Lincoln

I ran my fingers through my freshly showered hair. The last semester of my senior year was about to begin and I was getting back into the grind. The break from training was needed, but my body was feeling the familiar aches and pains of being out of commission for a while.

Things had felt strange when I had shown up earlier that day. I was half expecting Cali to pop up with an anatomy textbook, ready to force more material down my throat. Of course, she hadn't.

I managed to pass Hamilton's freakishly difficult class with high standing achievement–something that wouldn't have been possible without her. I had reached out as soon as I found out to let her know that she had managed the impossible. Her replies to my texts weren't the usual full-sentence responses I was used to, but I brushed it off. She was at home, spending time with her family over the holidays. I wouldn't get in the way of that.

But with the winter break nearing its end, that meant Cali would be heading back to campus, if she wasn't here already, and I couldn't wait to see her.

The strap of my gym bag weighed on my shoulder. I was already beginning to feel the tension building in my upper back from today's list of exercises. I made a mental note to roll myself out once I picked Sadie up from the neighbour's house.

"Pierce," Whitmore's gruff voice called from his desk. "In my office."

The door of my locker clanged shut. The sound camouflaged my sigh as I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder and made my way towards Whitmore's office. I was hoping I'd be able to sneak in and out of the gym without him noticing.

"Hey Coach," I said, propping his door open further. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year," he grunted, a pen in his hand. "How was your break?"

I shrugged. "Uneventful."

He sent me a stiff nod, getting up from his seat and heading towards the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. "I noticed you didn't come in over the break like you normally do."

My tongue brushed against my bottom lip. "I spent a little more time with family this year."

"That's good," he replied, shutting the drawer shut with a bang. "Now tell me, how did you find yourself getting caught up in an underground fighting ring?"

The beating of my heart stuttered and I tried to fight the panic before it made its way onto my face. "I don't know what you're referring to, Coa–"

"Really?" He rose a thick grey brow. "Then how did I manage to get pictures of you in a cage match, down behind the fucking Underground?"

He tossed the file folder down on his cluttered desk. The corner of a dark photograph peeked out of the bottom, beckoning me to open it and discover what was inside.

"They call it The Pit, don't they?" It was phrased as a question, but I knew better than to answer it.

Every part of my brain was short circuiting as I reached out towards the red folder, flipping it open. The blood drained from my face. Inside were images that documented my illegal fighting history over the last three years. My nostrils flared as I tried to remember how to breathe.

Whitmore's gruff voice tore me from my thoughts. "Are you going to try and convince me that's someone else?"

"How did you...?"

"The bruising––the marks you were trying to hide–I knew they weren't from what you've been doing here. Things weren't adding up. But I was noticing a pattern." Whitmore crossed his arms, biceps flexing against the material of his polo shirt. Considering the guy was pushing sixty, it was pretty impressive. "For someone who doesn't like to drink, or socialize, you sure do spend a lot of your Friday nights at the most popular bar on campus."

When I didn't respond he continued.

"Now, I thought, maybe they just had really good food."

"Their wings are pretty fire," I added. My throat felt like sandpaper.

His mouth didn't so much as twitch at my comment. "Until I came across your tutor racing across campus towards The Underground as if the devil himself were chasing her. Call it a hunch, but I had a feeling that I needed to figure out where she was going."

Fuck.

"You followed Cali to The Pit," I reiterated in disbelief. I brought my attention back down to the explosion of images. "How did you get these?"

"It took a lot of digging to find those photos." He gestured to the open file folder with a sharp jut of his chin. "But I suppose you just need to know the right people to ask."

I swallowed the ball in my throat, eyes darting across the evidence. I was screwed. There was no way I was getting myself out of this in one piece.

"Lift up your shirt," he commanded. I parted my lips to protest, but he repeated the demand. "Lift it."

I did as he said, pulling up the black fabric to exhibit the angry red line that marked my abdomen. It had been weeks since the incident. The wound itself had healed, the skin puckering where metal had met flesh. Another scar to add to my list of reminders of how fucked up my life was.

Whitmore's hard eyes searched my face. "I'm giving you two options here, son. You can either step away from it or I turn you, and the whole operation, into the Dean myself."

"Coach–"

"You have a good head on your shoulders, Pierce. What the fuck possessed you to get involved in this bullshit."

Guilt hit me like a freight train. I stumbled back, lowering myself down on the leather couch against his office wall. My elbows planted into my knees as I ran my hand across my face. "It wasn't my choice."

Whitmore stepped around his desk. "You always have a choice." He bit out.

"Not with this."

His lips formed a hard line. "Is it the money? If you require financial aid, we have avenues to support you here."

"It's not the money," I muttered, staring at the shiny leather of his dress shoes.

Not for me anyways.

"I need you to be honest with me, son." Whitmore perched on the edge of his desk. His arms were still crossed, but the undertone of concern in his voice was there. "I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."

"With all due respect, Coach, I don't think anything can save me from The Pit."

My father's grip on me was like quick sand. Years of sinking had brought me to the point of no return. There was no way I could claw myself out without dealing with the repercussions.

Whitmore studied me for a moment. "What are you fighting for?"

"What?"

"What's the purpose? Clearly you aren't down there because you want to be."

I was tempted to lay everything out to him, but I bit my tongue. Whitmore was more of a father figure to me than my own sperm donor. I knew he had my best interest at heart. Was I ready to let anyone else in? What good would it do to drag someone else into this mess? I bounced my knee. It wouldn't solve anything, but it might get him to reconsider going to the Dean and getting involved. The Pit wasn't run by the most upstanding members of society. I was sure that putting a wrench in their plans would be the final nail in his coffin.

And maybe mine.

"Whatever you think you're doing, whoever you think you're protecting, you'll no longer be able to if you're dead." Whitmore's hard eyes drilled into me. "I'm giving you thirty seconds to make a choice before I make one for you."

I sucked in a breath. "If I stop, he'll come back."

"Who's he?"

"My father," I bit out.

Knowing that there was no way to turn back, I launched into the backstory of my father and how I got involved in The Pit. The childhood from hell, the day he left, the night he had me convinced to fight for him, and the threats he had made to keep me there.

Whitmore was pacing by the time I finished recounting the details of the last few years. "I cannot stand by and allow you to continue with this shit. You should have never been forced into this position in the first place."

"You can't get involved, Coach," I pleaded with him. "If you blow the doors open on this you'll have all sorts of people after you."

"It's not like you're giving me very many options." Whitmore rubbed at his stubbled chin. He thought for a moment before he continued. "We'll find you legal counsel."

"What?"
"If we can't go after The Pit, we'll go after the man who's holding you there."

"How are you going to manage that?"

He closed the door to his office. A soft click enveloped the room. "I'll get in contact with a couple of law professors here at the university. Many of them would be able to give us some insight on what our options are. We'll build a case... something... anything that will either keep him away or put him away long enough for you and your mom to relocate. Start fresh."

"Can't I wait until after I graduate?" I asked, voice hoarse.

Whitmore beelined back to his desk. He plucked a pen from its surface and began to make shorthand notes on a sticky pad. "You want my honest opinion?"

When he peered up at me, I nodded.

"I'm afraid you won't even make it to graduation if you keep this up. If someone is bringing weapons into the ring, it's for two reasons. One, they're fucking insane and don't give a shit about human life. Or two, they think you're a big enough threat that they feel they can't beat you without resorting to filleting you like a fish. Either way, it will happen again."

He was right. It might not happen the next time I step in the ring, but to think it would never happen again would be fucking stupid of me. The only way I was going to get free was to get rid of my father.

"Alright."

"In the meantime," he said, putting down his pen. "I need you to back down from The Pit. If we're going to build a case against your father, you need to be as squeaky clean as we can get you. Is that understood?"

"Yes Coach," I said. Determination filling my chest. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

* * * * *

author's note:

Finally, someone who's going to step in and help Lincoln. How do you think this will play out? 

For those of you who are interested in my future stories, I will be posting more information regarding my next NA sports romance over on Instagram sometime this week (might even do it tonight if I get around to it). This new story will be making its appearance on Wattpad sometime this weekend so that those who are interested can add it to their reading lists.

Something tells me most of you will be really excited (:

Happy reading!