Page 18 of Lucky 14

“Quit the team.”

I scream, thrashing, but it makes water splash up into my mouth and face. I choke, hacking as water gets sucked up into my lungs.

“Quit the team, bitch. And never talk to my man.”

I turn my face so I can suck air in through the side of my mouth. Harley gives my head a slam against the toilet again, which makes a bolt of pain shoot up through my cheekbone. I groan, my head feeling fuzzy.

There’s a sound, and the girls are whispering. Harley leans down into me. “Say a word about this, and it’ll be worse next time.”

She lets the pressure off my head. I swing my arms back, trying to hit them, but my head is spinning. They leave the stall, and I think I’m going to throw up.

Then, they’re gone, and the bathroom door slams.

I groan, picking my battered head up and laying it on the toilet seat. Fuck, my heart is racing, and now that they’re gone, true fear burns in my veins. My legs tremble.

That sucked.

Tears well in my eyes. I hear voices in the bathroom, then the door shuts, and pure silence settles around me. I hold my breath, and doing that makes the throbbing in my cheek worse, which only makes the tears burn more. And in a moment of weakness, I let them fall.

After a few minutes, I pull myself back together and sit up. I realize my thumb is throbbing. Looking down, I see the joint is swollen. When did that happen? I don’t remember them doing anything to my thumb.

This will be hard to explain to Dad.

Sniffling, I face the toilet, then stand up.

And that’s when the tight control I have releases, and then a warm stream of something runs down my leg.

I stand there for a second, brain catching up.

Ah fuck. I’ve shit myself.

“Whoa, what happened, killer?” It’s a few days later, and I’m trying to get to math class. I glance up to see none other than Connor Delruse standing there in all his glory. He’s easily six feet with golden hair and a killer smile. He’s a year older than me, on the football team, and talented as hell.

It’s fucking disgusting.

Connor smiles at me, and I narrow my gaze.

“Fuck off.” I go back to walking, head down, hair curtaining around my face. Because I don’t really care to be kissing the inside of the toilet again.

“Hey, just trying to meet all the new cheerleaders.” I hear Connor’s steps jogging to catch up with me.

“I’m sure you are,” I mutter. I’m certain his version of meeting and mine are very different.

Connor must pick up on my tone, ‘cause he laughs. “Hate the game, not the player.” Then, he’s in front of me, forcing me to stop. I look up at him, and he looks down at my face. He has a cocky look with an eyebrow cocked before concern flashes across his gaze.

Immediately, I wish my hair was still in my face. My bruises are getting a nice dark color as they heal, and I can’t quite cover them up with concealer. I push past him, snapping, “Did you not hear me? Fuck off!”

Connor sticks with me. “Not even a ‘you should see the other guy?’”

“Why do you care?” I’m only a few classrooms away. So close.

Connor just laughs. “Well, you’re the only girl who won’t talk to me. Won’t even look at me. Call me intrigued.”

“What part of not interested do you not understand?” If Harley sees me with him, she’ll lose her ever-loving mind. And I can kiss phone privileges away for a year. Dad doesn’t care about much, but he hates it when I embarrass him.

“Does it hurt?”

“Huh?” I glance at him, and he motions at my swollen right hand.