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We’re still locked in our stare-off when the whistle blows. I’m distracted from his challenge as the game starts and we immediately take the advantage. It’s a good start, but we all know there’s still a long way to go.
Number fifty-five is surprisingly quiet as we play—not that I can say the same about myself as I slam into him every chance I get for talking to my girl like that.
My girl?
That thought makes me lose focus for the briefest of seconds, just long enough for me not to see fifty-five decide it’s time to make his move.
His shoulder slams into me, sending me stumbling back. I manage to catch myself before I fall on my ass. Taking a step forward, I stand chest to chest with him, my teeth bared in anger.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” I spit.
“Oh, I am. Straight inside your cheerslut.”
“Fuck you,” I roar, and before I know what’s happening, I’ve taken him to the ground.
The crowd erupts as I slam my fists into his stomach. “Keep your hands and eyes off our girls, motherfucker.”
I’m oblivious to everything around me as I take out days worth of anger on this asshole.
Hands grasp at me, but I shake them off so I can continue.
“For fuck’s sake, Jagger,” a familiar voice barks before two pairs of hands grab my arms and refuse to let go until I’m dragged away from a moaning number fifty-five.
My red haze lifts a little and I find Hayden on one arm and Aaron on the other.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Aaron barks as Coach makes his way over.
“Get your ass in the showers and cool off, Jagger. Wait for me in my office.” His tone leaves no room for argument as I’m released and none too gently shoved in the direction of the locker rooms.
Ripping my helmet off, I throw it at the wall as I enter. It clatters to the ground, but it doesn't make me feel even the slightest bit better.
That motherfucker is going nowhere near Hadley. I’ll make fucking sure of it.
Discarding my kit and pads on the floor, I march to the showers, hoping that a cold blast of water will help to drag me from the dark cloud I’m disappearing in faster than I know what to do with.
I shouldn’t want Hadley, and I shouldn’t give a shit if anyone else does. But I can’t stop myself.
My fists clench, my knuckles aching from the punches I managed to land but equally hating that his helmet meant I didn’t get a chance to fuck up his pretty boy face.
As I stand there with my face tipped up to the stream of water, the sound of cheers from the stadium ring out around me. “Argh,” I bellow, plowing my fist into the tiles in front of me over and over until I’ve coated it red with my blood and some of the tension begins to leave my muscles.
Before the final whistle blows, I dry off and do as I’m told, taking a seat in Coach’s office so I don’t have to look into my teammates’ eyes knowing that I fucked up tonight.
I have no idea if they’ve won or lost, but I know if it’s the latter it’ll be my fault. They were counting on me tonight and I let them all down. It pisses me off that I care about that. I shouldn’t care about anything, let alone the asshole guys on a team I never wanted to play for.
The sound of their shoes entering fills my ears, and I sink down in the chair a second before the door flies open and Coach Miller storms in, slamming the door loudly behind him.
“Start talking, Jagger.”
“Nothing to tell,” I mutter.
“Bullshit. I know you’re hot-headed, but you always have a reason,” he says, as if he knows anything about me. He doesn't.
“Number fifty-five was saying some shit.”
“I don’t give a fuck, Cole. Let him say whatever the fuck he wants to say. Let him curse you out, let him talk shit about everyone you care about. It. Doesn't. Matter. He’s trying to rile you up, and it worked like a fucking charm.”
“They won then, I take it,” I mutter.
