####OQ#####

Oliver checked his phone and glanced at the door for the umpteenth time in the last few minutes.

Ned, the probation officer, waved an empty bag at him. "He's late again. It's getting to be a habit. You need to talk to him."

"He's got to go to three schools to pick up three kids and most days he doesn't have a car. Give him a minute or two more." Lockers slammed behind him to the murmur of voices as the team got ready for practice.

"You're getting soft."

He turned his head ignoring Ned's statement as David hit the gym door hard and it crashed into the wall. The teen burst into the room, tripping over his own feet. Recovering, he didn't fall but his backpack slid across the floor coming to solid rest at Oliver's feet.

"Smooth move, David." Someone from the group teased.

"Klutz."

"Normal, David, a few fries short of a happy meal." Alonzo threw out.

"Bite me, Alonzo." The youth straightened and narrowed his eyes at the group.

Laughter followed and Oliver glared at the group. "That's enough, gentlemen. Time's ticking. Let's move it."

"Sorry, Coach, I know I'm late but I had to pick up the girls, and Max had a meltdown."

"You take them to the youth center? Where's your brother."

"Kyle had marching band practice and couldn't help." The thin young man looked both ways like he was crossing traffic. "And Max was majorly unhappy when I left. I had to peel him off me to leave."

"I guess that happens." He eyed David's hollow face. The young man had dropped weight and it showed.

"Seems to with Max. But he's barely three and still has the terrible twos in him. I wish he'd get over it. He wears me out."

"I wouldn't know. But I can tell he's attached to you." Jesus how did David handle all those kids every day?

"Too much most days." The youth jerked the backpack up from the floor and started patting pockets, frowning and Oliver knew.

"No phone?" He questioned knowing David probably didn't have any minutes anyway. But he didn't ask since it would embarrass the young man to admit he didn't have a working phone.

David bit his bottom lip and exhaled. "Sorry, Coach. I honestly forgot it today. I'll bring it tomorrow. I promise."

Ned snorted as he stood and stepped into the small office to lock the other cell phones up.

David reached and rubbed the buzzed hair at the top his head. "Coach, I . . ." His eyes darted toward the locker room vibrating with energy as the other young men finished getting ready for practice or sat on the bleachers waiting for practice to start and David hesitated.

Lowering his voice, the young man offered his bony large hand. "I need to say thanks, Coach. I never thought you'd pull off free babysitting for me, and I even have a little money left over at the end of the week. It's a welcome change."

He released David's hand. "I'm glad it's helping. Now move it and get dressed out. Today's going to be fun."

"Fun?"

"Yeah. I thought we'd change up practice a bit so move now."

"Okay, Coach. I'll hurry." David moved with a light step.

Placing his hands on his hips, he observed his team and his chest tightened.

Most of them had finished dressing out, while others sat on the benches waiting for practice to begin. The teens talked quietly, some of them laughed, joked and interacted, while others finished dressing, still others tying tennis shoes and banging locker doors. All and all, they as a group had come a long way.

Ned, returning from locking up the phones, walked up behind him, the scent of cigarettes, clinging to the man, alerting him to the man's presence long before he got there. "That young boy's changed. He and some of the others have warmed to you."

"Yeah, I've noticed. But don't let them hear that."

Ned barked a laugh and lowered his voice. "I hear that. But it still shocks the shit out me that you're making a difference for them, for David."

"I have my doubts some days too. But you're right. I'm seeing change." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and watched his team.

"Well, I know David's leveling out some. Becoming more in control of his temper than before. It's a good change considering his home life."

He lowered his voice. "I've heard some things about his dad."

"Probably most of them are true. I've noted bruises on the kid but like most of them, he won't talk about it. Kids tend to protect even abusive parents." The man leaned against the door jam and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Frankly, Oliver, I had my doubts about this soccer bull shit, but the change in several of these kids is good to see." Ned stuck out his chin. "They're staying out of trouble in school and their grades have improved."

"Glad to see you're concerned."

"I'm concerned that you're making my job easier."

Oliver glared at the man, who shrugged.

"What? If they get in less trouble then I have less paperwork."

Looking back at his team, his chest swelled. "Well maybe David and some of the others needed a little help to relieve stress. These kids have a lot on their plates for as young as they are, you know?"

"Yeah, and maybe having someone to watch his little brother and sisters for free a couple of hours during practice would take the edge off?"

"Eavesdrop much lately?"

Ned smiled a toothy grin. "Comes with the territory, and I've noted you've started feeding them too, since food and drink has appeared after practice."

Bending to hide the smile, he untied and retied his shoe lace before he stood. "More like disappears after practice. These young men can eat."

"Well all that food has to be costing some change."

"You're right. Felicity set up a Go Fund me account to pay for after care, new shoes and other supplies like water, Gatorade, power bars and fruit. And the money's just started coming in."

The tension radiated off Ned like a wave rolling onto the beach. He frowned before adding, "I know."

"You know?" He searched the man's face.

Ned nodded. "Yeah, I've follow your Facebook page, and I clicked your Go Fund me link, and don't let this get out but I donated."

"You donated? You?" Oliver locked his knees to stay upright. "In the past five weeks I've come to the conclusion that you hate these kids. You're as burnt out as a bombed building when it came these teens on a normal basis."

Ned dropped his chin before he raised his head and scanned the team. "Whatever. It's no big deal."

"Ned. I . . ."

"I get that you're surprised since, yeah, I'm jaded. But I've been paying attention lately. I've been case managing all of these kids for a while, and I'm paying attention. And I'm seeing things I didn't see before."

"You mean kids like David?"

"Yeah and Stan, Jordan, and Josh. Those three kids almost died in that cannery. I'd have never believed Janie could beat Josh like that if I hadn't seen the pictures. Jordan might still lose his legs. And I knew Phil drank but I miss that Phil's been busy drinking himself to death after his mom died of cancer and his dad checked out. I've done probation a long time, and I've heard it all, but now I wonder what else they're hiding?"

"I know." Oliver frowned.

"And all of these damn kids are hell on shoes, and David's too thin and needs to eat more." He shrugged. "So I donated. It's no big deal."

But it was, he thought, as the gruff man turned and walked back into the office.

And he couldn't stop the small smile because it was a very big deal.

Watching, he noted David had dressed out and pulled on his socks and reached for his shoes

Raising his voice, he faced the team. "I've got some announcements to make. Listen up."

Everyone froze and the room quieted.

"First off Stan and Josh have been released from the hospital and both have new casts and are doing well. I'm excusing both of them from practice for a week. And I want to thank you all of you for the way you turned out to support your team members. Your intel helped find them."

A hand went up.

He nodded.

"How's Jordan doing?"

"He's still critical and was back in surgery today to relieve the pressure on his legs."

Another hand shot up and he nodded.

"Is it true they're going to take both of his legs?"

He shut his eyes for an instant and formed the best answer. Jordan's body was failing. Even in a medically induced coma, he wasn't doing well. His kidneys were failing even with the dialysis. The doctors were not making any predictions and the words, "The doctors are doing everything they can to save his legs," came out.

Silence answered him.

"Okay." He clapped his hands. "All eyes on me. I want everyone to assemble in the gym today."

The boys fell silent and they looked at each other, expressions grim.

A pin dropping would have been loud as he eyed each and every one of them.

And most of them wouldn't look him straight in the eye. No, they looked at each other, and he wondered what they'd done lately or what they were planning to do soon since they looked guilty.

"Let's go. Move out." He waved and they stood.

Shuffling along as an unit, they moved out the locker room doors, and he followed them where he could watch them. As a group they'd come a long way, and he had no trouble getting them to the gym, if anything they were subdued.

When they reached the gym, he stopped them after them entered and walked in front of them.

"Listen up. I'm going to pick teams. I hate when people choose teams by popularity, choosing their friends first and not by people's real skills. Remember that in the future, fill your team and your co-workers with people who are skilled in their fields, not because you like them."

"Like I'm going to have co-worker someday." A voice spouted off.

"Yeah, like I'm ever going to be a boss."

"Whatever."

"You're dreaming."

"Not going to happen."

Others agreed.

He clapped his hands. "Gentlemen, eyes on me. Listen up. Any of you could be a boss someday. All of you are smart. That's why you're here. Only the smart ones made my team. Believe me, I don't do dumb."

And total silence filled the room, since he'd shocked them, completely.

Their blank faces told him they didn't believe him. But who could blame them. They were the screw ups, the trouble makers and the lost ones. No one believed in them, probably not even their parents.

He pointed to the bleachers. "SIT."

Waiting for them to sit, he explained. "Today, we're going to play for fun."

The silence deafened him.

"Now first row take your shirts off and you've on that side of the gym." He pointed to the left. "And your," he waved at the other group, "On the right. Move!"

The teens started stripping shirts and moving to the separate ends of the gym.

#####OQ#####

Adrian sat there like he'd frozen to the spot. What the fuck was he going to do?

"We're going to play skins against shirts." Coach said.

The blood drained from his face.

Shit, he couldn't take his shirt off. If he took his shirt off, he'd be busted since he'd used his favorite razor blade repeatedly on his stomach in the restroom after lunch.

He deserved the pain, and besides, the pain helped, made him feel better and enabled him to cope with his day.

Stupid, he was stupid. He'd seriously flunked his pre-algebra test.

He was sure of it.

Damn, he'd gotten confused in the middle. How could he be so irresponsible? He'd studied for the test and knew the shit cold, but he'd been stupid and gotten high behind the gym before the test and couldn't get his brain to think.

He'd felt better after getting high but his brain didn't want to do math high.

Why had he gotten high? He knew what that shit did to him. He'd shot his own foot.

How dumb could he be?

God, he was stupid, a fucking fool, and he remembered how his hands had shaken as he'd unwrapped the thin razor blade from the dollar bill he hid in his wallet. The razor cut through paper too quickly, and if he changed out the dollar bill out it lasted almost a week.

Taking a deep breath, he'd savagely pressed the razor hard into his belly, scoring his already mutilated flesh and he suppressed his groan.

Immediate relief had flooded him like a river, as the blade opened up his scarred, aching flesh and his blood flowed bright red, running like a crimson river, down his belly, relieving him with the pain.

The pain filled him and felt almost as good as him jacking off, and his dick slightly hardened. His eyes shut as he savored the pain like a junkie.

God help him, he was a pain junkie. It felt like a caress as he cut deeper.

He needed it, craved the pain, and Jesus, help him, he'd cut long enough, that he couldn't wait for the pain.

Sometimes, he'd wished someone would notice the smell of blood on him, that someone would STOP HIM. Why didn't someone ask why he smelled like blood all the time?

He always smelled like blood and his clothes all had blood stains. But no one noticed the stains, and his mom was too busy trying to impress whatever boyfriend was fucking her this week to notice him. And Gram, who would have noticed, had died over three years.

Yeah, he was invisible. No one asked and no one stopped him. And he never gave the wounds time to heal before he cut again. He couldn't help it.

It was hard to admit, but he needed the pain now.

Breathing though his discomfort, he'd pressed the razor deeper into his skin, before he jerked the blade away from his bleeding flesh, gasping, his breathe ragged.

Smacking the TP roll, repeatedly, with his hand, he'd wadded up a mass of TP, pressing it against his wound to slow the flow.

The TP had turned bright red as the warning bell rang and he'd stood and flushed the toilet for cover, just in case anyone was still in the bathroom.

Unlocking the stall door, he waved his hand at the paper towel dispenser and ripped off several brown paper towels, while, he glanced at the door.

Don't let anyone come in, he'd prayed.

Carefully , with no wasted motion, he'd folded the rough paper towel into a makeshift bandage and pressed it against his bleeding wound. Holding the towel with one hand, he'd unzipped his backpack, removing the medical tape he'd stolen from the nurse's office. Taping the paper towel to his stomach, he winced as he slung the backpack over his shoulder and he went to class bleeding.

"Adrian, listen to me."

Shit, Coach snapped his fingers in his face, alerting him, waking him up.

Heart racing, he stood on the verge of getting busted. And he knew it. If he took his shirt off Coach would see the fresh cuts.

"Answer me, Adrian."

"I'm here, sorry, Coach."

"Wake up and take off your shirt. You're on the Skin's team."

He froze, met Coach's eyes and shook his head as he held up his hand. "Not feeling it, Coach. I need to change teams. I can't take my shirt off. I just can't."

Coach looked hard it him. "Okay, Adrian, you're shirts now."

He exhaled the breath, he hadn't been aware he'd been holding, and nodded his head, moving to stand with the team that hadn't taken their shirts off.

Practice was unreal.

Coach had decided they were going to play a strange type of dodge ball. He'd set up two soccer goals and three bowling pins that as a team they protected. To win the game you had to knock down all three pins.

They had to follow soccer rules, which meant no hands unless you were in the half circle by the pins then you could use your hands to catch the ball and throw it back onto play. It a strange game but yet, it was fun.

The entire team ran and kicked and played, and they fell into a rhythm trying to protect the pins and knock the other pins down. Alonzo turned out to be great with his hands and his side won because the tall solid teen could catch a soccer ball and forcefully sling it back to the other side.

And unexpectedly, his counselor's husband, the guy with no legs, the guy who was also a shrink, had showed up at the end of practice with boxes and boxes of mouthwatering pizza and cold bottled water in tow.

Starving, he and the rest of them had fallen on the pizza and water like a pack of wolves, devouring it all before heading for the showers.

He drug behind the rest, going to the bathroom to check on his bandage.

Crap he'd bled on his uniform. The bandage needed changed but there wasn't much he could do about it until later. Changing in the stall, he wadded up his shirt and threw his clothes in the laundry with a prayer the blood came out in the wash.

Almost home free, he changed his shoes out to his other pair of tennis shoes, the one's with a hole in his right shoe, and quietly shut his locker. Slinging the backpack on his shoulder, he grimaced as the pain shot white hot through his gut.

He had his hand on the door when Coach walked up behind him and he jumped as the man's gruff voice said, "Adrian, I want to talk to you in the office."

"I have some stuff to do, Coach."

"Now, Adrian."

His feet drug as he pressed his lips together and entered Coach's tiny office.

"You wanted to see me?" Jesus, his heart pounded a mile a minute.

Coach looked him up and down and didn't shut the door. "Yeah, don't take this the wrong way but I want you to take your shirt off."

His heart raced as his mind scrambled. "Look, I'm shy. And I'm not that kind of guy, Coach."

Coach leaned out the door and yelled, "Ned, I need you a minute, and is Riley still around?" Turning he said, "You can wait to take your shirt off until Ned and Riley get here. I want witnesses."

Heat filled his face. "You can't make me, Coach. I won't do it."

"I can't but your probation officer can."

"No, this has to be a violation of my civil rights." His voice rose.

"Hardly. Look, the truth is I smell blood on you, fresh blood."

He looked at his tennis shoes, at the spot on the side busting out because he had fucking wide feet and killed every pair of shoes he wore and always had. His mom bitched about it all the time. What the fuck was he going to do? He was caught. Would they arrest him? Was cutting yourself again the law?

Would he have to go back in front of the judge?

He couldn't do it.

His heart pounded and a headache appeared between his eyes, while his stomach sickened.

"I'd thought I smelled blood on you before today, but now I'm sure you've got a fresh wound. I want to see your chest."

"I . . . I . . . can't show you. I . . ." The words refused to come out. His palms poured sweat, and he wiped them on his nylon black shorts.

Walker stuck his head in and the shrink stood right behind him on his fake legs.

How did that work? How did the man walk on those legs?

"Adrian, I want you to take your shirt off."

Jesus, he was busted. He had to get out of here. The room shrunk, became small and dark spots appeared before his eyes. He stood and his legs failed him.

"Catch him he's falling out."

"Well shit." His coach cursed.

"FUCK. He's going down." Walker, his probation officer added.

His knees buckled and it was all she wrote, he collapsed and his brain checked out.

###OQ####

As always thanks for the read! And I have a lot of stories left to tell, and I look forward to any reviews.