"Tim Riggins! Get your ass in here!" Coach Taylor roared.
The locker room had gone from raucous to silent and still in a matter of seconds. The teen sighed and made his way quickly to the office.
"What is this I hear about you bein' written up today for swearin' in class? And bein' late and not havin' your homework done?"
The boy looked down at his feet and said nothing.
"Tim," Coach snarled. "That was not a rhetorical question. I expect an answer."
"Sorry, Coach, I messed up. I'll do better tomorrow."
"Mr. Trucks said he paddled you."
"Yessir."
"I guess you'll be answerin' to Billy tonight about that."
"Definitely. …Coach, I should tell you I fell asleep in Chemistry and Mr. Strickland called Billy too."
"Well, I expect that Billy's gonna have a lot to say when you get home."
"He came up to the school when Mr. Strickland called. I guess he's gonna tear me up again tonight."
"Hmmm, can't say as I blame him. Especially after you'd been doin' so well. What the hell happened?"
Tim stood quietly, not talking.
"Boy, listen to me. I care about all my players. And I know that Billy is good man, a good brother, and doin' a great job carin' for you. But I am always gonna to be lookin' out for you just a bit more. So trust me enough to tell me what is goin' on. Where'd you get the black eye?"
After a minute or so of silence, Tim simply said, "Street."
"What on earth for?"
Tim paled slightly and whispered, "I slept with Lyla. Jason punched me when he found out."
Coach nodded, but said nothing for a minute or so. Then he asked, "Did you deserve it?"
Tim looked up quickly. "Yeah. …Yeah, I deserved it. Of course. …I slept with my best friend's girl while he was in the hospital. There's nothin' worse than that."
"Huh," Eric said, nodding. "That is pretty bad. Do you still deserve to be punished?"
The boy shrugged. "…Maybe? …I mean, I still feel bad."
"So, on the same day that you are feelin' intense guilt, you do the very things that you know will get you paddled at school and whupped at home?"
Tim stood quietly, thinking. "Um… yessir… I guess that's true."
"You know messin' up other parts of your life isn't gonna fix anything between you and Jason."
"Yessir, I know."
Coach Taylor nodded, "Ok then. Are you going to pull yourself together and get back to doin' what you need to do?"
"Yessir, I will," Tim said.
"Listen, my door is always open. You have my number. Call me anytime."
"Yes, Coach, I will."
"Good. Now, go get ready for practice."
Billy had just finished cooking supper when Tim got home from practice.
"Oh, man, it smells good in here!" Tim called from the entryway. "Do I smell fried chicken?"
"Yep, I made fried chicken, green beans, and rice and gravy," his brother replied, as Tim entered the kitchen.
"A feast! And I'm starvin'."
"Great. I've got it all packed up. Stayed outta trouble the rest of the day, right?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Great. So, are we goin' fishin' today?" Billy asked.
"That sounds good," the teen smiled.
"Here, then take this cooler and box out to the truck."
"Sure."
Tim lifted the box filled with delicious-smelling fried chicken wrapped in aluminum foil and Tupperware containers filled with the side dishes. The cooler no doubt had beers, some tea, and maybe even lemonade. The boy hauled it outside and set it in the bed of the truck beside the fishing rods and tackle box.
Suddenly, his excitement gave way to guilt and nervousness. He'd have to tell Billy about being written up. If he did, his brother might cancel the trip. I'll just tell him when we get home. Then he'll whip me and it'll be done. Besides, I didn't get into more trouble today. Tim knew this logic was flawed and that Billy would be pissed if he waited, but still he held his tongue.
The Riggins' men piled into the truck and headed to their favorite fishing hole. Once they arrived, the boys set up their poles and then brought over the cooler and box of food.
"Grab a plate and help yourself," Billy said.
The boys loaded their plates high with food and sat watching their lines.
"How was practice?" Billy asked.
"Fine," Tim shrugged.
"And school? I guess you stayed awake the rest of the day?"
The teen smirked and nodded.
"Anything else happen at school today?"
"Nah, not that I can think of."
"Nothing?" Billy's voice had an edge to it that made Tim glance at his big brother.
"…Uh," the boy said, putting down the drumstick he'd been about to bite into. "Well, I did get written up in first period, before you came to school."
"Why?" the man asked.
"Because I cursed in class, was late, and didn't do my homework."
"And what happened when you got written up?"
"Mr. Trucks gave me a choice between detention for a week and a paddlin'. I chose paddlin'."
Billy sat silently, staring out across the pond, his jaw clenching as he thought. "Tim, …why didn't you tell me that you'd been paddled when I came to school this mornin'?"
"You were already mad. Didn't want you to be even madder."
"I coulda hurt you, givin' you a whippin' on top of that paddlin'. From now on, you gotta tell me right off. If I hear about it from someone other than you first, you're gonna be in more trouble. Understand?"
"Yeah. But what if Mr. Trucks or a teacher calls home before I even get home?"
"Then you gotta tell me before I have to ask. Got it?"
"Yeah," the boy nodded.
"I told you a paddlin' at school means a whuppin' at home. …But I think you've had enough for today."
"Please, Billy, …you know I hate waitin'. Sure I'm a bit sore now, but I don't feel bad. I can take it."
"I don't know. I don't want you to be bruised or anything."
"…Dad never worried about that."
Billy frowned at the teen. "I ain't gonna do things the way Dad did 'em. …That bastard."
"Okay, okay. At least consider gettin' it over with later tonight, please? Please."
"Fine. I'll consider it. Let's just enjoy fishin' and we'll talk again tonight."