Ripped - 11. Chapter 11

Bailey packed up his bag after practice, intent on heading to the computer lab for a couple hours to work on his paper he'd started yesterday. He'd saved it to his Google cloud so if he needed to finish it at home he could, but working in the lab kept him from spending too much time at home.

Of course, as soon as he picked up his phone, he realized he had a text from his mother.

<Pls come home asap after practice so we can head to Daniel's office and he can talk to you>

Sighing, he threw his bag over his shoulder, almost hitting Luke when he did.

"Woah, easy man." Luke held up his hands defensively.

"Sorry."

"Everything okay?" Owen asked as he closed his locker.

"Yeah, just have to head straight home. I was hoping to work on my paper in the lab."

"Why would you want to go to the computer lab on a Friday night?" Cameron balked at the idea. "There's better things to be doing than that."

"Yeah, like hanging at my place!" Justin reminded. "You're still welcome to come stay over."

"Thanks. I have to, um, go sign papers for..." Bailey took a fortifying breath. "For, um, my dad's estate."

His teammates quieted, offering him sympathetic looks.

"Sorry," Owen mumbled.

"It's fine," he said quickly, picking up his duffle bag as well. "Just... he left some accounts for me and all..."

"Maybe you're a millionaire and you don't even know it!" Cameron tried to lighten the mood.

Bailey smiled at his friend's attempt at levity. "Could be. Anyway, I'll have to pass. I'll see you guys Monday. Have a good weekend."

"Yeah, you too," they all chorused behind him.

Sure it would, Bailey thought. Another whole awkward weekend home alone with mom.

****

Bailey's feet felt like lead as he made his way through the gates, offering a small wave at the security guard.

"'Night, Mr. McIntyre," the smiling man called as he marked Bailey as leaving the campus.

Bailey could still barely look at any of the security guards. Hell, anyone in uniform right now made his chest tighten. He ducked his head and made his way toward the Square. He only briefly thought about turning left and heading down past the shopping district and cutting through the park, which was actually quicker. Hence, the reason he chose to take his usual trek through Heritage Square as it added about ten minutes to his walk.

Although he probably should just hurry home and get the trip over with. He pulled out his phone to text his mother.

<Just left the school>

A minute later, his phone's messaging tone went off.

<thank you>

Bailey stared at his phone for a long moment. He didn't use it much anymore, but his mother insisted he keep it on and charged so she could reach him, and of course for emergencies. He'd almost thrown it away, deleted everything on it and gotten rid of it. Because, still stored in the voice mails, was his father's last voice message to him.

Bailey hadn't known that would be the last time his father would ever call again. His phone had been off while he'd been running. He'd been pissed that he'd missed the call as it was hard for his father to have the chance to make calls.

He'd debated over and over again about deleting it, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Would he want to hear his father's voice again, someday? Maybe. And that was the only thing that kept him from erasing it. Right now, though, his heart was too raw, too shredded, to listen to the last words his father had ever spoken to him.

Even as he stared at his phone, his mind in turmoil over the message he knew it held, his feet carried him automatically through the Square. He'd passed the boutiques and coffee shop without even realizing it.

He shoved his phone deep in his pocket as he finally looked up. The sun was starting to drop lower, and Bailey remembered this weekend was the end of Daylight Savings. Next week at this same time it would already be dark, but then it should be lighter earlier for his morning runs.

He was turning to head up the hill past Carewell Pharmacy when he heard it.

"Well, if it isn't the flyboy who thought he could show up the football team?"

Bailey spun, his eyes widening at the two most vocal of the football players from yesterday's debacle in the weight room. The quarterback, Chris, was leaning against the back of the building, with his leg casually propped up, but the guy named Eric was circling closer.

Bailey didn't bother to respond, hoping to be able to just ignore the bullies. It sometimes worked in his previous schools. It was just the first time having to face it here. And he wondered just how unlucky he had to be for the stupid series of events that put him in Chris's crosshairs to have occurred.

For two months, he'd been fortunate to be able to just stay to himself—go to school, practice his gymnastics, and try to hold himself together. All he'd wanted was to be left alone. He didn't want anyone reminding him of his loss, he didn't want to think about what the future would be like now—without him. He just wanted to ignore everything, escape into his studies, into his gymnastics, into it when he needed to.

Of course, Chris wasn't going to let it be. Bailey didn't know much about Chris or Eric, or anyone outside of the other gymnasts really. He hadn't wanted to know. He'd heard talk of the undefeated football team, but it hadn't interested him much—he'd given up any interest in football when the Pitbulls had basically thrown him away because he'd dated a guy.

When Bailey turned to walk away, Eric moved to quickly cut him off. "Not so fast, McIntyre."

For a second, Bailey considered just taking off running, but it wouldn't stop them from hunting him down later. So he figured he might as well let them get whatever it was out of their system. Maybe then he could go back to his nice quiet, miserable little life.

"What?" Bailey sighed heavily.

"Why, Chris, I do believe he sounds a little annoyed." Eric was slowly crowding him, and Bailey instinctively retreated.

He hadn't realized just how far he'd been cornered until he was behind the building, nearly hidden from the road by the dumpsters.

"Why should he be annoyed? He's the one who's caused all the problems. Haven't you?" Chris stalked closer himself.

Bailey didn't expect the sudden shove from behind, sending him to the ground. His duffle flew from his hand, skidding across the ground, his backpack sliding off his shoulder with a thud next to him. He grunted as he hit the cement, his hands and arms taking the brunt of his fall. He had barely tried to push up, when he cried out at the agonizing press of a knee to his spine.

"Haven't you?!" Chris snapped, shoving Bailey's head to the ground.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about," Bailey gasped as he tried to catch his breath. He was pinned under Chris, who's entire weight was centered on the knee digging into Bailey's back.

"Oh, sure you do. That whole thing where you cheated in that pushup contest and made me look bad."

"I didn't—"

"You did!" Chris's anger flared.

"Oh, this is so good..." Eric rumbled excitedly, causing Chris to look up at him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Bailey felt Chris's knee shift slightly, giving his spine some relief as he addressed Eric.

"You said you wanted his confession on tape." Bailey looked up to see Eric holding up his phone as if he were taking pictures—or video.

"Yes, his confession, you idiot. Not me explaining the error of his ways to him."

"But you should see how scared he looks right now," Eric grinned.

"Really?" Chris's voice pitched up in excitement.

Did he really think I wouldn't be scared, Bailey thought. I have a guy nearly twice my size sitting on me!

"Cool. But just start a new one for the confession," he instructed his cohort. Then he turned back to Bailey, who cringed as his knee buried deeper in his spine. "Here's what you're going to do, flyboy. You're going to walk by, see me and Eric goofing off here, and suddenly feel the need to confess your sins. I'll graciously accept your apology. You got that?"

Bailey hesitated just enough that Chris apparently thought he might be considering escaping... even though Chris had him brutally ground into the pavement. Chris lifted his knee just enough to drop it back down onto his kidney.

Shit! Bailey grunted.

"You'll do it or you'll be pounded into roadkill by my offensive line, you got that!" Chris threatened.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Bailey gasped out quickly.

"You do as I say," Chris warned one last time before jerking him roughly to his feet, guiding him a few yards back before tossing his backpack at him. "Eric'll just keep this bag safe," Chris said, tossing Bailey's duffle bag of clothes over to his friend, "until we're done here."

Bailey could do nothing else but nod. Maybe if he just did as they asked, it would all be over.

"Start a new one, Eric," Chris reminded, and Eric fiddled briefly with his phone's screen. Chris pointed at Bailey, pinning him into place, as Chris himself took up a casual position further up the sidewalk. He pulled out a small knitted ball and began kicking at it with his feet and knees.

"Now, McIntyre. Make it good, or else."

Bailey knew the 'or else' wasn't something he'd probably survive. Walk, say a few lies, and walk away—hopefully.

A quick glance at Eric, who was already videoing Chris doing his hackysack (guess they needed a reason to be running a video in the first place), and he received a go-ahead nod. He threw his backpack back over his shoulder and hurried forward, coming up on Chris, who looked up so innocently, feigning surprise at seeing him and dropping his hacky sack ball.

"Oh, hey, Bailey," Chris said almost timidly, "good job with those pushups yesterday. You certainly had Declan beat..."

Bailey hesitated almost too long before he stammered out the lies Chris wanted him to tell. "I—I really didn't. I-I cheated."

"You what?" Chris's fake surprise was almost so over-the-top that Bailey wasn't sure who'd believe it. Plus, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to have cheated. Two whole teams were standing there watching them. Of course, the football team would all probably agree with the idea he must have cheated somehow.

"I'm sorry," is all Bailey could think of to say at this point as he started walking away, hoping they'd just let him keep on going now that they had their little... whatever it was supposed to be... fake confession?

"Thank you, Bailey, for telling me," Chris sounded so sincere and accepting of Bailey's apology. "I'm sure Declan will be glad to hear that as well. He was a little distraught last night."

Bailey flinched at Declan's name, and the reminder that he had been the cause of the other teen's pain. For that, he truly was sorry. "I'm sorry he was hurt by my actions," Bailey said vaguely. At least, that statement was the truth. Maybe if Declan saw this ridiculous video, he'd understand what Bailey meant.

He walked on, passing Eric, who had apparently hit stop because he started laughing. Bailey flushed a deep red at having been made to lie but tried to ignore the two. However, he barely got three steps toward his discarded duffle before Chris yanked Bailey's backpack from his shoulder and shoved him against the dumpster. Bailey's head bounced against the metal, pain exploding in the back of his head.

"Don't mark him, Chris," Eric warned.

"Fuck," Bailey cursed, but then he let himself succumb to the numbing intoxicating high the pain offered—an escape that ripped him from his present reality.

"Don't you even think about talking about this," Chris warned, before swinging his forearm across Bailey's stomach.

Air whooshed from his lungs as he doubled over, and his knees buckled from under him as he slid to the ground. His tired body dropped back against the dumpster, and he realized too late that he shouldn't have let his head drop back—again.

"What the hell is this?"

Bailey barely opened his eyes at the new voice, shocked to see Declan stalking toward Chris and Eric, holding up his phone.

Eric grinned. "Thought you like to see Bailey's confession first."

Bailey closed his eyes. God, would they just leave him alone now? They'd gotten what they wanted.

"Confession?" Declan's deep voice sounded confused. "How is Chris sitting on Bailey's back a confession?"

"What?" Chris snapped, glancing at Declan's phone where Eric must have sent him the video in a text. "You sent the wrong one," he growled at Eric. "Delete that one now, before you do something stupid with it. Then send the other one."

Eric looked thoroughly chastised, knowing he'd screwed up.

"At least you only sent that to Dec, here," Chris mumbled, before turning back to Declan. "While we got him here, you wanna take a shot at him?" Chris kicked at Bailey's leg, but not hard enough to do any bruising. "He's not gonna say anything, right, McIntyre?"

Bailey's eyes shot open at Chris's kick, expecting another one, only to find Declan staring down at him too. The guy's fist was clenched at his side, and Bailey could swear that Declan was considering Chris's offer.

"Nah, not worth it," Declan decided as he turned to walk away. His phone dinged, and Declan glanced down at the next text message.

"That's the right one," Eric said. "That's the one we'll show everyone. Then the school will realize that the flyboy here had to cheat to come anywhere close to matching you."

Bailey stared up at Declan, wishing they were alone so he could apologize directly to him. He hadn't cheated, and both Bailey and Declan knew that, but he was sorry to have gotten Declan involved in this stupid mess. The one guy he thought might have been decent about it all. But Bailey had misjudged people before...

Declan turned instantly, ripping his gaze away from Bailey, and Bailey sighed, closing his eyes again and leaning back a little more cautiously. "Let's go, the guys are waiting on you so we can get back with the food and the movie. You did get the movie, right?"

"Not yet. We saw McIntyre here, and well—"

"Go get the fucking movie!" Declan snapped, and Bailey peeked open one curious eye to see Declan waving at Chris and Eric to hurry.

Chris glared at his teammate for a moment before a knowing grin appeared. He leaned toward Declan, and Bailey could just make out some of the words, enough to get what he was saying. "... take your shot at him ... try not to leave marks..." He narrowed his glare at Bailey again. "Not that he would say anything," Chris reiterated his warning.

Then Chris was gone, jogging back down the street to the Square.

Bailey waited to hear their retreating footsteps before he even tried to move. He finally dropped his head forward, lifting his hand to feel the small knot on the back of his scalp.

"Fuck," he groaned.

"You okay?" Bailey's eyes snapped up. What the hell was he still doing here? Did he really just want to get his jabs in private?

"Just go, please," Bailey begged, not wanting to deal with another bully right now. "Although I am sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" Declan asked.

The shrill ringing of a phone caused Bailey to jerk, and therefore wince at the pain in his head. He scrambled for his phone in his pocket, knowing it had to be his mother.

"Hello?" he answered without looking at the caller's name.

"Bailey! Hey! Glad I caught you!" He groaned at Justin's voice.

"Hi, Justin," he greeted, but his eyes flicked up to Declan still staring down at him. Worry creased his face.

"Hey, the coach just got the email from the Chesapeake Meet with the set schedule. I just wanted you to know we compete at noon on the 19th," Justin said.

"O-okay," Bailey managed. "Thanks."

"Are you okay? You sound funny."

Bailey almost laughed out loud. "No, I'm—I'm fine."

His text notification went off as well. Why couldn't everyone have tried to contact him ten minutes ago?

"I'll talk to you later, okay?" Bailey barely heard Justin's affirmative before he hung up. He struggled to his feet, scurrying away from the hand that darted out to him. He realized after he was standing that Declan had been trying to help him rise, not hurt him, but he didn't care. He swiped open the text message from his mom.

<where are you?! You should be here by now!>

<got hung up with some friends> he texted back. He shoved the phone in his pocket before turning to scoop up his backpack. Declan was still staring at him, and Bailey had to wonder why the guy was even still here.

He brushed off as much grit and dirt as he could. At least he didn't have on a white polo shirt today. He continued swiping at the smudges as he started back on his trek for home.

"Hey!"

Bailey tried to ignore him. What now?

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. God, that was nothing. Just go," he grumbled as he continued to walk.

"Nothing? Really? You could at least say thank you."

What. The. Fuck.

Bailey whipped around, his fury blazing. "Thank you for what? Not joining in and beating the crap out of me? Gee, thanks."

"Chris hit you and had you pinned to the dumpster when I got here. I'm sure he wasn't here to chat." Bailey couldn't help but hear the sarcastic disbelief in Declan's voice.

"Seriously?" Bailey let his backpack fall from his shoulder, catching the strap in his hand as he turned. He had a moment of satisfaction at Declan's affronted look. "Of course, he wasn't here to 'chat'. He's pissed that his team's precious reputation was blasted to smithereens by little ol' me."

Declan's eyes widened, his mouth hung open, giving Bailey the opportunity to retrieve his duffle bag of dirty gym clothes from where Eric had left it.

A smile tugged at the corner of Bailey's lips. "For what it's worth, though, I am sorry for causing you any humiliation."

Declan ducked his head, and Bailey figured the bigger teen didn't want to be reminded of what the guy probably found a little humiliating. He turned to continue home, slinging his pack back over his shoulder. He winced slightly as it hit the tender spot where Chris's knee had been buried in his spine.

"Are you going to turn him in?" Declan's voice called behind him.

"What would be the point?" Bailey threw back without stopping. "He's the team's star quarterback. No offense, but—been there, done that, already got the t-shirt."

When there was no immediate response, Bailey figured Declan had finally left to go back to his friends, especially after having secured assurances that Bailey wouldn't be turning in his teammate.

"But he hit you, you—"

"Oh, please, I've been hit harder by guys twice his size when I was a cornerback. Chris and Eric are nothing."

Bailey turned away and picked up his pace at little, knowing his mother would be getting seriously upset by now. He only hoped that Mr. Kirsch was willing to wait a little for them to get to his office.

While his back was a little tender and his stomach ached some from Chris's blow, Bailey knew it wasn't much to worry about. He might have a bit of a knot on his head still tomorrow, but even that wasn't bothering him much. Hell, he'd had much worse when he missed catching the bar in his release-catch combinations.

His mother was waiting for him in the driveway by the car, her arms crossed. He stared at his feet and headed for the passenger side door.

"You knew I was waiting, and you just had to stop to talk to all your friends?" she accused, whipping open the driver's door. "And is that dirt on your clothes?"

"Sorry. I tripped," he mumbled, finding it a little funny she thought he actually had a lot of friends.

"You would never do this crap to your father," she snapped at him over the top of the car.

Bailey inwardly cringed at the mention of his father. He hated it when she used his dad's memory against him like that. And she'd been doing it more and more lately. No matter what minor infraction Bailey might have done, he wouldn't have done it 'if his father had been here', according to his mom.

He tried to remember that she was hurting too, that lashing out at him was one way she dealt with her grief. That or ignoring him altogether. He knew that he reminded her a lot of his father. They'd been so much alike...

"Get in the car. We're late."

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled as he tossed his backpack on the floorboard at his feet and slid into the car.

He dropped his head back against the headrest, letting himself focus on the pain throbbing in his skull and not the words of the woman next to him continuing to berate him.

As the car reversed, a flash of light caught his attention. He twisted his head to see if he could figure out where it came from. There was an odd glow by the neighbor's bush, and for a moment he thought he could make out a tall figure in the glow of the faint light.

Had Declan followed him home? Or worse, had Chris or Eric?

He seethed in his seat. Now a classmate knew where he lived. He hadn't invited anyone to his home yet, not even Justin. He wasn't ready to share that with anyone, and he hated that someone might have invaded his privacy like that.