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Playingfootball has always been something that pulls me from reality. It puts me into a place where everything else just seems to vanish. And over the years, I've become really good at it. However, as with anything, the better you get, the more people expect from you.
I sprint down the field at full force, but still watch as the ball flies right over my head. Coach blows his whistle. I bend down and place my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
"Lockhart is throwing the damn ball too early," I growl as soon as I get back to the middle of the field.
Mason rolls his eyes. "Oh, so it's my fault you're not fast enough? I'm not looking to get sacked while waiting for you to get down the field."
"Now it makes sense," I dig. "You're scared. That's so cute."
"You want to say that to my face, Trayland?"
"I'd fucking love to."
I go to step closer when Coach Dayton puts a hand on my chest to stop me. My eyes don't leave Mason's as the two of us stare each other down. I already didn't like the prick, but after seeing him spend all Friday night flirting with Tye, all I want is an excuse to kick his ass.
"All right," Coach interrupts. "Enough cat fighting."
"Aw, come on, Dayton. Just let me have a little fun," Mason sneers.
Coach narrows his eyes on him. "That's Coach Dayton, and if you want any chance at starting next Friday, you'll remember that."
Mason grumbles something inaudible under his breath and grabs the ball from Coach, getting ready to throw it again. Maybe this time, he'll give me more than three seconds to get down the damn field. I line up and wait for the whistle to blow, and when it does, it's on.
SPOILER ALERT: HE DIDN'T.It ended up being me who had to run faster and jump higher than ever before just to practice for Friday's game. As I make my way back to my dorm, I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life. Even going up the stairs feels nearly impossible, and I find myself gripping the railing like it's going to carry me up.
"You look like shit," Jace says as soon as I walk through the door. "What happened to you?"
"Mason Lockhart plays like a pansy," I answer.
I don't stop to talk, to ask him why he's in such a good mood, or even to shower. I walk straight to my room, kick the door shut, and collapse face down onto my bed. Everything fades into an exhausted slumber before my head even hits the pillow.
MY ALARM GOES OFFat eight in the morning, and while you’d think that sleeping fourteen hours, I'd wake up well rested, I didn't. There isn't a muscle in my body that doesn't scream with every move I make. I'm so tense, and the only thing I can think of is going to get a massage, but I don’t have time. I'm still on academic probation since getting expelled from Florida State, and I can't risk getting kicked off the team.
I sit up on my bed, groaning from the pain, and rub my hands over my face.
What the hell was I thinking signing up for a class at nine?
After a few minutes of pulling myself together, I get up and walk toward the door. When I go to open it, however, I can't. My hand slips around the knob, and I can't manage to get a grip.
What the hell?
I know I'm sore, but I've never not been able to open my damn door. Trying again, the same thing happens. I even try pulling at the knob and my grip just slips right off it.
Son of a bitch.
"Jace!" I shout. When there's no answer, I start pounding on my own door. "London!"
It takes a couple minutes of constant noise to get him to wake, but I finally hear him making his way across the living room.
"The fuck are you doing?" he groans, voice laced with sleep.
"Can you open my door?"
He sighs. "Dude, are we really back to you thinking I'm your goddamn butler? Open it yourself."
Ugh. Is this some sick joke? "Don't you think I would if I could?"
"It's fucking eight in the morning. I don't know what the hell you're up to."
