Bloodsport

chapter 9

The rain was still pouring when he cracked the door open. He didn’t have an umbrella, so he took off in a jog towards the parking lot, which was nearly deserted by the time he reached it. His car was parked in the middle, and he dug into his bag for the key, planning to unlock it from a distance. He didn’t want to get wet again. However, by the time he actually reached the Rover his hand still hadn’t found the fob. He stopped at the hood, both hands now feeling through his bag. He glanced inside, searching between his wet kit, cleats, and dirty towel. His wallet was there, along with his home keys, and a water bottle. Even the freaking condoms and lube were there. But not the car key.

It had to be a joke.

“Are you pulling my leg?” he muttered angrily. Of all the times he hadn’t been careful with his belongings, today was the time his car key had decided to fuck off somewhere. He felt his shoulders begin to freeze up, his hoodie unable to keep the rain out. “Fuck me,” he breathed, and started towards the nearest school building for shelter. There, he grasped his phone from his pocket. Zayn picked up after two rings.

“Mate, I lost my car key and now I’m stuck at school in the rain,” he sighed. “Can you get me?”

Zayn sounded sincerely sorry. “I’m not home, man, and I know my parents have the car. I’d ask them to get you, but they’re visiting Doniya at uni.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said.

He stared at his parents’ numbers on his phone. His mum was probably in Blackpool, and he didn’t know what his father was up to. He didn’t really want to talk to him anyway. He considered ringing perhaps one of his teammates, but he didn’t know Ed enough to force him back to school on a Friday night when he’d just left, and it wasn’t like he hung out with any of the other boys much anyway. His old friends, the ones he’d been with for most of his time at school, were no longer options. Not since last spring.

All there was left to do was hike it. He thoroughly checked his pockets and the bag one last time, and then began to trek down the parking lot. It would take him at least twenty-five minutes to walk, perhaps fifteen to run. By the time he left the school premises he was already sodden again, and he wondered if there wasn’t thunder in the air, too. He ended up running for a few minutes, but the water from the ground kept splashing up his legs and his training bag slammed into the back of his thighs. After accidentally stepping into a deep puddle, he decided to just hand himself over to the faith of God and walk.

He didn’t want to get ill — it wasn’t like he could pretend this was just exercise in poor weather. On the footie pitch, it was one thing. All alone, striding past houses and seeing their glowing lights from the windows on a Friday evening, was a completely different one. Now, his mind kept slipping to hot baths and soup, blankets, and his mother’s hugs. The rain kept pelting, and Harry shivered, predicting a fat cold coming his way.

“What the fuck?!”

Harry looked up. His head jerked around, looking for the abrupt exclaim cutting through the rush of rain. He was passing through an average income area of houses, about ten minutes from his own home. The one he’d stopped in front of had a small green lawn, a tiny driveway, and a small path leading up to a stone porch. The house itself was part brick and part wood. It looked cosy, the windows letting out a warm glow onto the dark street.

On the porch sat Louis. Despite so many years of attending the same school, Harry had never had a clue as to where Louis lived. But there he was, out of the blue, sitting on a porch in the rain, looking extremely depressed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” called Louis from where he sat, appearing entirely bewildered.

It seemed a bit much, Harry thought, coming from someone who clearly had a place to hide from the rain, yet still chose to loiter outside in the horrendous weather.