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Danika sitting at that table could potentially send the gossip mill into overload. Piper’s everyday rumors were too much to handle, she doesn’t need new ones added into the mix. And I don’t want to risk anything tipping her over the edge again.
Where the fuck did Cooper go? He usually handles this shit.
I storm across the cafeteria and grab Danika’s arm as she sets her tray on the table, turning her to face me. I’m on edge, sleep deprived, and out of smokes. I don’t have the patience to play nice because she wants to be St. Galentine today. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I was wondering when you’d acknowledge me again.” She reaches out, touching my arm. “How are you?”
I jerk free of her grasp and glare. This isn’t a social call. I’m not here to talk about me or my feelings. I’m fine. In fact, I’m great. Fucking great. “Leave Piper alone, Danika.”
That pretty little smile falls and Danika’s arms cross over her chest. “You can’t tell me who to be friends with, Logan. I was coming over here to tell Piper about a book I thought she might like. It’s about—”
“I don’t give two shits what the goddamn book is about!” I snap, catching the attention of more than a few people in the cafeteria. I don’t want to take my frustrations out on Danika, but she’s here and they’re uncontrollably spilling out of me. I need a drink, and a smoke, and quite frankly to get laid. I haven’t touched anyone besides that Emily chick at Jake’s party since Danika came back and it’s starting to fuck with me.
“Logan.” Cooper says from behind, squeezing my shoulder.
Memories flicker like scenes from a movie across my mind, and I fight the urge to throw up again. I haven’t eaten, haven’t slept since yesterday. I can’t. Everything around me unearths a buried demon and I’m more agitated than a rabbit on crack.
I shake Cooper’s hand off and turn around. All I was trying to do was protect Piper, but of course when I play the hero it’s not good enough. Somehow, I fuck it up. I fuck everything up because I’m not the golden boy. I can’t throw the perfect spiral, or get honor roll, or do anything right because I’m. Not. Cooper.
I don’t know why I keep thinking things will change. They’ve been this way ever since I can remember. He can talk some sense into Danika, warn her to keep her distance. Not like anyone ever listens to me anyway.
“You fucking deal with her then. I’m done.”
14
Logan
My fingertips kiss the grass while I wait for Robby—the second string quarterback— to start the play. He’s taking his sweet time, which is pissing me off. It’s the first game of the season and we’re getting our asses handed to us. I’ve done my part, taken down everyone in my way with excessive force, but it hasn’t helped. Anxious bubbles continue to dance under my skin and they’re driving me crazy. I need to do something, anything, to make them go away.
It’s not helping that all night Gunner’s made witty comments, adding fuel to the flames in my veins. I’ve tried to ignore him because Danika is somewhere in the stands. She's doing the supportive girlfriend thing. I also know that her gaze is following me and having her here brings back a nervousness I haven’t felt in years.
“You’ve got a thing for Danika. Don’t you?” Gunner taunts from beside me.
I ignore him and focus on the sound of our fans. Our team might suck balls, but the parents who pay out the ass for their kids to attend St. A’s show up to our games religiously because most of them are alumni. Go Rams!
“We both know she’s out there,” Gunner continues, purposely pushing my buttons. The dude’s got a fucking death wish I’d be happy to satisfy, but I’m trying really really hard to keep my shit together. “And tonight I’m finally going to score.”
“Hike!” Robby yells, catching the ball as I turn and throw all of my body weight into Gunner.
We topple to the ground, but I get the upper hand and straddle Gunner’s waist. I yank his helmet off and my fist connects to his face with a sharp, precise blow. From the amount of red goo gushing out, I’d say his nose is broken.
I let Gunner shove me off him because I want a fight, not a massacre. We’ve got maybe two minutes before the referee blows the whistle, and I plan to make the most of it.
Gunner grins, blood dripping, pooling in his mouth. He looks like a sadistic clown, one that haunts your dreams and carves up kittens or some shit. I fucking hate clowns. He swings, throwing a left hook to my ribs. The pain spreads through my body like ink in water. Slithering its way into every nook and cranny of my soul.
I let him land another shot to my center. Even though I’m sure he’s cracked one of my ribs, I can finally breathe. The anxious bubbles fizzle away and I’m left with the calm I’ve been searching for all day.
Fighting is the only reason I bother to come out onto the dyed green grass anymore. Although, it’s usually our opponents I go after. For the record, I fucking hate football, have ever since homecoming game my freshman year. That was the first game our dad missed. He may have been an abusive prick most of my life, but I still craved his approval. Fucked up, I know. But what can I say? I’m a kid with daddy issues.
That was also the day I completely fell off mom's radar. I saw her in the stands. I. Saw. Her. But she was too consumed with her phone, stressing over Piper returning to her bio-mom’s place.
Mom didn’t see me score the winning touchdown.
She didn’t see the tackle that dislocated my shoulder.
She didn’t notice when I came home with a bag of ice taped to me.
She did notice Cooper’s black eye and tended to him like he was a fucking newborn baby.
