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JACE
Dad: Football is a waste of time. You should be studying with Allie instead of going to those nonsense games of yours.
I thrust my phone into my football locker, clenched my jaw, and grabbed my helmet for tonight’s game. I fucking hated him. All he cared about was me taking over the family business, becoming one of those asshole CEOs that he always hung around, forgetting my dreams of making it to the NFL.
“Bring it in, boys,” Coach said, standing by the doors. “Leeside High is going to bring their all tonight. I expect you to play better than you have in practice. Carter, I want you throwing the ball. They have a good defense, so stay sharp. Harbor”—he turned to me—“make sure those sacks are perfect. No slip-ups.”
We ran out onto the field, rain already starting to drizzle overhead. The bleachers were filled with students from Redwood and from Leeside, all here to cheer on their teams. I stared off into the bleachers, spotting Nicole on the sidelines and Jenny mixed in the senior section, and frowned.
“Offense, you’re up,” Coach called.
I crossed my arms, pacing up and down the sidelines as our offense ran out onto the field. Carter called out a few plays and threw twenty yards for a touchdown—annoying prick. When we were up, I sprinted out onto the field, trying to clear my head. I was here to play football, not care about who showed up in the bleachers.
Yet, all throughout the night, I couldn’t stop looking up at them. After Mom had died, Allie was the only person close to me who came to my games. Dad refused to go, as he hated football—or any sport for that matter. I didn’t even think he’d been to one of my games in my entire life.
Right before halftime, I spotted her in the stands, her body bobbing up and down, probably trying to stay warm. I pushed my shoulders back and tossed the ball to the referee.
“Harbor!” Coach shouted. “What are you doing out there? Pick it up!”
I crouched at the line, gaze fixed on the quarterback, all sense of cockiness and confidence back. I was here to play fucking football. When he hiked the ball, I followed a receiver back toward the end zone.
The Leeside quarterback dropped back and scanned the field for an opening. He threw the ball toward one of his receivers, who stood at the four-yard line. I sprinted toward him, jumped in front of him right before the ball could slip into his hands, and snatched the ball out of the air, intercepting it.
As soon as my feet hit the ground, I ran toward the other end of the field, dodging linemen and receivers who all tried to get in my way. One grabbed on to my arm, slipping on the mud and nearly taking me with him. But I shook him off and continued to sprint toward the end zone, running into it and giving our team a six-point lead.
The crowd went wild, but all I could see was Allie standing in the bleachers. I wanted her to be happy, to be excited. But instead of being excited like everyone else, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked away from me and toward Jamal, who had his arms up in victory on the other end of the field.
I threw the ball to the ref, growling under my breath, and walked to my team’s side of the field. Coach slapped me on the back. The guys shouted at me. I pushed through them and slouched on the bench, grasping my water bottle until my fingertips turned white.
At halftime—when we were supposed to be going into the fucking locker room—Jamal stayed behind and ran over to the bleachers, calling out Allie’s name. I balled my hands into fists, watching her jog down the bleachers and hanging over the side to smile down at him through the rain.
That should’ve been me—fucking me. Not him. Not my best friend.
“Jamal,” I shouted.
I tore off my helmet, about two seconds from sprinting over there and ripping him away from her so everyone in this school knew she was still off-limits. Jamal didn’t get a special fucking privilege because he was my friend.
“Jace,” Coach called.
But I ignored him.
I started toward Jamal, teeth clenched together, fingers curled around my face mask.
Coach grabbed me by the jersey. “Harbor, get in the fucking locker room. Don’t start shit now. The principal is here, watching your every move, waiting for you to screw up.”
Rage exploded through me, the vein in my neck pumping wildly. I wanted to kill, wanted to drive him into the ground, shout at him for even thinking about my girl …
But she wasn’t my girl, and she could never be my girl again.
Everything was too fucked up now. Dad had fucked everything up.
I ripped myself away from Coach and started toward the locker room, trying to calm my anger before I ran into the bitch Carter, boasting about throwing three touchdowns in the first half and acting as if he owned the damn school and everyone in it, including Allie.
“Some of the guys are throwing a party at Bubba’s house tonight,” Jamal said, jogging up to me as I stormed to the locker room. He grabbed my shoulder and stopped me, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. “You going?”
I stared at the mud on my shoes, felt the rain beating down on me, and frowned. My heart fucking hurt. Jamal was my best friend. I shouldn’t be angry with him for going after the girl I kept pushing away. As much as I fucking hated it, Jamal would be good for Allie. He could make her smile. All I did was make her cry.
My lips twitched. No, fuck that. He wouldn’t be good for her. I would.
“No.” I shook my head even though I wanted to rip his off and clenched my jaw. “I have somewhere else to be.” I tore myself away from him and continued to the locker room, knowing if I waited any longer, I’d slam my fist right into his pearly-white teeth.
