Sweet Blood of Mine (22 page)

"You don't understand. I don't expect you to. Maybe you didn't try to trick me into loving you but—"

"Wait, so you do love me?" I asked, hope weling in my heart.

She growled and pounded her fist into a locker, leaving a fist-shaped dent. "Stop it, Justin. Stop it!"

I grabbed her shoulders. "Look at me and tel me you don't love me," I said. "Do it and I'l never bother you again."

"I don't love you," she mumbled.

"Look at me when you say it!"

She turned to me, her eyes hard but dul and faded.

"I don't love you."

I let her go. My heart turned to lead, the heavy lump sagging in my chest. "Wel, if there are agents out there looking to kil me, I guess it would be a mercy."

I turned to leave. Her hand gripped my shoulder.

"Please listen to me, Justin."

I pushed her hand away but didn't turn to face her.

I couldn't let her see the tears weling in my eyes. "Why?

What does it matter?"

"It just does. I—I don't want to see you hurt."

I took a deep shuddering breath. "You're not doing a very good job of it." I walked away and left her standing there.

It took longer than I'd expected to put on a footbal uniform but not as long as it had taken the outfitter to find one that would fit me. He'd measured me at five feet, eight inches and a hundred-eighty pounds which came as a surprise to me since I'd been five feet, six inches and a hundred-seventy pounds of pure lard just a few weeks ago.

Most of the footbal players were over six feet tal and their gear made them appear even bigger. I looked like a munchkin in a forest of lumbering giants.

"Good luck," said the outfitter with a dubious expression on his face. He was a skinny guy and friendlier than I'd expected. He probably planned to forward my measurements on to the undertaker.

I wondered if I died if I would turn to dust and freak everyone out. I'd searched for "vamprey" and "fader" last night after Elyssa's revelation about what she thought I was.

Both of the supernatural creatures had abilities similar to mine. Both were also supposed to be dark, evil creatures.

I didn't want to be either. I wanted to be a nice supernatural guy, not a jackass.

Coach Burgundy yeled at me the moment I stepped onto the field for practice, shaking me from my thoughts.

"Get your ass over here, Case!" He was a short stout man with a porn 'stache, beer-keg bely, and a large purple-veined nose. How a man of his physique could coach footbal made no sense. Then again, maybe our one-and-three record made total sense.

The offensive coordinator, Coach Wise, lived up to his title and coordinated offensive obscenities which he hurled at me while urging me to increase the pace of my hel-bound posterior. He was short, fat, and ruddy with a shaved head. I gave him an offended look then trotted over to Coach Burgundy.

"Show us what you got, kid," Burgundy said and pointed to a long row of tires.

"Do I pick them up?" I asked. A vague memory of having seen these before rattled in the nearly empty footbal database stored in my brain, but I wasn't sure what the deal was. Maybe I need to rol them somewhere.

Laughter rose from the assembled footbal players.

"Retard," someone said.

"You little idiot, you run through them," Coach Wise screamed.

I ran at them. My foot caught on the first one and I smacked face-first onto a tire. Guffaws and loud laughter echoed across the field. My face burned with humiliation. I could beat the tar out of those idiots but I couldn't run across some stupid tires? I stood up, brushed myself off, and started over. This time I took it slower. I focused on my feet. My eyes roved ahead and picked out the pattern.

My feet got the message and painstakingly made it the rest of the way through without tripping me up. Stil, I'd done it at sub-turtle speed. Coach Wise yeled at me to turn around and come back faster.

I think he just wanted me to bust my butt again. I came back a little faster, almost losing it on a row of larger tires in the middle, but eventualy made it. Nathan, huge and intimidating in his uniform stood watching, his helmet tucked under his arm. He scowled when I made it across unscathed. His swolen, plum-colored nose was covered in fewer bandages. I couldn't believe he was practicing. I guess his nose hadn't been broken, just sprained.

"Can't wait for blocking practice, Case. I'm gonna show you pain."

I glanced at his nose. "I think you already are showing me pain."

A chorus of disdain and hoots rose from the players. Some of them razzed Nathan while others clearly players. Some of them razzed Nathan while others clearly expected to see me carted to the morgue by the end of practice.

The next exercise consisted of Coach Wise standing atop a contraption with skids on the bottom and large pads on the side. It seemed to belong on a ski slope, not a grassy field. Thankfuly, I didn't have to go first this time. I watched players ram their shoulder pads against it, pushing the thing while Coach Wise stood on a platform on the other side and hurled insults questioning their sexual preferences, parental lineage, and physical strength. If this was what passed for motivational talk in footbal, it was no wonder jackasses like Nathan seemed to abound in the sport.

"Case, Meyers, Riggs, Heyward, get your butts out here," Coach Wise said in his lovely melifluous voice.

Three other guys trotted out with me. Coach Wise barked out some commands. We lined up. He blew the whistle. We charged the sled. I rammed into it with my shoulder and pushed for al I was worth. Coach Wise blew his whistle like a maniacal traffic cop. I stopped and looked around, confused. We'd pushed the sled about twenty yards. Correction: I'd pushed it. The other three guys were picking themselves up out of the dirt. Apparently, I'd pushed it so fast that they'd falen flat on their faces.

"What the hel is wrong with you, Case?" Coach Wise said, his entire head glowing scarlet. "You have to time it with the team, you moron."

"Sorry."

We turned the sled around and lined up again. This time I paced myself and gave only a little effort so the others could keep up. After several more inane exercises, Wise divided us into offense and defense. Nathan lined up on the defensive line. His two buddies, Adam and Steve, took positions just behind the line. Apparently they realy were linebackers.

Coach Wise lined me up in what I learned was the tight end position. Nathan walked over and said something to him. They both sniggered like little kids, whispering back and forth. I knew I wasn't in for a good time. Nobody was lined up directly across from me, but Steve, who hovered just behind the defensive line, graced me with a sneer.

Super strength or not, these guys knew what they were doing and they had mass on me. They could cause me some pain if they hit me just right.

We huddled around the quarterback.

"Tight dump on three," he said. He grabbed my practice jersey. "That means you."

"I have to drop a deuce on the count of three?"

"No, you dork. Run out about ten feet and cut straight left. Look for the bal right when you cross the middle."

I remembered seeing a footbal game where some guy got absolutely clobbered trying to catch a bal across the middle. My future as a target practice dummy was clear. I sighed and took my position.

The quarterback started his cal. "Green forty-five!

Green forty-five! Hut. Hut. Hut!"

Both lines exploded into action. I hesitated. Jetted forward a few steps. Cut left. Made a mad dash across the middle. My senses spiked. Every color brightened. Every breath and creak of equipment in my ears coordinated sounds with a location. Other players appeared to slow a fraction—or perhaps my brain was speeding up. Adam's cleats kicked up dirt as he rushed me from my left. Nathan was turning, his eyes locking onto the target, namely, me.

Steve approached from behind. The quarterback cocked his arm back. His arm catapulted forward. The bal rocketed toward a point feet away where I would meet the footbal and my body would meet Nathan and friends.

According to my calculations, I would catch the bal about a split second before Nathan and Adam pounded me from the front and Steve rammed me from behind.

front and Steve rammed me from behind.

I caught the bal. Lowered my shoulders and clenched my teeth. Plowed into Nathan and Adam. They were heavy guys and dense with muscle, not to mention their bone-filed heads. I was lower to the ground, though, and a hel of a lot stronger. Plus, I was ready for them. It felt like I'd punched through a brick wal, but I came out the other side and ran twenty yards before I tripped over my own feet and plowed a furrow through the grass with my facemask.

I stood up sputtering and digging dirt and grass out of my eyes. I had to take off the helmet to get it al out. I turned to see Nathan flat on his back and Adam roling around clutching his knee. Coach Wise stared at me with a combination of naked horror and wonderment.

Steve puled Nathan off the ground. Nathan limped a little, shooting looks of pure hatred at me. Then he and Steve helped Adam off the field and onto the bench.

Coach Wise stormed over to me and grabbed my jersey. He puled me in for a close-up of his crooked yelow teeth and rotten tobacco breath. Turned his head to the side and spat a dark glob on the ground before glaring at me again. "You ever played footbal, son?"

"No."

Coach Burgundy was speaking with Nathan and Steve. They looked at me. Burgundy grinned and nodded.

Oh, crap.

They lined me up as a running back next. I wasn't sure if I was the halfback, the three-quarters back, or the fulback, but I knew I was going to get the bal. I was supposed to run straight through a hole made by the big guy playing center and the guy to his left. I couldn't remember the position names, but I guessed it didn't realy matter.

Nathan lined up where the hole would form. Steve crouched right behind him. Adam, sitting on the sideline, had ice on his knee, so at least I didn't have him to worry about.

"You're gonna feel pain, Case," Nathan said.

"You're gonna feel like a train just ran your tiny ass over."

The quarterback barked the signs. I saw him turn with the bal. I ran forward and felt the bal thump into my bely. It was a good thing the real running back had told me how to receive the bal or I probably would have just knocked it on the ground.

Again, my senses kicked into hyper-drive. The hole in the line opened, except it wasn't a hole for me to get out so much as it was a hole for Nathan and Steve to come in and pound me to hamburger. I ran straight at them. This time I put a little arm action into the mix and shoved Nathan away. Steve glanced off my other shoulder, but his hands gripped my jersey. I ran, dragging him behind me for ten yards until another player dove at my legs and knocked them out from underneath me.

Nathan was howling in pain, holding his arm. I'd knocked him back a few feet. Steve pushed himself up slowly. He looked dazed. Coach Wise walked over and grabbed me by the facemask. He dragged me over to Coach Burgundy.

"Wise tels me you ain't never played footbal,"

Burgundy said. "That true?"

I nodded.

"You juicing, boy?"

I knew this time they weren't asking about orange juice. "You mean steroids? No."

"You gotta pass a drug screening anyway. Go give the nurse some piss and blood."

"Why do I need to pass a drug screening?"

He chuckled. "You want to be a part of the team, don't ya boy?"

"You want me to play?" I asked in horror. That meant I'd have to see Nathan and his goons every day, not to mention practice footbal.

to mention practice footbal.

"I think if you want to stay in the good graces of the principal, you'l do what I tel you, boy."

Coach Wise spit a glob of brown between my shoes. "Now git outta here and give the nurse what he told you to, Case. And have your butt out here for practice tomorrow."

"But—but—" I said, sputtering and unable to offer up a defense. I face-palmed and turned for the locker room. About halfway there I heard footsteps running behind me. I spun, preparing to defend myself, then noticed it was Ash and Nyte.

"That was freaking epic!" Nyte said, clapping me on the shoulder pad.

Ash shook my hand. "Simply amazing, Justin. I didn't think you had it in you."

"And it's al on video," Nyte said. "Epic!"

"Yay," I said glumly, pumping my fist. "I should've just let them beat the crap out of me."

"Why?" Ash said.

"Because now they want me to take a drug screening so I can play on the team."

"What?" they both asked in unison.

"And if I don't, then they threatened to make things harder on me."

"Oh, man," Ash said, his nerdy accent sounding a little more Asian than usual. "I wasn't aware they could add you to the team this far into the season."

Nyte snorted. "Dude, this is the South. Footbal coaches are gods down here."

I went into the locker room and changed clothes. I wasn't about to take a shower in the place. From there, I found the nurse's office. She was stil there, puttering around and mumbling to herself. She took my blood and then I peed in a cup with a screw-on cap. I worried she might want to hold my privates and make me cough. The last thing I wanted was a little old lady violating me.