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“Can’t be easy going back to practice after hurting your leg. Heard you smashed your knee. That shit’s gotta hurt like a bitch.”
It does, but I keep my mouth shut. I should turn around and get my ass out of here, but no matter how much I try to make my legs move, I can’t. It’s like they’re glued to the spot.
“How about this?”
Before I can react, he throws something at me. Instinctively, I raise my hand, my fingers wrapping around a plastic bag.
I look down to see it’s filled with pills, along with a little black card with a number on it.
“I told you, I’m not here for this,” I grit through clenched teeth.
“Then it’s a good thing this time’s on me, right?” He pushes from the tree and sinks his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “But if you change your mind and ever need a refill,” he points at the bag in my hand. “That’s my number. Texts only.”
With that, he turns around.
“Hey! I told you…” I try to protest, but he’s already walking away. “Fucking hell.”
I look down at my hand and the bag sitting in my palm. Even in the darkness, I recognize the little pills. They’re the exact match for the ones I’ve been taking so far.
Whoever the Manolo guy is, he knows his shit.
My fingers clasp around the bag. I should get rid of it. If somebody finds it…
It’s just pain meds, chill.
I run my free hand over my face, rubbing at the stubble on my jaw. The corner of the bag peeks from between my fingers, taunting me. I unclasp my fingers and stare at the pills, my throat growing tight.
Besides, what will happen now that you’re back on the team? Now that you’re practicing full-time? You can barely get over the session in the gym on your own without feeling the jab in your knee. What about practices? What about drills? What about the games?
My palms turn sweaty from all the possible scenarios going through my head.
Would it be so bad if I kept them?
Just in case.
As a backup.
I swallow the lump in my throat and before I can think more about it, I shove the baggie into my back pocket.
Just a backup.
I quickly make my way back to the party, still in a daze from what had just happened to the point I almost miss Spencer waving at me.
“Dude, did you fall into the toilet or something?” He looks over my shoulder. “What were you doing behind the house?”
Toilet, right.
“The line was long, and I didn’t want to wait, so I took care of it outside,” I shrug, the lie coming easily.
Considering the number of times I’ve lied to my friends in the last year, it’s not even surprising.
Spencer nods. “You coming back or what? Mindy has been asking about you.”
The image of the needy brunette pops into my mind.
“I’m not really feeling it. I think I’ll go home.”
“You? Not feeling chicks?” Spencer’s mouth falls open. “Are you sick or something?”
