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I could have just manned up and gone to Dessert Island with the guys the other day instead of making a bullshit excuse.
I told myself that I was doing it for her, that she wouldn’t want to see me.
But really, I was being a selfish prick.
I knew the second I looked into her eyes, I was going to drown in regrets.
“Right, time is up. Hand your sheets in on your way out and I’ll have them marked for you for next lesson. All your work for the break has been posted online but if you need anything, you have my email. I’ll be checking daily,” the teacher says, bringing the class to an end.
I stare at my answer, cringing that I’ve barely even got to the point I was trying to make.
“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath, snatching it up and dropping it on the desk on the way out, pretending that everything is right in my world.
As is usually the case, people move out of my way, letting me out of the room first.
There are some benefits that come with having Eaton as a surname—with being an Heir. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m not sure they’re entirely worth it.
My grip on my bag tightens as I make my way down the hall that will lead me in the direction of the locker room to get ready for practice.
It’s the only place where everything makes sense right now.Once I’m out on the pitch, the rest of the world falls away. My family, the expectations placed on my shoulders, my future that’s been mapped out for me, my regrets and stupid decisions.It’s just me and the ball, my only focus is scoring and coming out on top.
I’m about to shove the double doors open that will lead me outside when a flash of red catches my eye off to the right.
“Red,” I call before my brain can catch up with my mouth.
Suddenly, a classroom door opens, and a flood of kids emerge, chatting, laughing, relieved that another day at All Hallows’ is over.
“Shit,” I hiss, stretching up to see if she’s still here. Hell, if it was even her.
Her hair might be unique, but she’s not the only redhead that roams these halls.
Just the only one I have any interest in.
By the time the crowd has thinned out, there’s no sign of her.
Ripping my eyes from the hallway, I look out the doors to where I’m expected to be for practice in less than ten minutes.
My head tells me to go one way, my heart… Well, that’s on a completely different page.
She won’t want to see you.
With a sigh, I continue forward, toward where I’m meant to be, where I’m needed.
I barely make it through the door before it becomes obvious that someone was waiting for me.
“Eaton, a word?” Coach asks, loitering in the doorway to his office.
“Sure,” I mutter, following him inside. “Everything okay, Coach?” I ask, dropping into the chair in front of his desk that I’ve spent many hours in over the years.
We might now have a state-of-the-art student welfare department now with outstanding therapists and counsellors, but this right here, it’s all I need.
The scent of leather, mud, and sweat and the concerned stare of a man who pins all his hopes of success on a bunch of rich, spoiled arseholes every year.
“Everything is great. The team is looking solid in the run-up to our final games. That isn’t the reason I called you in.”
“Oh?” I ask, already dreading what the next words out of his mouth are going to be.
He holds my eyes steady before he lands the blow I’ve been expecting. “I’ve had your father on the phone.”
