Chapter 6 Jacob #2
“I just saw Connelly getting railed,” I blurt, way too loud.
He blinks. “What?”
Okay maybe I didn’t word that right because I can see where the confusion is. I definitely made it sound like Sam was on the receiving end of the fucking when he was the one doing the fucking….if that makes sense.
I slow my words down to try and get everything out instead of sounding like a complete fucking idiot.
“Okay, technically he was the one getting ridden, but that’s not the point.
Sam Connelly was upstairs in one of the bedrooms, laid out like a fucking king while some girl was going full rodeo on him. ”
Hughie physically recoils, his whole face twisting like he just smelled something rancid. “What the fuck, dude?”
“I’m serious!” I hiss, grabbing his arm and dragging him a little away from the group. “It was full-on, skin-slapping, ‘call me Daddy’ level action. And the noises, Hugh. Like, I think the girl was speaking in tongues.”
He looks halfway between horrified and intrigued, which honestly is fair.
“Who was the girl?” he asks, still grimacing.
I blink. “Uh… blonde. Very blonde. Like, could-pass-as-a-Disney-princess-if-Disney-made-softcore-porn kind of blonde. Red lips, huge fake lashes, and honestly? A set of tits so big they should come with their own zip code. She was…I don’t know really pretty?”
Hughie’s face does something weird, like recognition hits him all at once, and then he makes a face. Like, an actual full-body wince.
He mutters, “Oh fuck no,” and then, without another word, books it.
Like full sprint, shoulders down, moving through the crowd.
“I’ll meet you outside!” he yells over his shoulder.
And then he’s gone.
I blink, still standing there with my half-drunk beer and the mental image of Connelly naked.
Well…okay then.
I’ve only been outside for maybe ten minutes, half-heartedly sipping my beer and trying to bleach my brain with fresh air, when Hughie comes storming down the porch steps like he’s on a warpath.
Now, I’ve seen a lot of Hughie moods over the years…tired Hughie, grumpy Hughie, Hughie-who-got-a-bad-coffee-order…but this?
This is new. This is murderous Hughie. His jaw is clenched so tight I’m worried he might grind his molars into dust, and his fists are balled like he’s about to throw hands.
“Um… you good?” I ask cautiously.
He grunts and marches right past me like I’m not even there, moving fast as hell in the direction of home.
Realization creeps in and I cringe, jogging to keep up. “Wait, were you, uh… seeing that girl or something?”
He snorts, dry and sharp. “No.”
That’s it. Just no. No elaboration and no additional context. Just one syllable.
And now I feel like I’m missing a massive, flaming chunk of information. Hughie’s not the kind of guy to get pressed over hookups or high school-level drama. And yeah, seeing Sam Connelly getting his rocks off is weird, sure, but not “rage-walk three blocks in silence” level of weird.
Unless…
“Hugh,” I call out, jogging to catch up as he keeps charging forward. “Hugh, dude.”
He ignores me and continues power walking towards our place. My frustration flares and I grab his arm, yanking him to a stop.
“Slow the fuck down,” I snap.
He finally looks at me, sighs like he’s trying not to kill me on sight, and then relents, slowing his pace but barely.
“Dude, what the fuck is going on?” I press.
He glances at me, then looks forward again, voice low and tight. “That was Sabrina Allen.”
I blink. “Sabrina Allen? Why does that sound so fami-”
And then it hits me like a freight train.
“Oh fuck,” I whisper. “Griffin’s girlfriend?”
I whip my head around instinctively, like someone might be hiding in a bush, recording this conversation. They’re not, obviously. But now I’m spun the hell up. Because of course I know that name. It’s always attached to the one guy I’ve been actively not thinking about.
“Wait… isn’t Connelly Griffin’s roommate?”
Hughie grunts again because apparently we’re speaking in guttural noises now and keeps walking.
But I can see it in his jaw, the way he’s clenching and unclenching it like he’s trying to hold in a scream.
He’s so beyond pissed off because he never wanted to have this knowledge hanging over his head.
My brain’s moving at a thousand miles an hour. I mean, maybe they broke up. Maybe it’s just bad timing. That would be shitty, sure, but survivable. Bros shouldn’t go after their teammates' exes, but it’s not the literal apocalypse.
But if they didn’t break up?
If they’re still together?
If Connelly is actively screwing Griffin’s girlfriend under the same roof?
Oh god.
“Um…” I say, carefully, “So… is she still with Griffin?”
Hughie doesn’t even look at me as he responds in a flat, emotionless tone. “Yes.”
Fuck.
Yeah. That’s definitely not good.
“Are you going to tell him?” I ask, already bracing for another grunt.
And, surprise, he gives me exactly that. Another classic, useless Hughie grunt.
I don’t press him until we’re back inside our apartment. My brain is a screaming pit of moral conflict and secondhand panic. Hughie heads straight to the kitchen and grabs a beer, which… on a night before practice? That's basically DEFCON 2.
Awesome. This situation is so bad it’s driven my hyper-disciplined, no-fun-on-weekdays brother to drink.
“Hughie,” I say, leaning on the counter while I watch him like a hawk. “What are you going to do?”
He stares at the label on his bottle like it holds the answers to the universe. “Nothing. Or… fuck, I don’t know.”
I let him sip in silence because I don’t know either. I really didn’t want to know about this. It makes my skin itch. The anxiety’s crawling up my spine and settling in the back of my throat.
Cheating’s always been a loaded topic in our family.
My mom, not exactly a top-tier human, cheated on Hughie’s dad.
That marriage blew up a few years ago in a spectacular mess, and honestly, the only miracle was that Hughie and his dad never turned that fallout on me. I’ve always been grateful for that.
But yeah. Cheating? That shit lives in the trauma folder.
And now I know Griffin’s girlfriend is pulling a full-blown betrayal with his roommate, and I can’t unknow it. I can’t undo it. And it’s not ideal.
“I feel like if I don’t tell him,” Hughie finally whispers, pitching his empty beer into the trash, “then I’m a shitty friend.”
I watch the set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders, the way he won’t meet my eyes.
“But also?” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck, “Our team would fucking die if this got out. People would take sides. Connelly would get shunned. Griffin would go nuclear. There’d be drama we can’t afford. Not this year.”
I nod slowly. “But he’s your friend.”
He scoffs this short bitter sound. “We used to be friends.”
“Why aren’t you friends anymore?” I finally ask the question that has been sitting in my mind for years. I was just too much of a coward to bring it up when they had their falling out years ago.
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. We aren’t friends anymore.”
I hum. “Yeah, but you’re teammates.”
He nods. “And I’ve got a lot of teammates who’d be screwed if this turns into a season-ending soap opera.”
And there it is. The core of it.
This is the year. The one they’ve all been working toward.
The one with scouts and pressure and that tiny, shimmering shot at going pro.
And all it would take to wreck it is one poorly timed revelation.
Not all the guys are going pro, obviously.
But the senior class is big, and all of them have dreams of trying their hand at it.
This would, without a doubt, make that more difficult.
Fuck me, I think, staring at the fridge. Hughie always has answers for my issues. He’s been a sounding board and a best friend for so long that I wish I could give him advice but…I don’t have a ton of good ideas for this particular situation.
“I could tell him,” I offer weakly, more out of instinct than logic. I just want to offer to take that weight off of his shoulders. “Then you wouldn’t have drama with your team.”
But Hughie shakes his head immediately. “Nah. Fuck that. I’m not dragging you into it. This isn’t your mess. Plus…it doesn’t matter who tells him. It would affect the team no matter what.”
We sit in silence for a while as we sip on our beers. I can tell he’s really struggling with this situation and I wish, for the millionth time since he walked out of that house, that I hadn’t opened my big fucking mouth to gossip to him.
His voice is rough when he finally speaks. “I don’t know if I can tell him either.”