on.
Before feeling it properly, it had run into my mouth and nearly caused me an accident in the gym.
Pressing it down doesn't seem to work either, as it continues in a bright, steady stream.
Fuck.
I tilt my head, resting it on the wall like I'm just trying to catch my breath through it all.
Then the blood just continues coming harder, as it starts dripping to the floors.
Thankfully, the floors are already painted in a dull black color that doesn't make it obvious.
My heartbeat is feeling like it's in my head, and my head is aching with pain that has continued to grow even worse in weeks.
I feel fatigue even when I do nothing, and I try my very best to manage it.
Wet bandages, pills, ice packs–
But the bleeding today is new.
And easily visible.
I purposely stay bent over until the rest of the team managers leave the gym, and the doors seal shut.
Only then do I rush towards a towel, and clamp it hard against my face with relief.
The white fabric turns red instantly, as I sit there for a long time, breathing through my mouth and waiting for it to stop.
I calculate just how much longer I'll need to wait for, and how long I'll need to hide this for when the tournament starts and the physical strain on my body intensifies as we play.
A contract, that's all I need.
I just need one decent run to give me enough protection to stop avoiding my treatments, and save myself right before it shuts down due to cancer.
I mean thankfully, no one else knows except Dante, but that is being used as a threat, so I'm good for now.
That reminder just burns something bitter down my throat.
After what feels like forever, the flow finally eases up, and I start to clean up.
I clean the best as I can, before cleaning the bloody floor, and stuffing the towel deep into my bag.
I don't need a shrieking cleaning staff calling out managers with information about a bloody towel.
Looking at myself in general glass close to the exit, I wince at the reflection I'm seeing.
I look like hell.
But thankfully, it's not too noticeable, and it can be chalked up to be practice for the championships.
I push out the doors right into the corridors and stop when I see someone waiting for me.
Savannah Reyes is standing near the side doors like she’s been there the whole time, waiting for me to come out.
She somehow even looks worse than I do, with her pale face, and panda eyes. What happened to her?
But somehow underneath that sadness and shaky demeanor, is something that makes me stop and look at her properly.
It's something even I am still consumed by, but I've managed to bury deep.
It's spite.
I watched what happened and apparently, she was spying on Micah and Dante? So it should be related to that I guess.
She pushed off from the wall, and starts walking in my direction.
“We need to talk.”
My immediate instinct is to turn around and not involve myself with her.
Whatever mess she's in, has nothing to do with me.
But something in her face stops me.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” I tell her even though I do not move an inch from there.
She steps right in front of me.
“You’re very wrong about that. You have information I need, and I have one you need about Dante. I also know just how much longer you think you can keep playing before your body gives out on you because you're refusing treatment.”
The corridor suddenly feels colder as my eyes narrow on her, but she doesn't flinch.
The tournament is just two days away, so I cannot afford to act stupidly right now.
“Talk,” I say.