CHAPTER 7

Ethan's POV.

"THORNE!"

Coach Davis’s voice didn't just carry across the gym; it rattled the backboards.

The blast of his whistle sliced through the air like a knife, shrill and deafening.

"STOP! STOP THE DRILL! TIME'S UP!"

The gym went dead silent. The only sound left was the hollow thump-thump-thump of the basketball I intentionally let fly past my fingers, bouncing off until it rolled to a slow stop under the bleachers.

I stood in the paint, my chest heaving, sweat dripping from my chin onto the floor. My knees felt like they were packed with wet sand, but the fire burning in my veins was so hot I thought my skin might peel off.

I looked right at Axel.

Axel hadn't moved an inch from where he landed near the free-throw line. His dark hair was slightly damp, his jersey hanging loose on his broad shoulders. He just stared back at me, his dark eyes wide and unblinking.

"What the hell was that, Thorne?!"

Coach Davis was marching toward me. His clipboard was swinging wildly in his fist, and the veins in his neck were bulging against his collar.

I wiped a streak of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, forcing my voice to stay steady even though my heart was racing at two hundred beats a minute.

"The ball was wet, Coach," I lied, looking him dead in the eyes. "Slipped right through my hands."

"Don't you dare lie to my face!" Coach roared, stopping less than a foot from me. "I have been coaching basketball for twenty-five years, Ethan! You think I don't know the difference between a butterfinger and a player pulling a deliberate, selfish stunt on my floor?!"

"I told you, it slipped…"

"You opened your hands flat!" Coach bellowed, cutting me off so violently that a couple of the freshmen on the bench flinched. "You had a wide-open rim! You had an uncontested alley-oop dropped right into your lap by your own teammate, and you threw it out of bounds because your bloated ego couldn't handle who passed it to you!"

"I don't need charity passes!" The words escaped before I could swallow them back.

Every player in the gym froze.

Julian squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, looking like he wanted to disappear into the floorboards.

Coach Davis took a slow step closer to me. The yelling stopped, replaced by a low rasp that was ten times worse.

"Charity?" Coach asked, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You call an elite transition pass charity? You think this team exists to feed your personal highlight reel?"

"No, Coach, but…"

"Shut your mouth!" Coach jabbed the edge of his clipboard directly into my chest, hard enough to make me step back. "Look up there, Thorne. Look at the bleachers!"

I didn't want to look. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to keep my eyes forward, but Coach gripped my shoulder and forcefully shoved me toward the stands.

The three college scouts were already standing up.

The lead scout from State—the man with the clipboard who held the key to the only future I had ever worked for—was capping his pen. He slipped his binder into his briefcase, clicked the latch shut, and turned his back on the court. The other two scouts were doing the exact same thing, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, shaking their heads with cold disgust.

They were leaving.

"You see that?" Coach Davis hissed into my ear, his voice shaking with absolute fury. "You just put on a masterclass in toxic sportsmanship in front of three Division One programs. You embarrassed this school, you embarrassed your teammates, and you embarrassed me."

My stomach dropped, leaving me hollow.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Coach wasn't finished.

He reached for the captain's armband on my upper arm, grabbed it, and yanked it hard enough to stretch the elastic before letting it snap back against my skin.

"You wear that armband because I trusted you to lead," Coach said, his voice deadly cold. "A captain puts the team first. A captain catches the ball and puts points on the board. You act like a selfish child one more time, Ethan, and I'll take that armband off you so fast you won't even realize you're sitting on the bench. Do you hear me?”

My face burned with scorching humiliation. The entire team was watching. Mike was standing by the scorer’s table, leaning against the wood, biting his lip to keep him from laughing out loud.

"I hear you, Coach," I forced out through clenched teeth.

"Good. Scrimmage is over," Coach snapped, turning his back on me and blowing his whistle toward the rest of the gym. "Hit the showers! All of you! Tomorrow morning, five AM, we run until somebody throws up!"

Coach stormed off toward his office, slamming the wooden door so hard the glass pane rattled.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The freshmen scrambled to pick up the loose basketballs, keeping their heads down, terrified of catching anyone's eye.

I turned and marched toward the locker room, my sneakers squeaking against the hardwood.

"Ethan, wait up," Julian called out, jogging behind me.

"Leave me the fuck alone, Julian," I snarled, not slowing my pace.

"Bro, you gotta chill…"

"I said leave me the fuck alone!"

I slammed my palms against the swinging double doors of the locker room, shoving them open with a loud bang that echoed off the steel lockers inside.

I threw my gym bag onto the bench, my hands shaking with pent-up adrenaline.

He ruined it.

The scouts walked out because of him.

If he had just stayed at his old school, none of this would have happened.

The locker room door pushed open behind me, and Axel walked in.

He had his duffel bag slung over one broad shoulder, walking with that same infuriating, heavy stride. He looked like nothing had happened. He looked like he hadn't just watched our entire season's scout showcase go down in flames.

He walked toward his locker in the corner, reaching out to turn the dial on his combination lock.

Something inside my brain completely snapped.

I crossed the room in long strides, reached out, grabbed the door of his locker, and slammed it shut right in front of his face.

"What the fuck was that back there?!" I roared.

Axel stopped. His hand stayed frozen inches from the combination dial.

He slowly turned to look down at me, his expression unreadable. He just stared at me.

"I'm talking to you, Mercer!" I took another step forward, crowding his space until my chest was nearly pressing against his. "What kind of sick game are you playing, huh? Throwing a lob like that? Who the hell asked you for an alley-oop?!"

Axel didn't say a word. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his lips parting by a fraction, but not a single sound came out.

"Answer me!" I yelled, my voice bouncing off the walls. "You think you're my fucking savior? You think I need you to spoon-feed me points so the scouts think I’m good enough?! You think I can't score on my own?!"

Axel’s hands slowly lowered, disappearing into the front pockets of his black hoodie. He dropped his chin, his gaze shifting away from my face, looking directly down at the scuffed rubber toes of his black sneakers.

The silence drove me insane. It wasn't just disrespectful; it felt like he was treating me like an annoying, yapping dog that wasn't even worth barking back at.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, you arrogant prick!" I shouted, kicking the wooden bench beside us. "You had plenty of attitude when you blew past me during drills! Where's that big mouth now, pretty boy?! Cat got your fucking tongue?!"

Axel’s shoulders tightened, his knuckles visibly pressing against the fabric inside his hoodie pockets, but he kept his eyes locked on the floor.

"You're a coward," I hissed, leaning so close my breath brushed his ear. "You’re always so active on the court, but you can’t even look me in the eye like a man. I earned this court. I bled for that starting spot. And you're not taking it from me. You hear me? Never."

"Oh, cry me a fucking river, Thorne."

A loud, mocking clap echoed from the locker room entrance.

I spun around, my chest heaving, my fists balled up so tight my fingernails were cutting deep into my palms.

Mike was leaning against the doorframe, a filthy grin stretched across his face, tossing a roll of athletic tape up and down in his right hand. Half the team was standing behind him in the hallway, peering in through the doorway like spectators at a zoo.

"What did you just say, Mike?" I growled, taking a menacing step toward him.

"I said, cry me a river," Mike repeated, walking into the room with an arrogant swagger, tossing the towel into his locker. "Listen to yourself, man. You sound completely unhinged. You're standing in here barking at the transfer like a jealous fucking girlfriend because he didn't throw the ball the exact way you wanted it."

A few of the guys near the door let out nervous chuckles.

"Shut your mouth, Mike," Julian warned from the back, stepping into the room. "Don't start this shit right now."

"No, I'm serious!" Mike laughed loudly, waving his hands around as he looked at the rest of the team. "Did you guys hear him? 'Who told you to throw me an alley-oop? You think you're my savior?' Bro, he threw you a dime! A literal highlight-reel pass that would’ve gotten your broke ass a look from the State scout! And what did you do? You threw a tantrum like a five-year-old and dropped the ball on purpose!"

"It was an accident," I snarled, stepping up until I was inches from Mike's face.

"Bullshit!" Mike spat, his grin vanishing, replaced by pure, ugly malice. "Everyone in that gym saw it. You're terrified, Ethan. You're shaking in your sneakers because Mercer showed up and proved in thirty seconds that he’s ten times the player you'll ever be. You work so hard, you run so fast, you scream so loud, and none of it matters because he was just born better than you!"

Every insecurity I’d buried over the last forty-eight hours exploded in my chest.

Born better.

None of it matters.

"You think he's better?!" I roared.

Before Mike could blink, I lunged forward with both hands, grabbing the front of his practice jersey, gathering the mesh in my fists. I threw all of my body weight forward, driving him backward until his back slammed violently against the lockers.

BANG!

The entire row of lockers shuddered, the metal groaning under the impact.

"Say it again!" I screamed directly into Mike’s face, pinning him with my forearm jammed right against his collarbone. "Say it one more fucking time, Mike! I dare you!"

Mike gasped for air, his head knocking against the metal, but his crooked grin didn't completely disappear. He grabbed my wrists, trying to pry my fingers off his jersey.

"Hit me, Thorne!" Mike choked out, his voice raspy but triumphant. "Go ahead! Put your hands on me! Give Coach a reason to kick your broke ass off the team for good! Do it!"

I pulled my right fist back, my whole body trembling with the overwhelming urge to shatter his nose across his face.

"Ethan, NO!" Julian screamed, lunging forward to grab my waist.

"THORNE! DROP HIM!"

The locker room doors flew open with a force that sent them crashing flat against the walls.

Coach Davis stormed into the room like a charging bull. He didn't just walk over; he grabbed the back of my jersey with one hand and yanked me backward, tearing me off Mike with terrifying strength.

I stumbled back, my sneakers sliding on the floor, breathing like a dying animal.

Mike slumped against the lockers, coughing and rubbing his neck, but his eyes were gleaming with pure satisfaction.

"What the hell is going on in here?!" Coach roared, looking between me and Mike. "Are you out of your minds?! You're brawling in the locker room twenty minutes after the scouts walked out?!"

"He attacked me, Coach!" Mike coughed out, pointing an accusing finger at me. "I was just getting my stuff and he threw me into the lockers! Unprovoked! Ask anyone!"

"Shut up, Mike!" Coach snapped, turning his burning glare entirely on me.

I stood there, panting, my hair soaked with sweat, my fists still balled up at my sides. I didn't apologize or explain. I just stared back at Coach with defiant hatred.

Coach Davis pointed a finger right between my eyes.

"You think you’re untouchable because you’re a senior, Thorne?" His voice dropped. "You think this team can't survive without you?"

I didn't answer.

"Let me make something crystal clear to you, Captain," Coach Davis said, stepping so close I could smell the stale coffee on his breath. "One more selfish play on that floor, one more fight with your teammates, one more attitude problem, and I won't just take that captain’s whistle away."

Coach paused, his eyes drilling straight into my soul, delivering the death blow without a single ounce of mercy.

"I will personally call the board and revoke your athletic scholarship before the sun goes down tomorrow. You will pack your bags, you will pay your own tuition, or you will get the hell out of this school. Am I making myself clear?"

The words hit hard, and the room tilted around me.

Revoke my scholarship.

My parents' savings. The auto shop. The mortgage. My entire life, gone in a single signature.

I stood frozen in the center of the locker room, completely stripped of my pride, while Coach stared me down, waiting for me to break.