#fraternitypaddle

Coach Stone does not usually repeat himself.

So when Wells got the message. Bring Alton. Bring the fraternity paddle. Be at my place tonight, he did not ask many questions.

Apparently, Alton’s little habit of running his mouth off to Coach was not fully corrected yet. There were still a few lessons left to review. A few points to drive home. A few reminders that some Bros learn best when they are placed in the proper position and given Coach’s full attention.

Wells just smiled, picked up the paddle, and told Alton to stretch first.

Because when Coach Stone says the evening is not over…

The smart Bro brings what he was told to bring.

Step into the brotherhood, learn when to speak, when to listen, and when Coach says class is still in session.

Join the Golden Army. Train hard. Stand proud. Take correction like a Bro. Contact: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

Maybe that was the Canadian in him. Red like the maple leaf. Red like Team Canada jerseys. Red like summer flags, hockey nights, and every stubborn little piece of pride that came from being raised north of the border and knowing exactly where home was. In his form-fitting red spandex sports gear, muscles tight and defined, fraternity paddle in hand, Wells looked like patriotism had been rebuilt in the gym and told to pose for the camera.

There was something almost unfair about it: the clean-cut confidence, the athletic swagger, the broad chest, the easy smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing. Wells wore red the way some men wore a warning label. Bright. Bold. Impossible to ignore. Canadian to the core, but still very much the kind of bro who could turn a paddle into a prop, a challenge, or a promise depending on who was looking.

And if Coach happened to take that paddle for one of his after-hours drills later? Well. Let’s just say Wells already knew red would still be the theme by the time Coach was finished with him, on his gear, in his face, and maybe just a little on his backside too.