A caution he’s choosing to ignore as he stands up and tugs his shirt over his head. “Uh, I think itdoesfucking concern me. It sure as fuck concerned my mouth last night.”
Red clouds my vision.
My feet move of their own volition and before I know it, my hands are grabbing his shirt and shoving him against the wall, my fist connecting with his eye seconds later. Everything in the room disappears as my pulse picks up.
My fist connects with his face again.
And again.
My arm cocks back for a fourth time, but before it can collide with his face, arms are wrapping around my arms and chest, pulling me back. I fight against his hold, to no avail. Sometimes I forget Crew’s true strength. He’s an ex-football player, and despite his lean build, he’s strong as hell.
“What thefuckwas that, Anderson? Are you out of your fucking mind?” He shoves me onto the bed.
“Areyouout ofyourfucking mind?” I rebut. “YOUdid this!” I hate the way my voice cracks.
Crew looks over his shoulder at Kalen, who’s now crouching on the ground, holding his face. “Fuck, Anderson. Can you just fucking sit here for a second? Let me clean him up and then we can talk?”
“No. Fuck you. I don’t give a shit what you have to say anymore.” Making an attempt to stand up, he shoves me back down. “Get the fuck off me, Crew. I’m leaving.”
“Anderson.Please.Let me explain.”
Attempting to stand again, this time he doesn’t stop me, and I walk out of the room without a backwards glance. It isn’t until I’m back in my own car and driving away that I let myself really feel it all. My vision blurs and my eyes sting, tears falling hot down my face.
By the time I make it home, I have no recollection of the drive. It’s a damn miracle I made it all the way here without getting into an accident. Falling into bed, I turn my phone off and close my eyes, needing to breathe.
And think.
Chapter Twenty-One
Crew
Age 17, Senior in High School
“Let’s kick some ass out there, boys!” Chandler Morgan, our quarterback, roars out in the locker room during halftime. “The win is so close, I can fucking taste it.”
This is our championship game against Anacortes. Tensions are high, but so is school spirit. We have a pretty sweet lead against our opposing team, and the victory is looking favorably toward us.
This game is important for not only the team, but for me personally. It’s the last high school football game I will ever play in. This win will be the icing on top of the cake, in terms of my football career. Scouts have watched the team all season, and I’m so close to the scholarship I’m aching for. Washington State University has always been the dream. My father played ball there, as did my uncles and my grandfather. The school has shown great interest in me this season, and word through the grapevine is, depending on how I play tonight, that spot may just be mine.
The team as a whole has kicked serious ass tonight, and my individual stats are impressive, too. We have a hefty lead, and in the first half of the game, I’ve had five receptions, almost two hundred yards, and have scored three touchdowns. We’re on fire.
Jogging back on the field, my eyes travel to the stands. Anderson is sitting in his usual spot, jersey on, foam finger ready to cheer. His twin brother, Aston, is sitting beside him with his best friend, Luca, on his right. In a surprising turn of events, my parents are sitting in the stands in front of my friends. They didn’t know if they’d make it tonight, and they certainly haven’t been there the whole game. Must’ve arrived right before half-time.
I wave in their direction and flash a toothy grin before getting into place. I’m positioned to the right of Chandler, with Tate Briggs, our team’s other wide receiver, on his left. The opposing team is talking shit from where they’re lining up, but I tune it all out. This game is too important to get caught up in the bullshit.
The opportunities this win would unlock for me are life-changing. Yeah, a full ride to college will be great, but it’s not about that. My family has money. Playing college football at WSU—my family’s school—being able to make my dad proud, though? It’s worth all the sweat, the hurt, the exhaustion, the stress. It’s worth it all.
Somewhere between middle school and starting high school, my parents decided their duties were over. In their eyes, I was grown enough to take care of myself, and their presence wasn’t needed. They’ve always worked time-consuming jobs, but it became more than that. The long workdays got longer. Fancy dinners with friends, clients, and colleagues became a regular occurrence, as did trips out of the country.
I can’t even remember the last time both of my parents were home for an entire week straight.
It’s why I threw myself into football so heavily my freshman year. Yeah, I had planned to play ball anyway—it’s what the Collins men do—but the thought that it may entice my dad to be around more, be proud of me, act like he loved me, was what solidified it.
The next five minutes happen so fast. Colby Myers, our center, is snapping the ball to Chandler. Chandler propels the ball to me as I’m jumping, arms wide open, catching the soaring ball, running toward the end zone. The other team is hot on my heels, inching closer, ready to pounce.
Looking back on this day, I’ll probably never be able to pinpoint where it all went wrong. One minute I’m fast as lightning, running toward that touchdown. The next, I’m on the ground, wind knocked out of me, a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker on top of me, and red-hot, searing pain radiating down my left leg.
I know—just fucking know—this is the end of football for me.