Free Football Champ by Tim Green Page B

recorder, snapping it off and jamming it into his pocket. Troy reached for the deadbolt.
    “No.” Peele hissed, blocking Troy’s hand and shaking his head from side to side. “Don’t let him in.”
    “It’s Seth,” Troy said.
    “He’s an animal,” Peele said. “Who knows what he’ll do? Wait. Let me get out of here first.”
    Peele crossed the small kitchen and reached for the service door before he turned and said, “Give me a minute or who knows what he’ll do.”
    “Well, don’t write that about him,” Troy said.
    “I won’t,” Peele said. “That I won’t write, but let me get away. I don’t want any trouble right now. I’ve got a deadline for this thing.”
    Peele disappeared, and Troy winced at the loud pounding from the other side of the door.
    Finally, he said, “Seth, stop it. I’m here. Everything’s fine.”
    “Then open up,” Seth said.
    “Okay, but calm down,” Troy said, sliding the bolt free.
    Seth pushed inside, nearly knocking Troy over. The star linebacker was wearing his football pants and turf shoes with just a sleeveless, sweat-soaked undershirt so that his shoulders and arms bulged like cannonballs above fists clenched for fighting. The underside of his right forearm bore a bleeding welt where a nasty rub on the artificial turf had burned right through his outer layer of flesh. His hair, wet and stringy, spattered flecks of sweat across Troy’s face as Seth whipped his head around, looking for Peele. Behind Seth, Tate and Nathan peered through the doorway into the kitchen.
    “Where is he?” Seth growled. “That rat.”
    “Why did you guys do this?” Troy asked his friends.
    “We took Mr. Langan’s elevator down to the tunnel to get your mom,” Tate said. “I went looking for her, but Nathan saw Seth coming out of the press conference room on his way into the locker room and…”
    “It’s a good thing they did,” Seth said, banging a taped and bloodstained fist against one of the cabinets level with his head. “You might have talked to that guy.”
    “I…did talk to him,” Troy said, softly.
    Seth froze and stared down at him.
    “It’s okay, Seth,” Troy said, smiling. “He wants the team to win, too. You think it does him any good if the team loses? We win and he sells papers.”
    “Is that what he said to you?” Seth asked in a quiet, furious voice, barely moving his lips.
    “Well, it makes sense,” Troy said, looking toward his friends now, eager for their support.
    Nathan nodded and quietly muttered his agreement. Tate kept her lips sealed tight.
    Seth shook his head, exhaled sharply, and said, “Well, what’s done is done. Come on. You might as well all come back down with me and wait in the family lounge. There’s no sense in Troy hiding up here anymore. He’ll be famous in the morning.”
    Without explaining, Seth pushed past them, through the suite where the remaining guests were. They broke out into polite applause for the star linebacker. At the door, Nathan spun around and took a bow.
    “Come on, hambone,” Tate said, tugging him by the belt. “They’re not cheering for you.”
    Seth took them down the private elevator and showed them the family lounge.
    “You guys wait in there. I’ll see your mom and tell her to meet you, and I’ll get showered up.”
    Seth started to turn, but Troy put a hand on his arm.
    Seth winced, snapping his arm away and shaking it.
    “Sorry, Seth,” Troy said, realizing that he had mistakenly touched the bloody turf burn.
    “That’s all right,” Seth said, gritting his teeth. “I’ll get it covered up with a bandage and it’ll be a lot better.”
    “I mean, about Peele,” Troy said. “It’s just that I keep telling everyone that I’m not doing anything wrong, and I’m not.”
    Seth put one of his taped and bloody hands on Troy’s shoulder and looked down at him sadly. “I know that’s what you think, Troy. And I know you didn’t mean anything, but tonight, we better go out and