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Once we’ve got our drinks, we sit side by side at one of the empty tables in the corner, both of us people watching for a while as we warm our hands with our cups. We don’t say anything, but it’s not awkward. It’s easy with Frankie. Comfortable.
A group of people rush inside the shop, relieved to be out of the cold. I don’t miss the way the black-haired guy at the back of the group turns his head to look at Xavi, chewing his lip as he takes in his form.
“Does that happen everywhere he goes?” Frankie asks, subtly tipping her chin at Xavi. “Girls and guys?”
I nod, my hands clenching into fists on the table.
“He has no idea, does he?”
“Not a fucking clue.”
It’s always been this way. Even back in high school, the kid was oblivious to all the attention he got. He’s oblivious now too, his head lowered as he tries to pretend he’s not peeking up at me every five seconds to check what I’m doing. I like that I’m his sole focus, that he’s clearly jealous of me and Frankie, but at the same time, that sad, broken look in his eyes makes me want to throttle him. All I can think about is forcing him to his knees, digging my thumbs into his jugular, and shoving my cock down his throat so hard he chokes on it. Taking him as hard and as roughly as I can and giving him something to really be sad about.
“Jesus, the way you look at him sometimes,” Frankie mutters. “I wish someone would look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like they wanna fight me and fuck me at the same time.” She smirks, and I smirk right back, leaning into her space and taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “You hate it, don’t you?” she whispers against my lips, playing along like the good friend she is. “The way you want him. It pisses you off.”
“Right now, the only thing pissing me off is you,” I tell her, digging my fingertips into her skin, but not hard enough to hurt. Never as hard as I’d do it to Xavi.
“That’s not very nice.”
“I’m not a very nice person, Frank.”
“I know,” she says. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”
A small smile touches my lips, and I tilt my head to the side, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Is he gone?”
“Mhmm.”
My smile slips free, and I kiss her cheek this time. She playfully pushes my face away, and I drop back in my seat, resting my arm on the back of her chair. Lifting my coffee up to take a sip, I laugh under my breath as I watch Xavi storm off through the courtyard.
14
XAVI
It’s the first basketball game of the new year tonight. As usual, the stands are filled with people, the excitement rolling off the crowd as they watch the Hawthorne boys move around the court. They’re undefeated this season, well on their way to winning the championship for the fourth year in a row. Me and everybody else in this gym know they have Nate to thank for that. He might be a bad-tempered, miserable asshole, but he’s fucking good at what he does. Really fucking good.
His black and red jersey clings to his body like glue as he bounces the ball and wipes the sweat from his forehead. I stick to the shadows like I always do, hood pulled low over my face as I sit at the back with my elbows on my thighs, my hands linked together between my knees.
I know it’s practically a sure win—they’re up by thirteen points with less than four minutes left on the clock—but I’m still nervous, my eyes constantly cutting between Nate and the scoreboard as I dig my fingers into my knuckles.
He doesn’t know I still come to his games. Katy started dragging me along with her back in high school so I could tell her what was happening. Even after she died and I was drowning myself in my own misery, I kept coming. He might not have seen me since that day at the cemetery, but I’ve been seeing him. Every game for the last two years—except for the twelve weeks I was in rehab—I’ve been right here, watching his heart break with every shot, that light in his eyes fading more and more as time went on. It wasn’t long before the light went out completely and never came back.
He used to love it down there. I know he did. But he doesn’t get excited about it anymore. He doesn’t celebrate on the court after a win—or off the court, as far as I know. It makes him look like a dick, to his teammates, his coach, and his little fan club, but I get it. Why does he get to live his dream when Katy doesn’t get to live hers? It’s how I feel too. About everything. Getting sober and coming to college… listening to her favorite songs… life in general…
It’s not fucking fair.
The final buzzer sounds just as Nate slams the ball through the hoop, and then the crowd around me are on their feet, popcorn and drinks flying everywhere as they shout his name over and over. Carter, Easton, and the rest of the team are all grinning, jumping around and slapping each other on the back after yet another win, but not one of them tries to touch their captain. They know by now to leave him be and let him do his own thing.
Nate walks toward the edge of the court, and the coach grabs him, smiling proudly as he squeezes his shoulder and leans in to say something to him. Nate nods repeatedly, but his attention is elsewhere, only half listening, by the looks of it. Even from all the way up here, I can see the sharp lines of his jaw, the small tick there as if he’s grinding his teeth together. He’s been doing that a lot tonight, looking up at the stands…
Is he looking for me?
Not possible.
Shaking my head, I turn around and sneak out of the gym. Once I get to the parking lot, I get on my bike and make the hour drive to the cemetery in my hometown, sitting down at Katy’s grave to give her a play by play of the game, just like I always do.
