Chapter 5 #3
I ride the bench for the first half of the match, and I’m on edge the whole time.
Legs shaking, fingers picking at the hairs on my knees.
I keep checking over my shoulder to make sure Connor hasn’t left yet.
I catch him snapping shots of the match, and I get jealous on top of my game-day anxiety that he’s taking pictures of the other guys.
But Connor doesn’t want any of them. He doesn’t even want me, and I could rock his fucking world.
In the second half, the score is 1-1, and the tie is more optimism than we’ve had all season.
With less than seven minutes to go, Coach finally subs me in, and I know I need to bring it tenfold.
Like hell am I going to be the reason our opponents snag a lead.
Like hell am I going to be the reason we lose again.
All week, I’ve been training with Connor like this match is life or death, and I feel the effects. I’m stronger from the targeted workouts, more agile from the running and stretches, and a little less awkward on my legs when I remember to lead with my clavicle and open my hips.
With all the added work comes even more pressure, and the pressure only increases when I notice Connor moving down to the sideline railing.
If he’s capable of being proud of me, I want that.
I want him to see I’m not the total fuck-up I make myself out to be—that I’m not the train wreck Thalia says I am.
The ref puts two minutes of stoppage on the board, and every second that passes is like another tick of a time-bomb I’m trying desperately to defuse.
When Randy gets jammed up, I call out his name, and he shoots me the ball.
Time slows as the ball barrels through the opposing line, and I have all of a split second to check my path, make my move, and hit my mark.
I slap the spinning ball with the inside of my cleat, kicking it toward the goalie’s blind spot.
There’s nothing he can do but watch like the rest of us.
And—
The ball smacks the goalpost with a dull pang before ricocheting out of bounds. It stops my heart cold. The disappointment hits me like a wave, swallowing me whole. No matter how good a swimmer I am, nothing can save me from myself.
Defeat crumples me, and my knees hit the grass.
I can’t fucking believe it.
But wasn’t this the most likely outcome?
“S’okay, Dane.” Lyle’s voice hums somewhere above my head, his damp palm cupping the back of my neck. “Gotta get up.”
It’s not okay, though, and if our team captain thinks this is okay, then it’s no wonder we’re the worst team in the conference this year. I might fucking blow, but so do the rest of these losers.
The clock runs down and the tie stands. I punch the Gatorade dispenser on my way toward the locker room, not interested in whatever bullshit Coach has to say about how we ‘played our hearts out.’ I hit the showers to cool off but wind up crying under the spray like a baby.
Connor is waiting for me on the promenade when I leave the locker room, reminding me of another reason my life is a dumpster fire of disappointment.
“Did you get it?” The words come out clipped, and my tone bleeds contempt for his wind-swept hair and his stupid khaki shorts.
“Get what?”
I kick my shoulder against his as I march past, too pissed to go around him, and I’m half hoping it’ll knock that camera case to the ground.
“Dane!” he calls out. “A tie is progress!”
Nah. Connor doesn’t get to fuck my sister and comfort me.
“Fuck off!” I snap back at him, and it’s the last time I look back as I march to my car.
Realizing I can’t go home makes everything worse.
Artie took today off to get drunk by the pool with Joss, and the last thing I need is him confronting me with what I already know: that I’m a failure.
I can’t commiserate with any of my buddies either, because they’re all on the team, and I let them down too.
If I had gotten the goal, we would’ve taken the lead. We could have won.
We could have won.
I end up sending a text to Kaden—the first one I’ve sent him in weeks—and he answers in seconds because he’s always on his phone.
He says I can come over as long as I don’t make waves with his roommates again and I pick him up a new vape battery on my way.
Fine by me. I’ll buy some medicinal gummies while I’m at it, which will hopefully mellow me out.
I take too many gummies and wake up bare-ass naked across a bed that is too fluffy and furry to be mine, and the noise in my ear is some nauseating sitcom. My dick is sticky, my mouth is dry, and I’m starving. I flop onto my back and stretch my limbs while my eyes adjust to the ceiling light.
“Where am I?” I mumble, glancing around until my eyes fall to a suede loveseat and the familiar man curled up on it, doing something to his feet.
Kaden.
It’s all coming back to me. Well, the part where I humiliated myself in front of all my friends, teammates, opponents and Connor, then came here. Everything that happened after ingesting a fistful of THC gummies is a jumbled vision of body parts, fluids, and multiple ascensions from reality.
“Ah, you’re finally awake.” Kaden treats me with a pursed-lipped, half-lidded stare that says I’ve overstayed my welcome.
There’s a bleachy tang in the air, clouding all the other Kaden-scents. “It smells like a janitor’s closet in here.”
“It’s nail polish remover.” Kaden lifts a bottle of purple water and sloshes it onto a gauze pad he takes to his blue toes. Chestnut fringe falls down his forehead as he scrubs the dark blue off his big toe.
“I like that color,” I say.
“It makes my nails look like they're gonna fall off.”
“Can I have it?”
After another scrunched look, Kaden picks through the makeup bag beside him, then tosses me a small vial of nail polish.
I catch it with two hands. Midnight blue.
“You need to leave, Dane. I gotta go to sleep soon, and your Gumby body is taking up my whole bed.”
“Sleep? What time is it?” I swivel my head around the room, looking for my phone.
“Almost eight.”
“You go to bed at eight on a Saturday?”
“I work an opener tomorrow. Some people have jobs to pay for school.”
“School is a job.”
“Says the rich kid,” Kaden mutters.
Rich kid… He always calls me that. I guess it’s true, since I grew up in a fancy house in a fancy neighborhood, and Artie pays for my school and my Beemer. But there’s more to a person than how much money is in their sperm donor’s bank account.
“Wait." I do the mental math, which only increases my confusion. “I’ve been here for seven hours?”
“That’s riiiiight.”
I roll off his bed and land on a pile of my own clothes and two used-up condoms. “Did we fuck?”
“You don’t remember?” Kaden gives me one of his disapproving looks. Even puts down his pedicure shit to fold his arms at me.
Not sure why he cares if I remember or not, though. I’m sure he got his rocks off, which was the entire point. And if I wanted someone else to be disappointed in me, I wouldn’t have come to the apartment of the guy who only likes me for my dick.
“I remember some things.” I hoist myself up and tug my joggers up my legs.
“Dane, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You only come over during daylight hours when something’s wrong.”
I shuck my shirt on while casually lying my ass off. “My parents forgot my birthday.”
“What? Shit, I’m sorry.” Kaden’s sympathy sounds so genuine, I have to try not to laugh.
“It’s whatever. But I wanted to do something fun for my birthday, and I thought: I know, I’ll get high out of my gourd and have sex with Kaden. That sounds fun.”
“You’re exhausting. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” My birthday is in January, but it’s not like my parents will acknowledge it then either, so I’ll take the sentiment in September.
“You should do something special,” Kaden suggests. “Something you’ll actually remember after.”
Something special? I’m not sure I deserve anything special after acting like a total ogre today, but I could use a distraction. “Like what?”
“I dunno.” He shrugs tiredly, hugging his skinny knees to his chest. “What’s something you always wanted to do but held off on because it seemed too frivolous?”
“I do frivolous things all the time.”
“Alright, then what’s something you want to do but have been too scared to do?”
Kiss Connor. But that’s a big fat nope. Not even I’m that reckless, but it’s mostly for Connor’s benefit.
I think I care about him. Like, beyond attraction and sexual fantasies.
He’s a good person, and he deserves all the good things he’s ever gotten out of life.
If anyone deserves them, he does. I’m not a good thing for anyone.
I told him to fuck off, for crying out loud.
After he showed up for me. The only person who ever has.
“I’ll figure something out,” I mutter hopelessly.
“I’m serious, Dane. You need to leave.”
“Yeah, yeah.” As soon as I’m oriented enough to walk without toppling over like a Jenga tower, I slip my feet into my Crocs and head for the door.