She stared, shocked by his cavalier attitude.
That’s when Brock looked at her. Emmy had never seen him angry like this. His hands fisted at his sides, his posture so rigid he was close to snapping. He was barely holding on to control. The problem was, she understood. He wasn’t mad at her. He was mad at Ricky. And from their short exchange, she could see why.
* * *
Yes, Brock was pissed.
Pissed that Ames didn’t get how life-changing this opportunity was—or maybe he just didn’t care? Pissed he didn’t show one iota of appreciation. Pissed that Ames was wasting Russell’s time making an ass out of himself for Emmy Lou. Pissed as hell that Ames was looking at Emmy like she was a piece of meat.
Pissed that this little fuck was on his field, period.
And, from the look on Emmy’s face, everyone could tell just how pissed he was.
Her green eyes darted back and forth between the two of them while she chewed the inside of her lower lip. The tension was undeniable, but he had it under control. Correction, he’d get himself under control. He’d been mentally preparing himself all morning. Work out. Help Russell run drills with Ames. Try to do some mentoring shit. Generally, be the professional his coaches wanted him to be.
He’d even made peace with missing the first few games. He’d have Ames up to speed, ready to play, until Brock was released.
All that went out the window the minute he saw Russell’s face.
Russell worked his ass off to make their defensive line impenetrable. He knew his shit and he took no shit. He pushed until he got the best out of his player and then pushed some more. And he was waiting on Ricky fucking Ames?
Brock closed his eyes, rolled his neck, and shook some of the tension out of his hands. Get it together. The kid was trying to assert his dominance, control the dynamics, and get in Brock’s head. And it was working. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out, slowly. No way he was going to give Ames the upper hand.
“What’s your problem?” Ricky kept going. “I get that it sucks to be replaced, but that’s the game, man.”
Every muscle in his body clenched.
“This is, what?” Ricky shook his head. “Your third injury?”
A dull roar started, growing louder and louder each second Ames kept staring at him.
“I could be wrong, but isn’t there some saying about three strikes?” Ricky’s smile grew, the dig unmistakable.
“In baseball. This is football. You should know that.” Brock’s smile was tight. “I get that you feel the need to prove yourself.” Brock kept his voice low and steady. “But the only thing you’re proving is that you have a lot to learn.”
Ricky’s jaw muscle bulged, but then he laughed. “And, what, you think you’re going to teach me?”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.” He shook his head. “Football or respect? As far as I can tell, you need a lesson in both, kid.” It took effort to turn and walk away. But Brock managed, even though the roaring in his head kept going. The little shit wanted to get a rise out of him. To make him break in front of the team? The coaches? No way he was going to give Ricky Ames what he wanted.
“What did you call me?” Ricky Ames stepped in his path, cutting him off.
“Kid?” Brock wasn’t sure if the kid had an overdeveloped sense of pride or if he was just stupid. “If ‘kid’ bothers you, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”
“Talk about trying to prove something. Can’t play so you’re trying to put me in my place. Trying to make sure people don’t forget who you are.” Ames bowed up, chest-bumping Brock. “That’s sad, man.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Emmy Lou. The wide-eyed terror on her face was enough to make him pause, step back, and issue a warning: “I wouldn’t.”
“You’re not me.” Ames’s eyes narrowed.
“Believe me, I know.” You’re some kid playing second-string hoping to have a career with a record half as good as mine. He paused long enough to maintain his calm. “You take a swing, you better be ready for what happens next.”
Seconds before Ames moved, Brock knew it was coming. Ames’s fist, a sledgehammer blow to his jaw. He had to give it to him, it was a solid punch. Busting his lip, whipping his head around, and making him see stars. Don’t do it. Do not lose it. He moved his jaw slowly, spit out a mouthful of blood, smiled, and took a step closer to Ames.
For the first time, Ricky Ames stepped back.
“What the hell is going on?” Coach McCoy was red-faced and mad as hell. “What the shit was that?”
Brock didn’t say a word.