Knots formed in my belly, and my chest tightened. I thought I might be on the verge of a panic attack. My fingers pressed into my jeans; the hoodie suddenly felt like it was choking me.
Brock Taylor.His name boomed over the speaker.
My gaze connected with Brock’s as he jogged onto the field, his black helmet swinging from his fingers, and all the beads of unease and prickles of fear dissolved. That had to be unhealthy. A single shared look with Brock, and the gray-and-white world was suddenly filled with color.
Sandwiched between Grayson and Mads, I waited for all the players to make their way out of the locker room. Two names were missing from the Elmwood Gargoyle lineup. “Is it weird not being down there with them?” I asked Grayson.
“Nah. It’s kind of nice just watching,” he admitted. He wore a baseball hat backward, strands of his dark hair peeking out the back.
I rubbed my hands together, chasing away the chill that fogged the evening air. “I can’t believe you started all that shit with Carter in practice just so you could babysit me.”
Grayson shrugged in his Academy hoodie. “Sacrifices must be made. Besides, it was a win-win.”
My brow lifted as I tugged the ends of my sweater over my fingers. “How do you figure?”
A sinister, almost calculating grin passed over his lips. “It got Carter out of the game,” he remarked.
“Okay.” I failed to see how that was important.
Grayson pointed down at few rows in the bleachers. “You see that guy? He’s with Penn State. And that guy over there? He’s from Clemson University.”
Understanding dawned. “They’re scouting.”
He nodded. “Two of the best football colleges in the country.”
“I get the idea behind your plan. Carter is missing out on a huge opportunity.” And Steven Patterson would be livid. Although I was sure he’d make a few calls on his son’s behalf. “But what about you? Aren’t you missing out as well?”
His expression took on a sort of sad look. “Football isn’t my dream. It’s something the guys and I did together. But I don’t want to play pro.”
“So, what is your dream?” I asked, genuinely curious. This was information as his sister I should know. The realization that Grayson and I were still virtually strangers hit me with a pang in the chest.
Mads leaned in, invading my personal space, but I didn’t mind. “He wants to be a fireman, or was it a sharpshooter?”
Grayson rolled his eyes at his cousin. “When I was like ten. Honestly, I don’t know yet.”
“You better figure it out soon. Graduation will be here before you know it,” Mads informed.
Not soon enough for me.
The two of them stayed plastered to my side throughout the game. There was no sign of Carter or Ava for that matter, but that didn’t mean the bastard wasn’t lurking about. We stuffed our faces with hotdogs. Grayson ate three, and I all could think was how the hell did he stay so fit?
Elmwood Academy pulled off a win in the last two minutes of the fourth quarter, keeping the fans on the edge of their seats the entire game. For someone who didn’t like football, I managed to have fun. I’d almost forgotten what fun felt like. This was what senior year should be, not running from home, being harassed by my dickless stepbrother, or sucked into a teenage war far beyond my years.
In Elmwood fashion, a victory after-party was being held at someone’s house, but honestly, it was no different than any other Friday or Saturday night. Someone was always having a party. Usually one of the Elite. But not tonight.
Mads left as soon as the game was over. I hung out with Grayson, waiting for Fynn, Brock, and Micah to change and get cleaned up after the game. Grayson, Fynn, and Micah hopped into Grayson’s Jeep, while Brock and I followed in his Rover. We pulled out of the school parking lot. “Are you sure you don’t want to skip the party?” Brock asked, his gaze focused on the dark road in front of us.
I pulled the visor down and checked my face out in the mirror in an attempt to distract myself from jumping across the seat and attacking him with my mouth. There was something damn irresistible about Brock after he showered. The scent of his freshly shampooed hair and earthy soap filled the car, driving me wild. “Is that even allowed? Brock Taylor not showing up to a victory party? Seems criminal.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a small smug grin. “It is if I say it is.”
I made a sound of indignation and rolled my eyes. “Nice.”
Brock turned into the gas station, Grayson’s Jeep trailing behind. As Brock stopped the car beside the pump, a girl in the next lane caught my eye. She sat on the hood of her car, cell phone in hand. “Is that Mads?” I asked, looking closer. The girl angled her head toward us, a cigarette pressed against her lips, and she was wearing the same sweatshirt and jeans.
His amusement slipped, eyes narrowing. “Looks like it.”
I got out of the car with Brock, leaving him to fill the gas tank, and walked over to Mads. “Hey. I thought you were going home.”