And then I fell to the soggy ground. Punching my fist into a batch of snow, I let out a slew of curse words and bellows as I fell into a heap. What was I going to do?
I flopped onto my back, holding my phone up to check the other texts, and noticed it was nearly nine in the morning. Mom and Dad had to be freaked out by now.
WIND: Yeah, well screw you!
“What?” I sat up and scrolled up about six more messages from him.
ME: Leave me alone.
WIND: Dude. You gotta snap out of this. I’ll come get you.
ME: Screw off.
ME: Don’t need you.
ME: Or anyone.
JESSA: Preach, you’re scaring me. Please answer.
There were four more texts from her asking where I was and if I was okay. And then three more from Hana at Helping Hands.
WILLOW: You’re being a dick, Preach. We’re coming to get you.
ME: I hate you.
ME: You and your perfect boyfriend!
WILLOW: Dude. I know you’re hurting.
WILLOW: Been there before. Remember? Achilles. No more professional skating? I can help you.
ME: Don’t want your help. We’re not friends anymore.
“Shit!” I had absolutely reamed them. My friends. But I didn’t remember doing any of it. If I was being honest with myself, though, I’d had those thoughts. I’d had so many angry thoughts, it felt like my mind was lake ice in spring, melting fast and fracturing in a million different directions.
I switched my phone off and pushed to my feet. Speeding into the locker room, I grabbed some dry clothes from my locker and threw them on. I had to get the field cleaned up before anyone saw me on school property, hungover with the evidence stashed in my pocket.
Then I needed to get my butt home before my parents called the cops, if they hadn’t already.
I patted my pockets. No keys. Good. That meant I didn’t drive. But it also meant I was running home. I took a swig of water from the fountain and threw my hoodie up. I peeked in Coach Bellingham’s office, hoping to grab a garbage bag or something, and there he sat at his desk.
Of course he was here.
The doors had been unlocked. Man, my brain was not functioningat all. Everything felt scrambled. Out of place.Wrong.
“Finally woke up, huh?” he said, still looking at his computer.
How did he do that?
He finally glanced up, then slapped his computer cover down and stood. “You okay?”
I nodded, even though I wasn’tanywherenear okay.
“Came in this morning to check on a few things and walked into quite a mess out there.”
“Coach—”
He put his hand up, silencing me. “I checked on you to make sure you were okay. And, thank God, you were, Preach. You could have seriously been hurt.”