He scratches his neck and gives me some serious side-eye. “You let me get in close and cut off your option of going left.”
The fiery pit of anger in my gut is stoked hotter by every word that comes out of his mouth. “I don’t need advice from you, of all people.”
Irritation flashes in his eyes, kindling that fuels my own even more. “Look, I know who your dad was, and I know how good you are, but everyone needs help now and then.”
My muscles tense as that ever-present pain in the core of my being twinges at the mention of my dad. I try to keep it buried but it’s like those stupid zombie movies where the hand lurches up through the dirt and grabs the unsuspecting human by the throat. It refuses to stay buried.
“Fuck off, Becker.”
He shakes his head and leans back, pressing his palms flat against his abs. “I’m just telling you what I saw. Being a good teammate and all. Like Coach says, ‘there’s noIin team.’”
“No, but there is indickhead,” I retort in a clipped tone. His expression morphs quickly, eyebrows drawing so close together they nearly touch, and eyes blazing.
“I guess you’d know,” he bites out. “Being the all-knowing expert on all things soccerandin being a dick.”
He walks away without another word and rejoins the line on his side. I rub my temples and sigh, then jog off to get back in line myself. From somewhere in the far corners of my mind a quiet voice chastises me. It sounds an awful lot like Dad.
Becker doesn’t look at me again the rest of practice. It’s what I wanted anyway. Whatever.
* * *
My patience tankis running on empty, so I skip pizza with the team after practice is over. I’m still on edge and cannot sit there and watch Tyler flirt with Becker for another second. I run my hands up the back of my head and thread them through my hair. I’m genuinely pissed at Tyler. The problem is I can’t come out and explain why without admitting why, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why every time Becker smiles at Tyler, or at Jeremy for that matter as I’ve noticed recently, I want to punch the wall. Or when Tyler says something borderline flirty to Becker, why do I want to pop him in the nose. He’s one of my best friends. And Becker? I barely know the guy. And what I do know of him, from camp anyway, is nothing I want to be involved with.
However, as clearly evidenced at practice today, I’m easily distracted by him. He’s going to end up making me screw up my last year of soccer here before college. I can’t start playing at college on the tail end of a bad senior season. It won’t bode well for earning any playtime, which interferes with what any potential scouts see of me. The pressure around my lungs tightens like I’m being slowly strangled by a boa constrictor.
I sigh heavily and Nathan glances at me over his reading glasses. He puts his book down and sets his glasses aside.
“What’s up, Ryne? Girl troubles?”
I stare at him stonily.
“Boy troubles?”
A loud, annoyed huff bursts from me, and I hold my iPad up closer to my face. It’s like when you’re a toddler. Maybe if I can’t see him, he can’t see me.
No such luck.
“Boy, you better put that down right now and sit up or I’ll change the wifi password again. I asked you a question.”
I inhale slowly and let it out dramatically, then gently toss the iPad down beside me on the couch and sit up straighter.
“What, oh dearest uncle of mine? What was the question?” I overly enunciate each word.
Nathan smirks. “Smartass. You sound just like Ryden when he was your age. At least you come by your snark honestly.” Dad was a few years younger than Nathan. Enough of an age difference to be a regular pain in the ass to him, as I hear it. I bite my lip and hold back a smile. Unlike earlier, a swirl of warmth flows through my limbs at the mention of him, particularly at the comparison. “Anyway,” he draws out the word. “What’s the matter? That heavy sigh usually signifies some serious relationship problems. Nothing else is quite as weighty.”
“I don’t DO relationships, Nathan, and you know it.”
I don’t understand why people get so wrapped up in relationships, especially while they’re young. Everything goes to hell in the end anyway. It’s such a waste of time. I don’t get the draw to it. Am I some kind of sexual saint? Uh, no. But I keep things strictly physical. When I mess around with someone, I make sure they know upfront. If they’ve got a problem with it they can just keep on moving and find someone else to entertain themselves with.
“Ah, yes, that’s right. Suck, fuck, and duck, I think they call it.”
“God, Nathan. You sound like Roman. Please shut the hell up.”
Nathan chuckles and reclines further back in his chair. I’d like to take a moment and point out this is the kind of relationship my uncle and I have. I don’t have any true disrespectful intent and neither does he. He likes to try to rile me up and I give it right back. It works for us. Now my aunt, on the other hand, she’d straight up wash my mouth out with soap if I spoke to her like this, even though I easily outweigh her by fifty pounds and I’m at least half a foot taller.
I love them both and Rylee. I can admit that, even though the thought of it makes me want to break out in hives sometimes. I’ve got just enough space left in my mostly-dead heart for them. My boys get a tiny sliver, too, and that’s about all I’ve got to give. Nobody else will ever squeeze their way in there. I just don’t have the physical or mental capacity for it, and I’m okay with that. Love is overrated anyway. You put all that time and effort into another person and then they die or cheat or leave or just otherwise turn into some kind of psycho and you’ve got to run for cover. The thought literally makes me nauseous.
Aunt Lily strides into the living room, dragging the vacuum behind her. She stops in front of the couch and brushes a few strands of hair out of her face, then looks over at Nathan.
