Chapter Text
Andrew watches the smoke curl up into the air as he breathes out, raising the cigarette back up to his lips for another drag. He sits on the bleachers in the open-air stadium, watching the last rays of sunlight leech out of the sky.
“Just you again?” Coach Hernandez says, his deep voice ringing out across the seats. Andrew looks over to the man as he steps out of the locker room, letting the door click shut behind him. He makes his way through the bleachers and stands beside Andrew, who ignores him, breathing out a stream of smoke. Coach holds his hand out, and Andrew spares his palm a glance before grinding the cigarette out himself and flicking it in the direction of the stadium field.
Coach flashes him a judging eyebrow and crosses his arms, polo shirt sleeves stretching across his biceps. “There’s someone here to see you,” he says, voice carefully flat.
Andrew dismisses the spike of panic flaring in his chest as soon as it comes, dragging a thumb across his lip. “I don’t like surprises, Coach.” He reminds him, pushing himself up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He dodges past Hernandez and towards the locker room, but what stops him is the unfamiliar man standing in the door, leaning against the frame with a folder in hand. He’s a broad middle-aged man, flame tattoos circling his forearms. His age automatically sets Andrew on edge.
“I don’t know you,” Andrew says, stopping in his tracks.
“He came to see you play tonight,” Hernandez informs him from behind. “He’s here for college recruitment.”
Andrew raises an eyebrow at the stranger, who raises one right back. “I’m not interested in getting scouted, Coach. I played this year because it got me out of eighth period algebra. Why is he here?”
“Because I gave him your file. You’ve got talent, Andrew, and he’s got a spot for a goalie open.”
The stranger steps forward, holding his yellow folder up like it was meant to mean something. “I know it’d stupidly late in the season, but I had technical difficulties with the last recruit. Coach Hernandez says you haven’t chosen a school for fall either. Works out perfectly, doesn’t it? You sign now, and you’re set for five years.”
Andrew fixes him with a bored stare. “I’m not interested in wasting five years of my life playing Exy.” He’d gotten emancipated and moved to the tiny, unimportant town of Millport just in the last year after getting out of juvie. He’d wasted enough of his life scraping his way by in foster homes before that, and now that he was finally free of the system, the last thing he wanted was to spend five years playing stickball with a troupe of sweaty college athletes.
“Hernandez said you might tell me that. So, I brought someone you might want to see. I guess this might be somewhat of a… family reunion.”
Andrew grits his jaw, his gaze sharpening. Before Andrew placed himself in juvie, he’d discovered the existence of his twin brother. Once upon a time, he might’ve wanted to meet him, but Drake’s taunting drove any hope of that ever happening.
So he focused solely on keeping Aaron away, ignoring letters and refusing a meeting, all to protect him from Andrew’s own demons. In juvie, though, he’d finally had a monitored reunion with his long-lost brother and their goody-goody uncle. Aaron had still been excited, even after months of silence on Andrew’s end. But Andrew had refused to say a word or to look at Aaron, fixing his stare at the security camera instead, eyes glued to the glare of the little red light, letting his brother’s words fade back into the background of the ever-present buzzing in his ears.
Andrew hadn’t forgotten about Aaron, though, not even after he was released on parole and filed for his emancipation. He’d kept tabs on his brother, news clippings and blog posts he had collected over the last year and he knew that Aaron and their cousin Nicholas had been scouted for the Palmetto State Foxes – a fuck-up of a team, but a team nonetheless.
He knew what the Foxes meant. A team of fractured isolationists and infighting – full of society’s dregs and castaways.
He met eyes with the stranger – or, rather - Coach David Wymack, the reality of the situation dawning on him. He’d never seen the man’s face before - because he didn’t care enough to look him up - but he knew of him from his appearance in articles about Aaron’s recruitment. “The Foxes,” he states, not really a question. “Palmetto State University.”
Wymack blinks at his blunt conclusion, apparently surprised by how fast he put it together. “Not interested in Exy, huh? You keep up with the news well enough to put it together, though.”
Andrew levels him an unimpressed stare, and makes his way into the locker room, careful not to brush up against Wymack as he moves to the side to let him through.
He’s stopped abruptly in his tracks by an exy racquet swinging down in front of him, his boots squeaking against the linoleum floors, close enough that he can hear the wind whistling through the strings.
He drags his gaze upward to find a man he doesn’t recognise grinning widely at him, eyes hard and cold. He keeps the racquet at Andrew’s feet, preventing him from moving past. “Leaving so soon?” the man laughs, a cheery lilt in his voice that makes the back of Andrew’s neck prickle. “We just met!”
The man has an overall unassuming appearance, being only a few inches taller than Andrew, with brown hair and eyes and a small, jagged scar along his cheek. He’s lean and muscular – the form of a runner. What makes Andrew feel uneasy is the smile he aims at him, the high of something in his system evident in the way he smiles, sharp and shark-like, his dark pupils blown wide.
“Neil. Don’t break the new kid.” Wymack calls from behind them. Andrew breaks his glare away from Neil and redirects it to Wymack, who shrugs, seemingly unbothered by the drugged-up freak he has accompanying him. “Neil’s a bit raw on manners,” he explains.
Neil snickers, removes the racquet from Andrew’s path and hefts it over his shoulder, swaying from side to side, restless on his feet. “Neil Josten,” he says in a false cheer, twitching his head in an imaginary hat tilt. “And where were you going in such a rush?”
Andrew meets Neil’s eyes in disgust, which just makes the man smile wider. He turns back to Wymack abruptly, ignoring Neil’s question. “We’re done here,” he says, “Get out.”
“I think paying to fly four people down here to see you warrants at least five minutes of your time.” Wymack remarks, crossing his arms.
“I told you, Coach, he’s stubborn. He doesn’t care about anything but himself,” came a familiar and resentful voice. Andrew turns his gaze to the other end of the locker room, where two people stand. Aaron the wonder twin scowls at him, clearly still hung up on how Andrew wanted nothing to do with him.
It’s strange, Andrew thinks, that even while Aaron’s grudge against him is still going strong, he flew all the way out here to see him.
Andrew turns his attention to the last person in the room – a haughty looking man standing behind his brother who he recognises as Kevin Day, the so-called ‘son of Exy’. He has dark, straight hair and green eyes, the number ‘2’ inked darkly over his cheekbone.
Andrew looks back at Wymack, even more uninterested. “Get out.” He repeats, frustration seeping into his tone.
Wymack sighs and scrubs a large, weathered hand over his face. “Give us a minute?” he asks Coach Hernandez, who hesitates for a second but leaves the locker room without protest, shutting the door behind him.
Kevin steps around Aaron, looking down his nose at Andrew in disbelief. “How do you not want to play Exy? You’ve got natural talent, you could -”
“I’m not interested in your Exy boner.” Andrew deadpans, fingers tightening on the strap of his bag. Neil cackles, his eyes flashing with amusement. Kevin’s face darkens in shock, clearly not appreciating Andrew’s flippancy about the game.
“You could be one of the greatest goalkeepers Exy has ever seen,” Kevin pushes, flinging his hands to the side. “If you get some real training you could make it to Court.”
“I said I’m not interested,” Andrew drawls, flicking his fingers at Kevin. “Find someone else.”
Wymack steps forward, interrupting Kevin’s indignant rebuttal. “Look - kid, clearly you don’t care enough about Exy or even your brother enough to join. But you’re an emancipated teenager living without any financial support from a guardian. A sports scholarship to college for five years sounds nice, right? Did I mention it’s a full ride?”
Andrew stares at him for a minute, only now mulling it over. While he didn’t care for the sport itself, it was true that he didn’t have enough money to go to college or any other higher education other than high school (which was a struggle in itself). Between the money he earned as a busboy in the town’s one and only diner and money he’d saved by odd jobs and stealing and selling off the Spear’s valuables, it was enough to keep him going.
But not enough for something as big and expensive as college – a prospect he hadn't bothered with after juvie.
Seeing his cousin and brother was another downside, however. He’d isolated himself from that part of his life for a reason – he wasn’t looking to make amends or reconcile – what he did was necessary, no matter how much his brother hated him for it.
A full ride was a full ride, though.
“I’ll think about it,” Andrew allows.
Wymack doesn’t smile – rightly assuming that he wouldn’t appreciate it – but there’s a twinkle of satisfaction in his eye. Andrew considers calling the scholarship off immediately because of it. “Alright, then. Your graduation ceremony is May eleventh, according to your coach. Someone’ll pick you up from Upstate Regional Airport on Friday the twelfth.”
Wymack pulls out a stack of papers from his folder and passes them over to Andrew. “Here. Keep the papers for tonight. Hernandez can fax the papers over on Monday.”
Andrew takes the papers and flicks through them, scanning the various agreements and contractual jargon that fills the pages. He looks up at Wymack, and then over to his brother, barely restrained anger evident in his expression, lips thinned and a crease between his brows.
For Aaron, it’s too late to repair what happened between them. At least Andrew himself knows it was necessary.
Either way, Andrew turns his back on his brother and the rest of the room, pushing open the locker room door, the poorly maintained hinge squealing at the sudden movement.
When the door slams shut behind them, he takes a breath, steadying himself. Andrew looks over at the forms – once he places pen to paper, that’ll be it. He’ll be going to college for five years to play with a bunch of exercise-obsessed jocks.
Well. Maybe it won’t be entirely uninteresting.