Chapter 6
Theo
B y the time Friday rolls around, I’m more than exhausted. Every bone in my body aches from the practice sessions and the extra training my dad has me doing.
I can barely keep up with trying to do all of that—get enough sleep, eat enough food, and stay on top of my schoolwork. This year more than ever, I find myself lacking the motivation to do it all, probably because this is a glimpse at what my life will look like once I’m drafted.
To top it off, I haven’t seen nor heard from Marcela since Tuesday. Which should be normal, since we’re not dating. We don’t need to talk everyday, but fuck, I wish we did.
“Last home opener game tomorrow boys. How we feeling?” Will claps his hands together as we walk toward the front doors to Beers ‘n’ Cheers.
Every night before a home game, the guys on the team and I come here as a tradition to hype ourselves up. Sans alcohol, of course, because Coach would kill us.
“That’s fucking wild.” Dale sighs. “Where the hell did the last three years go?”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter to myself, because that’s not something I’d usually share with them. The Theo they know rarely ever complains.
We easily find some teammates at our usual table. I follow Dale and Will over while I scan the bar, looking for her.
I spot Marcela taking an order from a couple at a booth. She looks stunning, as usual, with her hair up in a ponytail and wearing her uniform—black leggings and a T-shirt.
A hand lands on my shoulder. “C’mon, lover boy, it’s guys’ night,” Dale says as I turn to face him.
I shrug him off with a chuckle and take a seat next to him at the large table.
The guys share their feelings about tomorrow’s home opener, while I take another glance over at Marcela.
“You’re oddly quiet,” Cory pipes up, getting my attention.
“Yeah, QB, where’s your leadership? You should be leading us in a chant to get us pumped up,” Will goads me.
“Nah, think about how much more powerful it’ll be tomorrow in the locker room. If we do it now, it loses its edge,” I supply, making up some story, because I simply just don’t care enough to get hyped right now.
“That’s fair,” he says, pointing a finger at me.
“You think we got a chance at the championship this year?” Cory asks, looking right at me.
I smile widely, hoping it’s convincing. “Hell yeah. We’re looking stronger than ever, and I’ll be damned if Theo Miller leaves RLU without bringing home a championship title.”
Our table erupts in cheers while fists slam the table.
At that exact moment, the front door of the bar opens and none other than Hunter walks through, heading straight for our table.
The table quiets as he approaches, and I look for Marcela to see if she’s noticed that he’s here yet. I sigh in relief when I don’t see her on the floor, she’s probably grabbing food from the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Am I not allowed to join my teammates? We are all brothers now, right?” Hunter grins as he takes the seat in front of me.
It’s quiet for a beat until one of the guys speaks up, “Yeah, for sure, man.”
“Miller, how’s it going?” He leans forward on the table, locking his gaze with mine.
“Great, you?” I say curtly, because there’s no point in pretending that I like the guy. We’ve never gotten along in the last three years we’ve played against each other. While I’m faking that I like him, I don’t have to pretend to be his best friend either.
Hunter’s smile widens, looking way too comfortable. “Never better. I’ve been getting everything I ever wanted these days.”
I ignore him and my eyes naturally dart to look for Marcela again, but I still don’t see her anywhere. My knee bounces uncontrollably at the thought of how she’ll feel when she sees Hunter is here. I know it’s inevitable that she’ll run into him, despite how much I wish it wouldn’t happen.
Hunter clears his throat to catch my attention. “Let’s lay it out right now, Miller. I know we’ve had some bad blood because of our school’s rivalry, but now that I’m here, what’s your issue with me?”
The team is occupied with their own conversations, oblivious to the one Hunter and I are having. Except for Dale, whose eyes shift to mine, letting me know he’s listening.
“I don’t have one,” I say flatly.
His brown eyes narrow as he folds his arms across his chest. “Bullshit. You never want to throw me the ball when I’m clearly open and good at what I do. What kind of quarterback would mess up our chance at scoring if it’s not over some personal issue?” He asks, raising his voice enough to get the team’s attention.
The table quiets as everyone listens in.
“You got a problem, Hunter?” Dale jumps in, already on the defensive.
“Not currently, but I will if Miller here can’t throw to me when I’m open,” Hunter retorts, and I hate that he’s not wrong. I should be doing what’s best for the play, but I’m letting my personal hatred for the guy win.
“It’s called getting used to a new player on the team. That’s it. I’ll do better.” I settle on the safest answer, because no one on the team knows why I hate the guy. And they never will, because that’s Marcela’s story to tell.
“I hope so,” Hunter muses, throwing his hand up to get the attention of the waitress, who thankfully isn’t Marcela.
While the team places their orders, I take the opportunity to leave the table in search of her. Luckily, I don’t have to look too far, because she’s exiting the kitchen with a tray full of food.
She looks at me, and without saying a word, she knows exactly why I’m looking seeking her out. I watch as she peers around me, where I know she’ll get a view of Hunter seated with the rest of the football team.
Her eyes widen, then harden, and I can see her knuckles turn white from how hard she’s gripping the tray.
I move closer to her, just enough so she can hear me. “Which table is this for?”
“Seven,” she mumbles, eyes still glaring at Hunter.
I grab the tray and deliver the food to the table, smiling at the customers who look confused to be served dinner by their school’s quarterback. I ignore the questioning looks and return to Marcela, who now looks like she’s seen a ghost.
“Fuck this,” I whisper to myself as I take her hand—which fits perfectly in mine—and lead us down the hallway and out the back exit.
She removes it once we’re outside, coming back to her senses as she takes a couple of deep breaths. I find myself doing the same, the mindful act bringing me a sense of calm I desperately need. Seeing that look on her face made me want to slam my fist against his nose.
“I-I have to get back in there and work,” is the first thing she says, moving to get back inside.
My brows furrow as I stop her. “Marcela, you just saw your shitty ex for the first time in months, and you’re worried about work?”
Her mouth parts, then closes, and opens again. “I guess so,” she finally says.
“It’s okay to take a second. Your feelings are more important than work.”
“Seems like you should take your own advice,” she snaps, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not slightly turned on by her sudden attitude. While I don’t love that she’s upset, I do love that she’s sticking up for herself.
I put my hand to my chest, feigning offense. “You know how to hit a man where it hurts. Jesus.”
She squeezes her eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to—-”
“It’s okay. I like when you put me in my place,” I smile, then take a step toward her. “But talk to me about what happened in there. You okay?”
Her honey eyes glance down for a beat, but when she looks back up at me, all I see is hurt on her face. My stomach twists at the fact that Hunter’s the reason behind it.
“I don’t know, honestly. I was shocked to finally see him, and then I was angry. Really freaking angry for what he did. And now I’m upset, because I’m going to have to see him and Ruby happy and in love all over campus or here at work,” she admits, her voice thick with emotion. “How is it fair that they get to parade around their joy, when they’re the ones in the wrong?”
“We don’t know if they’re happy together, and even if they are, you’re the one who won. Two shitty people are together now, and you’re free from both of them,” I try to convince her, because I can see that, as much as this sucks, she’s better off without them.
“I’m trying to tell myself that, but sometimes all I can focus on is how badly they hurt me and it feels like I’m the one who lost. And I really don’t want them to see that they’re hurting me,” her voice quiets as a tear strolls down her cheek.
My heart pinches at seeing her like this. I fucking hate that they did this to her, of all people.
Marcela’s the most selfless person I know. Why would anyone ever want to hurt her?
I wrack my brain for the right thing to say, when an idea pops into mind. Not my greatest idea, but somehow still not my dumbest. And I can thank Jasmine for this one, because of the book she told me about the other day.
“What if you showed them that you’ve moved on and you’re happy?” I say, my voice nearly trembling with nerves at the crazy idea I’m about to propose.
Her face morphs into confusion as her head tilts to the side. “How would I do that?”
“Be my fake girlfriend.”