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He rummages through the kitchen for food and comes back with a few helpings of fettuccine Alfredo with grilled chicken.
“I don’t think there’s any vegetables in this place,” he grumbles as he finds a pan to heat the food in. “Guess I’m going grocery shopping tomorrow.”
We all take our diets seriously, but especially right before the season and during the season when we’re pushing our bodies to their limits. We all know the importance of fueling our bodies correctly to get the best performance possible. This is definitely not on our menus this time of the year and especially with no vegetables.
“Is there more to the story with Elliot than being a football player?” he asks as he brings over the plates of food.
“Lotta history,” I mumble, shoveling food into my face. I’m starving all of a sudden. I don’t think I’ve eaten at all today.
We’re quiet as we eat, though Aaron grumbles every few bites about the food. I clean my plate, too drunk to give a shit about my diet, while he picks at it.
Now that my stomach is full, my body is heavy with exhaustion. I just want to sleep until the season starts, then I’ll be too busy to think about anything else.
“Sleeeeep,” I mumble, laying my head on the table.
“Hey!” Aaron shouts. Coming around the table, he forces me to my feet despite my protest, and we stumble up the stairs. “Which way?” he asks when we get to the top.
I point down the hall to where my room is and stop in front of my old bedroom. Has he changed it? Probably not.
“’Tis me.” I open the door, and he stumbles in with me, making sure I make it to the bed. I crash-land face first and immediately pass out.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
Elliot
Jordan convinces me to shower, but what I really do is stand in the water that’s so hot it physically hurts. But it’s something. I hate being numb but don’t want to feel anything either. All of it is exhausting.
I manage to wash my hair, face, and the important parts before getting out. In the closet, I pull on some underwear and sit on the floor, running my fingers over the scars. I’ve thought about adding another one a lot over the last few days. I need some control over my life, and right now I feel like I have none. But I don’t have the knife I’ve always used.
My parents are going to kick me out of the apartment, I can feel it. Take away my trust fund and leave me scrambling to figure my life out. I hate how dependent on them I’ve allowed myself to be.
Getting up, I find my jewelry drawer and realize my favorite pearl necklace is missing. My heart breaks knowing I left it at my parents’ house. Fuck. Now I have to go back.
Grabbing some clothes, I get dressed and go looking for my best friend. I find her on the couch, eyes glued to her phone.
“Hey, can you—”
Her head shoots up, expression carefully blank, and I stop talking.
“What?”
“Mathew Vaughn is dead.” There is no inflection in her voice as she delivers the news.
Asher’s dad is dead.
He’s alone.
I need to call him.
Tearing through my apartment, I search all my normal spots for my phone before I realize it, too, is at my fucking parents’ house with my damn keys.
“Jordan!” I shout, rushing down the hall toward the door. “I need a ride!”
I rip open the front door with her hot on my heels as we run for the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator. I don’t even have shoes on, but I don’t care. I have to find him. All I can picture is the angry, hurt boy Asher was after his mom died. He has no one to give him a hug. No one to care for him. I can’t not go to him.
We hit the parking garage in a rush and climb into her car.
She gives me her phone to plug in my parents’ address while she gets us onto the street. It’s only a twenty-minute drive, luckily, and the traffic isn’t bad, so we make good time. We get through the gate, and Jordan pulls right up to the front of the house. I’m out before she gets it in park, and I shove the front door open without knocking.
