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I could say it doesn’t matter since Xavier isn’t here, but that feels like a convenient excuse, and nothing about his death is convenient. Plus, Liam doesn’t deserve to come second to anyone through no fault of his own. Does that make it okay for me to dismiss Xavier for him the way I was dismissed for Piper?
My guilty conscience says no, but my—some other voice inside me—says it’s not that simple.
Fuck! I never thought I’d say life was easier when I thought I was fully ACE, but adding attraction into the equation makes everything murky.
This is not a great way to start a road trip. I should be concentrating on the game, studying our opponent, or visualizing the outcome. I should be channeling these nerves in my stomach for good, like fueling my adrenaline, not curling into my seat like some anxious flier.
I close my eyes and force myself to breathe slowly. In through the nose, count to four, out of the mouth.
“You good over there?” Bennet asks from his seat across the aisle.
Shit. I knew the plane would be a bad place to get lost in my head.
“Long night. I think I ate something weird.” I make up an excuse on the fly.
“You aren’t gonna puke, are you? If I get even a tiny whiff of that I’ll lose my breakfast. Grab one of those bags and be ready.”
“I’m not gonna puke.”
“You better not. I can’t afford to be anything less than a hundred percent for this game.” The set of his jaw tells me he’s not just saying that.
“Isn’t that true for every game?”
“Yeah, but it’s even more true for this one, especially.”
Since we’re not going against a divisional opponent, I’m not following. “Is there some sort of rivalry I’m not aware of?”
“No. I just don’t want to lose to them again.”
“Aren’t we favored?”
Bennet glares at me like I should know better. “That doesn’t mean shit if we don’t play well. And we were favored last year but came up short. I do not want to hear Damien gloating again.”
“Who’s Damien?”
“The fucker who’s been a pain in my ass since high school. Always telling me I look scrawny and slow.”
I give Bennet a once over, trying to figure out why anyone would say that about him. He’s not as big as me, but he’s not small, and his forty is faster than Jagger’s.
“Well, clearly, you’re not either of those things.” I gesture to all of him like I’m pointing out the obvious. “Don’t let him get in your head.”
“That’s easy to say when you’re not the one he’s chasing down.”
“He plays defense?”
“Corner.” Bennet's voice drops to an ominous whisper as he leans toward me, “Fucker is fast even though he’s big, and he knows he can shut me down. I wouldn’t care if he was cool about it, but he’s a dick. Always gloating about getting the best of me, ever since we were kids. I cannot handle losing to him again.”
“We won’t.”
Bennet and I spend the rest of the fight talking about how to shut down this Damien guy, which finally gets my head in the right place. By the time we’re in our hotel and it’s time to crash, my mind is settled enough to get some sleep.
***
It’s the fourth quarter, and we’re only up by seven when we should be up by at least twice that.
Bennet was right about Damien. The guy’s a menace. Always in position, always anticipating the play—and because he’s got a few inches on Bennet—always managing to get a hand on the ball before Bennet can.
We’re up because of our run game, which they aren’t as good at defending, but they aren’t bad either. It’s just frustrating because our passing game is usually so hard to defend against, but Damien is so efficient he’s a step ahead of us every play. It’s like he knows the playbook as well as we do.
