Safe

-18- I'll Play

Holt Jacobs

My ribs hurt like crazy. But I want to be out on the court. Even if Ian's out there too.

I don't like riding the bench.

And I definitely don't like seeing the team scrambling to keep up. They're better than us. We're better than this.

Shouts erupt through the stand as Paramount scores. The person to do it I recognize. A chill runs down my spine and I wrap my hand around my ribs. I don't even know his name, which is probably better honestly but I'll never forget his face. His light brown hair that jutted out from underneath a knit beanie as the snow fell on it just before he held me still. Or his brown eyes that were dark and hard as he came up behind me, stalking me like prey. Or the way he wrapped his arms around me, pinning me to his chest helplessly. I'll never rid myself of that, just like I can't Ian. Or him.

Whoever he is, he high fives Ian, the two of them smiling like life is one big happy celebration.

It's not.

At least for me.

"Get it together!" Coach Mo shouts and I jump.

He's been shouting the whole game. In fact the last time out he called all he did was shout. For just that moment in particular I was glad I was benched.

The ball goes back in play, Drew in control as he dodges Paramount and drives the ball as hard as he can to the net before he's blocked. The rest of the team can't shake their Paramount defenders, Drew pivoting on his planted foot until he realizes his only real option is to shoot. His focus switches as he readies himself to shoot and as he launches the ball into the air, his defender trying to block his shot, he gets fouled.

The defender smacks Drew in the side of his head with his elbow. Unintentional, I think, but a foul nonetheless.

The ref calls it, everyone taking up their places lining the lane. Drew takes the ball from the ref, a cocky smirk on his face as he glances to the defender nearest him. It's Ian.

Someone in the stands shouts "GO DREW!" Only a handful of people following up before their drowned out by the audience for Paramount. This is their school after all.

Coach Mo is mumbling to himself, I can see his mouth moving the words dying just past his lips. But I feel his desperation. We need Drew to make these two shots. We'll still be behind but they'll help, a little.

The ball smacks against the court as Drew readies himself. He looks up at the basket, face focused as he sends the ball into a perfect arch that sinks straight through the net. Our team shouts, Coach Mo slapping his hands together. I silently cheer Drew on in my head, tension building throughout me until I'm a ball of nerves.

He makes the second shot, not nearly as well executed as the first one but it doesn't matter as long as it goes through, and it does.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Coach Mo shouts, clapping his hands in approval. "Let's turn it around boys!"

————————

Nothing got turned around after Drew's two free throws. If anything it got worse. We're all in the locker room, Coach Mo yelling at everyone and I shrink into the locker behind me as much as I can.

I stare at my shoes and focus on the fact that there's a bunch of kids my age surrounding me which means there's no way this is the basement even though Coach Mo's anger is threatening to send my mind there.

"Ribs hurting?" Drew leans over to whisper it and I jerk violently at his sudden close proximity sending pain through my ribs.

All I manage is to nod my head.

"Damn. I was hoping for a miracle. We need you." He says.

I look over at him, his blond hair still combed perfectly and I still don't understand how that's possible. I'm not even playing and I've ran my hands through my hair a million times making it look like a tangled mess.

"I'll play." The words fall out of me before I can think better of it.

I know I'm not allowed to play. It's everyone's orders; the doctors, the Lincoln's, Coach Mo's. But I want to.

"Yeah? You think you can?" Drew asks, excitement rising in his voice even though we're still whispering.

I know that I can. My ribs hurt but I'm used to pain. I'm used to pretending like I'm not in it, fighting through it. It's not like he stopped hurting me just because he broke something.

Playing with fractured ribs, at least I'd be the one in control of the pain for once.

"Yeah, I can." I tell Drew. "But what about Coach?"

Drew shifts his gaze back to Coach Mo who's hastily drawing on a white board while he shouts.

"Don't worry about him. He caves easy." Drew says more confidently than I feel he should.

There's nothing about Coach Mo that makes me feel like he's a man that sways easily.

"But listen Holt." Drew says. "You gotta ask him first. He's gotta know you want to play. Can you do that?"

The thought of having to ask Coach Mo terrifies me. I wrap my hand around my fractured ribs, images of Ian's snarling face before his fist connected with my body, of him and the basement flooding my vision until I lose sight of the locker room. I know better than to ask for things. I don't deserve anything.

"Holt?" My arm gets nudged and I suck in a breath my body going ridged so he doesn't yell at me for moving. "Holt, dude, don't forget to ask."

There's movement around me, bodies shifting, voices yelling as everything starts to separate from the basement and I see a sea of colored jerseys.

My eyes track to the side, finding Drew who's eyebrows are pinched together staring at me.

"You good man?" He asks.

I nod my head even though my hearts slamming in my chest and I'm not sure when the last time I inhaled was.

"Ask Mo. I'll get him to cave." Drew says. "Trust me, he wants to put you in."

I gasp for air, thankful that panic has released my lungs. "Yeah, got it."

He lifts his knuckles out to me and I bump mine to his. "See ya out there."