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“You want to hit me? For having your back against a bloodsucker whose main interest in you is the fame and money you could bring into her life? Then go ahead. Let’s fight. Because I’ll have your back a hundred times over with her or any other chick who doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”
Shane tossed his bag on the bed. “I’m outta here.”
What am I doing?“Hey, man.” I squeezed the back of my neck, hating how I needed him for this. “Are you going to be around later? I have to study, and I could use some help.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Fine. Don’t worry about it. I can handle my own shit.” But I couldn’t, not all of it. Panic punched me in the guts as he left as abruptly as he’d arrived.What the hell am I going to do about classes?
My head spun. It could have gone a lot worse. From the way he clammed up about Tracey, I was sure he knew what I’d done. I would do it all over again—tricking her into thinking Shane’s shot at the NFL was over before it’d even started so she would break up with him was worth it. He’d had to face that she wanted him as a meal ticket. But he didn’t handle it well at all, and the day he saw her with Dominick Reynolds, a senior and an MLB hopeful, he also pushed me into the display case that’d sliced my hand.
Goddammit. I fell into the desk chair and dropped my head into my hands. Shane had been spoiling for a fight. There was a reason he hadn’t followed through, though—guilt. He’d already cost me time on the field from the hand-laceration incident. I knew that was why he’d held back. It was my one pass, not that I needed one. Fighting with Shane sucked, but if we’d gone at it, things would’ve been resolved a hell of a lot faster.
Instead, the fucker was going to ignore me when I needed him most. There was no avoiding it. I opened my bag and took out the book we were supposed to read for lit class. I’d put it off and had fifty pages to get through.
An hour later, it was clear that I could not handle my own shit. I gave up. It was pointless. Out of fifty, I was only on page five. It started to take forever when some of the words jumped out of order. Not only that, but when I tried to decipher them, I had trouble comprehending what I’d read. Normally, Shane would read the homework to me. It worked. I had a great memory and comprehended easily. When he did that, I could pass my classes just fine. But this year, when I needed help the most, he was MIA.
I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to relieve the strain. Everything was falling apart. It felt like my football status was in danger because of the time I’d lost from my injury. My academic situation was in danger. I got Aspen pregnant. Money had already been tight. A kid would make it worse. If I didn’t figure everything out, I was screwed.
In one swoop, I swept the books and papers from my desk to crash onto the floor.Why am I so stupid?
Fuck this. With a hard yank, I opened the right middle desk drawer and pulled out the football playbook. I had it memorized already. It was easy to comprehend. The symbols didn’t jump around like words in a lengthy chapter did. And I could manage the text there, given that I lived and breathed the sport and was familiar with the jargon. I had been since I’d first held a football in my hand.
It was what I wanted to do with my life. It was my calling, what made me happiest.
The injury had terrified me. But there would be no lasting side effects, and the cuts had almost healed. I was lucky for my mom, who had gotten me the best care and was just a great mom overall, and I knew it. And one day, I would pay her back for all she’d done for Shane and me when we were growing up. She wouldn’t want for anything when I was on a team and making the big bucks. Neither would my kid.
I flipped through the plays, pausing on a few to picture what could go wrong with them and other options I could pivot to. I couldn’t wait for the weekend and my first game at Thane. The only downside was that the coach might not put me in, as McAffrey was the starting QB.But for how long?Coach made it seem like not long, but McAffrey could come out and put on a showstopper.
Aspen’s dad had been right about one thing: he didn’t have the same ability I did to read the field and alter plays on the fly. I knew it sounded cocky, but very few did. It was the one gift I’d been given, and definitely not from my bio-dad or even Grandad. Part of me felt like it could compensate for how stupid I was with reading—and the only people who knew about that were Mom and Shane. I’d sworn them to secrecy and even refused to let Mom get me help after sixth grade. It didn’t matter. Nothing they tried had worked.
I shifted, and the side of my foot hit the lit book on the ground.Goddammit. I needed to get that done, whether or not the letters swirled around. We had a test coming up, and I had no clue what was going on in the book. Why the teacher had chosen something obscure that didn’t have audio or a Cliffs Notes version was beyond me—it was a huge hindrance. If there had been audio, I would have been acing the class.
I glanced at my phone, but it showed no new messages. Earlier, when I ran into Aspen, I’d wanted to find out if her parents had calmed down and how she was doing. But then everything went to hell when she lashed out at me. I wanted to call her and apologize.
But I didn’t know what I would be apologizing for, and I couldn’t anyway. We weren’t anything to each other except soon-to-be co-parents.
The playbook went back into the drawer, and I picked up the books and papers I’d strewn around. My phone rang. Aspen’s name lit up the screen, so I answered.
“Hey, um… I’m sorry about snapping at you earlier.”
Part of me settled at the sound of her voice and the fact that she wasn’t mad anymore for whatever reason. If she could throw out an olive branch, so could I. Besides, I needed to talk to her. “Want to meet at the diner?”
“Yeah. I’m starving. See you there.”
Good. We needed to get a few things resolved—specifically, whatever had set her off earlier.
CHAPTER FOUR
ASPEN
At seven in the evening, Dylan’s, the popular off-campus diner, was packed with college kids but no Phoenix. I tried not to be annoyed. Too late. I was, and hunger won out. The hostess seated me, and I ordered food as soon as the waitress came around.Screw waiting.
I checked my phone for the hundredth time and was relieved to see a text, though it was from Regan and not him. She wanted to talk, but I couldn’t. Not until I was back home. I replied to say as much then glanced around the diner, seeing a few too many familiar faces. Phoenix was cleared for the game this weekend, and I wondered how many were already fans. Maybe none were. Only the alums seemed to keep track of up-and-coming stars who hadn’t seen any field time.
Instead, I pulled out the small sketch pad and pen I kept jammed inside my crossbody bag. Each time Phoenix and I were together, I noticed new things about the tattoos covering both of his arms. They were intricate, with a combination of tribal patterns and other designs that I guessed had hidden meanings. The shading was exceptional.
I etched the shape of a surfboard onto the paper from the bottom left corner to the top right. Then I inked in some of his designs from memory, combining and adding details with meaning from my life. It made sense to me. The baby intertwined our lives. Why not create something beautiful to represent our converging paths?
