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What the fuck? Is this guy for real?
Prescott’s jaw clenches, but he ducks his head. “I know.”
He’s completely and utterly defeated.
But it’s like the man doesn’t hear him, or maybe he simply doesn’t care. “Gabriel wouldn’t have ever allowed something like that to happen.”
Gabriel? Who the hell’s Gabriel?
“Iknow,” Prescott repeats, his shoulders tensing, waiting for another blow or ready to snap himself?
Screw this.
“What the hell’s your problem? It wasn’t his fault.” Pushing off the wall, I move closer and glare at the man. Prescott looks up, surprise flashing on his face when he sees me standing there. “Prescott wasn’t the only player out on that field that messed up.”
The man’s eyes narrow on me. “But he was the one who was supposed to catch the ball when he was tackled.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “And where were his teammates that were supposed to be there having his back, so he could catch it?”
The asshole clenches his jaw and sways on his feet. That’s right, dude. I’m not about to let you talk nonsense when you and I both know it’s just that—a load of bullshit.
“And who do you think you are?”
The man gives me a once-over, so I stare right back. His dark hair, peppered with gray, is a mess, his face washed out, the lines around his mouth and eyes hard. His brown irises are swallowed by his pupils, and his eyes are bloodshot. Drunk. The man is completely drunk.
I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, an ugly smirk spreads over his lips as he sways on his feet once again. “Seriously, Prescott, you should stop playing around with the groupies and concentrate on your studies. Or is that another thing you’re planning to fuck up just like you fucked up this game?”
“Fuck off.” Prescott’s hands ball into fists, and he’s about to lunge at the man, but I grab his hand, pulling him back. “She’s not a groupie.”
The man does another sweep of my body, his scrutinizing stare making the bile rise in my throat. “Could have fooled me. Stop messing around and concentrate on things that matter, instead of wasting both your time and mine.”
With that, he turns on the balls of his feet and walks away.
Prescott’s body is still tense next to mine as we watch the man get in the car and drive off.
“What an asshole. He shouldn’t be driving.”
“Welcome to my life.”
Wait…“What?” I turn to him, my eyes narrowing. “Is that…”
“You had the dissatisfaction to meet Henry Wentworth in the flesh.”
His father.
That was his father.
“I…” My mouth falls open, but no words come out. What is there even to say to what I’d just witnessed?
I notice the blood clinging to the corner of his mouth. Moving closer, I lift up on the tips of my toes and gently brush it away. “I’m so sorry, Prescott. He was wrong, though. It wasn’t—”
“He was right.” Prescott pulls his arm out of my grasp, turning his back on me. “It was my fault. What are you even doing here, Jade? You should have gone home.”
I take a step back, surprised by his sharp voice. For all the fighting we did, he never spoke to me like that. Ever.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself.
We stay frozen like that for a moment. I expect him to say something, anything, but when he doesn’t, I turn around and walk away.
