Bad Things

4. Repercussions

Want you to make me feel like I'm the only girl in the world

Like I'm the only one that you'll ever love

Like I'm the only one who knows your heart

Only girl in the world...

Like I'm the only one that's in command

Cause I'm the only one who understands,

like I'm the only one who knows your heart,

Only one...

- Rihanna.

____________________________________________

The atmosphere in the locker room after the game was the complete opposite of what it was beforehand. Players were arranged in a semi-circle, some standing against the lockers near the back of the room, others sitting on the benches. It still smelled like sweat and dirt, but no one spoke. No one smiled. It wasn't the attitude they normally had after a win, but apparently, this win was not one they were supposed to be proud of.

Shawn sat at the front of the pack. The leader. The failure. He watched Coach pace back and forth in front of them, his hand on his chin and eyes to the ground. Shawn knew better than anyone the things going through his father's mind. Winning by a single field goal was not enough for Roy Mendes, not when it was in a game against Alejandro Cabello. He'd wanted to slaughter him, to show him just how much better he was, to rub the talents of his son and team in the man's face. But that wasn't what happened. Although the team did good enough to finally beat the Knights, there was no such thing as "good enough" in this case. There was only "best."

Sweat dripped from Shawn's hair to his brow, following the slope of his nose until falling to the ground. He wanted to wipe his face in the worst way. The perspiration was starting to sting his skin, especially where he'd cut himself shaving that morning. But he knew any movement would draw his father's attention straight to him, and he preferred to keep that moment until they were out of earshot of his teammates.

Finally, his father stopped in the center of the room and drew in a breath. Shawn dropped his gaze to his clasped hands. From the corner of his eye, he could see the glint of gold from the MVP trophy at his side. Hell. He should have put it in his locker, hidden it in his bag, something. Anything but have it out there as a reminder of what he'd been awarded when he didn't deserve it.

"What is it I ask for every time you step out onto that field?" Coach Mendes began. "Is it mediocrity? Is it to run around and have fun, doing whatever the hell you want?"

The room was silent, no one wanting to be the one to speak. The click of cleats against the tiled floor sounded every once and awhile, but no one dared to make an intentional noise. This was how it always was when Coach didn't get his way, when the team didn't play up to his "standards."

"No, I ask for obedience. I ask for perfection. For one-hundred and twenty percent every minute, every second your feet are on that field. Anything less and it's not worth the time or energy to be out there. I don't believe I have words to express how pathetic that was," he continued. "Just winning isn't enough. This was our chance to show what we're made of. But that ... that was nothing more than luck. You were lucky. Plain and simple. There was no skill, no real display of the talents I know you possess. You were just out there, going through the motions. Some of you more than others."