3. Noah
3
Noah
W ell, this is going to be a shitshow.
Dropping the cigarette butt to the ground, I blow out a cloud of smoke as I stare up at East View High, home of the mighty Mambas football team. But if you ask me, there’s not a damn thing mighty about them. They’re mediocre at best, though with me, they might just have a shot of taking out the championship, and that’s not my ego talking. It’s fact. I’m the best high-school quarterback in the state. Most of my stats outrank those in the professional leagues, but it means nothing if I don’t have a team to play for.
If life was forgiving and I could choose which team I represented, the Mambas are far from anything I’d select. They don’t even reach the top twenty on the list, but unfortunately for me, they’re the only chance I have left.
After my latest fuck up, I don’t have many options left. It’s either make it with the Mambas and work my ass off to try and save what little chance I have of playing college football, or I could just walk away and probably end up behind bars within the next twelve months . . . maybe sooner. Who knows? I’ve been on a roll lately.
Decisions. Decisions.
Letting out a heavy breath, I stride up the stairs and push through the double doors before letting them fall shut behind me, the loud bang echoing up the hallway.
It’s time to face the music.
It’s time to face her.
The hallways of East View High are dead, barely a soul to be seen, but it’s still early. I’m not usually the type to show up so early, but with everything happening so fast, I haven’t had a chance to meet Coach Martin yet. I don’t even know if he’s aware I’m coming, but either way, I won’t be leaving his office until I get exactly what I want. Whatever means necessary.
My gaze sails from left to right as I get deeper into the school, trying to figure out where the fuck to go. Navigating new schools isn’t exactly new for me. Once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.
I’ve spent the last three years being the new kid, but it never takes long to settle in and find my people. Besides, they generally find me. When you come fully loaded with a name and reputation like mine, high school becomes a fucking breeze.
Passing some kid with a fucking trombone, I lift my chin and watch as he scrambles to take off, knowing assholes like me generally live to make life hard for losers like him. “Aye,” I say, his wide gaze shifting to me, terror blasting through his stare as he takes me in. “Where’s the student office?”
“Uh . . . uhmmm. Down the hall. To the right,” he says. “Red door.”
I nod, and he takes off like some bitch just offered to let him motorboat her beneath the bleachers.
Wanting to get this over and done with, I continue down the hall, scanning the doors on the right until I come across the red door with the words Student Office above it. Bringing my hand up, I shove through the door, and as I lift my gaze to figure out where the fuck I need to go, a horrified gasp sails through the office—a gasp I would recognize anywhere.
No.
Zoey James stands in front of me, her elbows braced against the counter, facing the woman in the office. Those big green eyes I used to adore are locked on mine as though she can’t believe what she’s seeing.
And fuck, neither can I.
I feel like I’ve just been shot right through the chest.
Zoey fucking James. I knew I would see her today. It was inevitable. She’s been going to East View High since the beginning of freshman year, not that I’ve been keeping tabs on her, but I wasn’t prepared for this, not even close.
Her back stiffens, and I watch the subtle way she curls her hands into fists at her sides, trying to hide the fact they’re shaking. But there’s no hiding from me. I know her better than she knows herself. At least, I used to. That’s in the past now, right where it’s going to stay.
My heart pounds out of my chest as the world fades around us, so many things left unsaid but never forgotten. Zoey has been nothing but a figment of my imagination for three years, a constant reminder of the agony that lives in the darkest pits of my soul.
I walked away without a backward glance, not even a goodbye, and that’s exactly how it’s going to stay.
Zoey remains frozen on the spot, and I can almost read her thoughts. They’re so fucking loud, they’re practically screaming at me—demanding answers, demanding anything that will bring her just a hint of closure. But she’s not going to get it from me.
I’ve always been able to read her. Those bright green eyes give her away—and now is no different. Though, there’s no denying that those bright eyes somehow seem duller now.
Unable to handle the intensity of her horrified stare, I shift my gaze down her body and realize just how much she’s changed. She’s not some scrawny kid in a pretty dress anymore. She’s taller now, wears her hair differently, and is more than aware of her body. Hell, she has tits now.
The last time I saw her, she was in a black dress, holding my hand at my little brother’s funeral. I’ve never been able to get the image of her from that day out of my head. It haunts me. But the girl standing before me now—this isn’t her. I don’t know this girl. She’s changed. She’s closed off, hesitant, and pain radiates through her eyes—a pain I know I put there, and one I sure as hell won’t be taking away. Besides, Zoey James doesn’t need me anymore.
My gaze trails back up, over her denim shorts that show off her toned legs, and to a sweater that falls off her bare shoulder. She crosses her arms over her body, and I narrow my stare, realizing I’ve made her self-conscious, but that’s her problem, not mine.
I know I’m being obvious, but so is she. Her gaze has roamed up and down my body at least four times already, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s seeing. I’m certainly not the same clean-cut kid she once knew. He was pathetic. Weak. But now? I don’t even know. I’m a fucking stranger to myself.
But when it comes to Zoey James, I know she’s looking much deeper than what’s on the surface—she’s trying to get a read on me, trying to figure me out, but I’m not about to let that happen. I’m not hers to save. Not anymore.
It feels like a lifetime of silence before she sucks in a deep breath and raises her chin, determination flaring through her green stare. I shake my head, willing her not to try, but before I can prepare myself, she forces a smile across her face and takes a hesitant step toward me. Her smile is so fake that it leaves me desperate to see a real one—the one that used to be reserved for only me.
She puts herself right in front of me, making my chest ache for a time when life used to be simple and carefree. When life used to be full of love and happiness instead of this dark hell I’ve been haunted by.
“Long time no see, huh?” she says, her eyes sparkling as if expecting things to be as easy as they used to be—as if the stars will align just by forcing us together. I have to keep myself from scoffing. I’ve gotta give it to her, she was always so optimistic, but if she hasn’t figured it out after three long years, then I don’t know what to tell her. What we used to be is over. Done. Dead.
I stare at her a moment longer, the silence so fucking loud between us. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Her eyes widen. I’m sure she expected this to go a million possible ways, but this wasn’t one of them. A flicker of hurt lingers in her stare, and for the first time in three years, it’s a little easier to breathe.
Zoey’s taken aback and takes a second to gather her thoughts. “I’ve been assigned to show you around,” she tells me.
Like fuck that’s going to happen.
“Don’t waste your time,” I tell her. “I’m good.”
“You’re good?” she scoffs, her eyes blazing with the anger I knew was coming. “Three years of radio silence and all I get from you is I’m good? ”
“What the hell were you expecting?” I spit, stepping even closer and watching the way she has to crane her neck to meet my eye, probably able to smell the lingering stench of cigarettes on my clothes. “You and me—we’re nothing. Not anymore. I don’t need you, Zoey. I haven’t needed you for three years, and I sure as fuck don’t need you now. So, let’s get this straight because I don’t want you trying to recreate something that will never be. I’m only here to play football, and that’s it. I’m not here for you . At this school, we don’t know each other. Whatever the fuck we used to be, doesn’t exist anymore. You see me in the hallways, you look the other way. You see me outside, you go somewhere else. I’m not some fucking project for you to save. Got it?”
A breath escapes her lips, and I watch the undeniable pain shooting through her eyes, dulling that bright green I used to love. “Wow, Noah. Haven’t you become a giant piece of shit?” she says, taking a step back and grabbing her backpack off the ground. Not meeting my eye, she slings it over her shoulder, more than ready to race out of here. But I’m not surprised, she’s always run at the first sign of conflict. What does surprise me is how casually she called me a piece of shit. The Zoey I knew would never talk that way, and I’m not going to lie, her disgust and judgment stings.
Meeting my stare again, she hesitates, trying to figure out if she’s going to tuck her tail between her legs and storm away or say whatever the fuck she feels she needs to say. “For what it’s worth,” she grits out, determination flashing in her hurt stare. “I was only doing this for your mom because she came to me yesterday, begging me to help you out because she’s so scared that she’s losing you. But you know what? She was right to be scared. You’re long gone, Noah. The kid I used to know . . . I can’t even see him in there.”
Zoey steps around me and storms to the door, and I have to resist reaching out to touch her, hating that part of me that still desperately craves everything that she is. Reaching for the door, she yanks it open but turns back at the last second, her long chestnut hair whipping over her shoulder. “You should have stayed away,” she tells me, her voice filled with the type of venom that somehow darkens my already blackened soul. “I was better off without you.”
And with that, she flies out the door, leaving a gaping hole right where my heart used to be.
I almost fall to my knees, and if it weren’t for the office lady staring at me like I’m a snake making his way into the chicken coop, maybe I would have. I stride up to her, and she keeps her narrowed stare on me, making it clear that we’re going to have issues. “Noah Ryan,” I tell her. “First day.”
“Oh, I know who you are, Noah Ryan,” she says, spitting my name like it’s poison. “And I am more than aware of just how much you need this school. This is your last shot, and if you think you can come into my office with that big ole chip on your shoulder and treat the students of East View High the way you just treated Miss James, you have another thing coming.”
I clench my jaw as she pushes a stack of papers toward me, not daring to take her furious glare off me. “Hear me, boy. I see students like you come and go every day, so don’t get me wrong, your football career means nothing to me. What matters is the welfare of the students in this school, and if you’re going to be a threat to that then you can walk straight back out that door and exchange this welcome pack for a pair of cuffs. Is that understood?”
“Yeah, got it,” I say, scooping the papers off the desk and turning away, not bothered to hear any more of her lecture. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway. Zoey received my message loud and clear. She won’t be an issue for me, which in turn means that I won’t be an issue for that old bat.
Barging back out into the hallway, I’m pleased to find no hint of Zoey James or anyone else for that matter. It’s still early, and if I’m quick, I’ll have just enough time to make a pitstop to Coach Martin before having to get my ass back here for homeroom.
Quickly scanning through the welcome pack, I find my locker number with a padlock, a map of the school, and my class schedule. Then pulling them out of the pack, I dump the rest of the shit in the trash and make my way to my locker.
I quickly set up my lock code, more than aware that at some point, I’m going to have to change it, especially considering it’s 0228—Zoey’s birthday, February 28. And to think I just made a point that I wanted nothing to do with her. Ironic really.
I was better off without you.
Fuck, those words keep circling my mind. Why the hell do they hurt so much? She’s lying. She has to be. I could see it in her eyes. She lost half of herself when I walked away, and she never got it back. She isn’t better off without me; she just wishes she was.
After dumping my shit in my locker and programming the number into my phone, knowing damn well I’m going to forget which of these bastards is mine, I scan over the map, trying to figure out where I can find Coach Martin.
Students filter in through the doors, and to avoid the attention of being the shiny new toy for as long as possible, I piss off down the hall, pushing through the back doors and out to the football field.
As I cut across the school, I can’t help but glance over the underwhelming field. I’ve been at the best private schools Arizona has to offer for the past three years. They have state-of-the-art training facilities for their students, but this—a bare field with a shitty goalpost at either end—is what you get when you enroll at a public school.
Telling myself that a shitty field is better than no field at all, I barge through the locker rooms and start my search for the coach’s office. Finding it right where I expect it to be, I go to knock on the door when I hear shuffling coming from the storeroom directly beside Coach Martin’s office.
Taking another few steps, I find the coach buried deep in equipment, trying to get everything organized and set up for his team. He turns just as I go to knock, and as my hand falls away, he jumps, not having expected anyone to creep up on him.
“Uh, can I help you?” he grunts, moving past me to dump the equipment in the main part of the locker room, freeing up his hands.
“I’m Noah Ryan,” I tell him. “I’m starting at East View today.”
Recognition flashes in his eyes. “Noah Ryan, huh?” he grunts. “And what do you want with me?”
I gape at him for a minute. This isn’t exactly how I thought this conversation would go. Every other coach I’ve trained with has almost come in their pants at the mere thought of having me on their team. “I’m hoping to secure a spot on the team, Coach,” I say, just in case I mistook his recognition for idiocy.
“I get that,” he says. “But I also get that you lit your principal’s office on fire barely forty-eight hours ago and were kicked out of St. Michael’s before the school year could even commence. You might be a star on the field, and I’m sure talent like yours could take the Mambas to new heights, but I’m not willing to jeopardize the integrity of my team for a lost cause such as yourself.”
Fuck.
He steps around me, opens his office door, then turns back to me with a tight smile. “Thanks for coming by. It was good to finally put a face to the name,” he says, glancing at his watch. “You best get going. School starts in three minutes.”
The fuck just happened?
“Umm . . . respectfully, Coach, but that’s bullshit,” I say, refusing to take no for an answer, hovering in the doorway of his office. “I’m the best fucking quarterback in the state, and between you and me, we both know your job is riding on your performance this year. You need me just as much as I need you.”
“I don’t need shit from an overprivileged, no-good kid who has no respect for his sport, his peers, or for his own education. I’m sorry, Noah, but the answer is no,” he tells me. “Perhaps East View isn’t the right fit for you.”
“Please, Coach,” I say, not above getting on my fucking knees and begging. “I don’t think you understand just how badly I need this. East View is my last chance. If I can’t play here, I don’t play at all.”
He doesn’t respond, just stares at me, reading the desperation in my eyes.
“Football is all I have,” I continue, letting him see just a hint of the darkness living within me. “If I don’t have this . . . I don’t know where I’ll be. I need this.”
Coach lets out a heavy sigh, and I see a flicker of indecision in his eyes, giving me just a sliver of hope. “You’re a risk, Noah. I can’t have you leading my team astray.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ve heard that shit a million times from kids like you. They start heading down a bad path, get involved with the wrong crowd, start skipping training, showing up to school still fucking drunk from the night before, and there’s no coming back. They throw away their future and waste my fucking time when their position on the team could have gone to someone else who truly wanted it, someone who would have put in the work.”
“I do want it,” I growl, frustration burning in my chest as I step back out of his office and begin to pace the hall. If he denies me and it’s all over, what’s the point of being here in the first place?
Coach Martin leans against his desk, his feet crossed at his ankles. “Okay, here’s what I’m going to do,” he says. “You can attend training. You work your ass off and keep your attitude away from my team. You attend every fucking class on your schedule and maintain a B+ average, and if you can do that, if you can earn it, then I will officially offer you a position on my team.”
A B+ average during senior year? Fuck. That’s gonna take some work, but what choice do I have?
“You got it,” I tell him, knowing damn well it’s going to be a challenge to keep myself out of trouble. Who knows just how bad it’s going to be now that I have to see Zoey wandering the halls day in and day out—a constant reminder of everything I’ve lost.
“Alright,” Coach Martin says. “Training runs from three p.m. ’til six. If you’re even a minute late, it’s over. Understood?”
“Yes, Coach. Thank you.”
“Good. Now get out of here, otherwise you’ll be late for homeroom,” he says. “I’ll make sure you have a uniform here waiting for you this afternoon.”
I nod, and with that, I get my ass out of there, ready to face down East View High and make it my bitch.