“Consider me… a friend.”
“Yeah, right.” Kye chuckled but it was full of warning and distrust. “We literally saw you arrive with Denby and his group of douchebags.”
He leaned down and rapped his fingers on the window frame. “Sometimes, you gotta know how to play the game. I’ll be seeing you.” He gave me a curt nod and doubled back around toward the store.
“Okay, that wasn’t weird at all.”
I stared after him, watching as he slipped back into the store and Denby approached him. The conversation got heated, the two of them arguing about something.
Or someone.
Fuck my life.
How have things gotten so complicated in such a short period of time?
Whichever way I looked at it, Kye and Zane were right. It all came back to her.
Harleigh.
And I didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.
Monday at practice was brutal. Every inch of me hurt but I reveled in it. Siphoning every ounce of pain, every crash and thud of my defense against my barely healed body, into a vicious unstoppable weapon.
“Go, go!” Coach yelled across the field as I dodged a player and faked left and then darted right, cutting around him and taking off toward the end zone.
I wasn’t typically a rusher. My strength on the field lay in my passing, not speed. The precision with which I commanded my team. But sometimes, like right now, I needed to run. I needed to feel my cleats hitting the ground, the ping of exertion in my muscle as I pushed myself harder… faster. Pushed myself until my lungs burned and legs ached.
Hench grinned as he dropped back to block my route. “Your ass is mine, Wilder.” The promise in his words only propelled me faster.
“Come get me, asshole,” I taunted, switching directions and racing toward the end zone. Thirty yards. Twenty… Ten.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw a wall of magenta and black fly toward me. That fucker had timed his assault down to the second, and I knew… fucking knew he was going to take me down. But I wasn’t going to go without a fight. Pushing down onto my knees, I leaped into the air, sailing as high and far as I could. His hand connected with my ankle, fingers grasping, clutching, but I shoved myself forward. Willed it from my very soul and landed out of his reach.
Hell yeah. I mentally high-fived myself as I cockily jogged into the end zone and slammed the ball down, glancing back at him.
Touchdown, motherfucker.
One hand pressed to the ground, he glared up at me, shaking his head. “I almost had you, asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah, tell it to someone who cares.”
The rest of the team descended on me, jostling me and clapping me on the back.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Coach made his way toward us. “That right there is going to take us all the way to the playoffs. Nice work, son.” He gave me a small nod.
Zane shot me an amused grin over Coach’s shoulder, mouthing, ‘Nice work, son.’
I flipped him off discreetly. Sarcastic fucker.
“Okay, listen up. I had a call earlier and there’s been a change to the schedule. Dartmouth will no longer be our first game. Instead, we’ll be playing DA at their stadium.”
Fuck.
A chorus of grumbles went up around me.
“Seriously, Coach. We’ve got to go to their place again?”
“It’s out of my hands, ladies.” He shrugged. “But look at it this way, when we beat their sorry asses it’ll feel that much sweeter.”