2. Feel Invincible— I think?
2
Feel Invincible— I think?
Clayton
“ S hit,” Jax grunts under his breath as he receives another one of Rocky’s hits. “I legitimately think my arms are going to bruise.”
1 It’s the first day back at practice after the holiday break, and we’re all warming up with a simple hitting and receiving drill.
Actually, let me rephrase that. We’re warming up and Rocky is hitting like his main goal is to send the volleyball through the gym floor.
Not that I blame him, really.
By the time we woke up this morning, the news about Aaron Sanders had spread like an STD at a frat party. Everyone knew about it, and no one was surprised. Aaron Sanders is and always has been a grade-A piece of shit. How he made it this far in life is one of life’s great mysteries. The only thing he had going for him was his volleyball skills, but even that was only going to get him so far. I don’t know when I felt worse for Rocky, honestly; when Sanders had to be his partner or now that he is left without him.
Rocky never wanted Sanders as a partner, but he wanted to win even more. That’s about the only thing he and I have in common. Winning the Division I championship for men’s doubles beach volleyball and making it to Team USA. I can practically feel that 2028 gold medal between my teeth. I know Rockwell Campos is talented. The man has more intuition for the game than anyone I’ve ever seen.
Not that I’d ever say that out loud.
His defense rivals Phil Dalhausser’s, his sets hit the mark with uncanny precision, and his side-out percentage is the highest on the team. I would have been his doubles partner in a heartbeat… if he wasn’t such a sanctimonious prick.
He walks around avoiding anyone and everything, constantly acting like he’s better than the rest of us because he grew up with less money, meaning he must have had a “harder” life. He seems to have it permanently ingrained in his brain that just because I grew up with money, I had it easy.
Little does he fucking know.
“Don’t be such a pansy-ass,” I jab at Jax as I get in my ready position, watching Coach Taylor set another ball to Rocky for an outside hit.
I watch in slow motion as Rocky takes his approach, swings his arms forward, jumps in the air, and twists his torso.
Line hit.
Rockwell Campos may be amazing, but I’m better. I’m Clay fucking Aldrich.
As his hand makes contact with the ball, I move to the line just in time to receive the pass.
God, I love practicing in the gym. It’s so much easier to move than on sand.
The ball hits my forearms, but I’m not prepared for the sheer force behind his hit, and it knocks me on my ass .
Rocky’s gaze locks with mine, and I don’t find a hint of remorse behind those green eyes. All that’s there is smug satisfaction and unrelenting anger.
Asshole.
Jax is laughing his ass off as he walks over to me and holds out his hand. “Who’s the pansy-ass?”
I grab his hand with more force than necessary. “Shut the hell up.”
Jackson Baker is my best friend and genuinely one of the best people I’ve ever met, but that doesn’t mean I won’t deck him in the face.
While the rest of the practice was just more drills, Rocky’s intensity didn’t waver, and by the time we headed to the weight room, we all made sure to give him a wide berth.
Coach Taylor doesn’t police when we hit the gym as long as we get it done. Most of us find it easier for muscle recovery to do it after practice, and it gives us time to fuck around and have some fun without Coach breathing down our necks. So, in typical Campos fashion… he avoids it at all costs. He usually lifts weights before practice, I’m assuming it’s so he doesn’t have to talk to anyone on the team, so I was slightly surprised when he followed us into the weight room. But if I had the day he was having, I’d have some extra aggression to work out too.
I don’t know what compels me to do so, but as everyone else shuffles into the weight room, I stop and pull Rocky to the side. I’m not oblivious, I know some of his story and how hard he worked to get here. If something or someone ruined my shot at the Olympics, I couldn’t even imagine the range of emotions I’d be feeling.
Already on the defensive, Rocky stands with his fists clenched at his sides and his jaw ticking in frustration as he looks up at me. He’s only a couple of inches shorter than my six foot six. “What, Aldrich?”
Take a deep breath, Clay.
“I heard about Sanders, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry. You don’t deserve what’s happening to you.”
“I don’t need your sympathy,” he bites out as he takes a small step back.
In and out. In and out.
“I didn’t say you did. I just wanted you to know I’m on your side.”
Rocky snorts out a sarcastic laugh as if my words are the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard in his life. “I don’t want or need you on my side. All of you are the same.”
I don’t have to ask what he means by all of you. Rich trust fund kids who make up about eighty percent of this school. But I am nothing like Aaron Sanders, and the fact that he’s automatically making that assumption sets my teeth on fucking edge. “Aaron Sanders is a piece of shit, and I would never do what he did.”
“Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I want anything to do with you. So fuck off and leave me alone.”
Do not punch him, Clay. Do not punch him.
“You know what, Campos? Despite my better instincts, I was just trying to show you a little compassion, but I see now that was a total waste of my goddamn time. Just because you grew up poor doesn’t give you the right to act like an asshole.” I take a step forward, closing the space he put between us and stab the center of his chest with my pointer finger. “You want to be a prick and alienate everyone around you? Fine. But you’re not better than any of us just because you grew up different than the rest of us.”
I can tell I struck a nerve when he inhales a ragged breath. Instead of responding, he simply steps around me, shoving my shoulder with his in the process.
Taking a deep breath of my own, I follow him into the weight room and head toward Jax, who’s racking weights onto a barbell for some chest presses. He looks between Rocky and me, who both have equally annoyed and pissed-off looks on our faces. “What was that about?”
“Nothing. You want to go first or me?”
He waves his hand out with a bemused look on his face. “Be my guest. ”
Thirty minutes go by as the sounds of weights, grunts, and the occasional snide joke fill the room. Just as I’m about to do a set of lateral raises, I see Rocky, who is now doing chest presses, loading more weights onto his barbell.
He was already struggling with his last couple of reps… don’t ask me how I know because I definitely wasn’t watching… so I know he’s going to need a spotter this time.
“Jax,” I whisper as I nod in Rocky’s direction, “go spot him.”
“No. I’m in the middle of a superset. You do it,” he grunts out from his spot on the bench.
I look between my weights resting on the floor and Rocky—once, twice, three times. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I groan under my breath.
I may not like him, but that doesn’t mean I want him to die.
I stomp over to him like a petulant child just as he’s getting himself situated under the bar. “Here, man, let me spot you.”
“I’m fine,” he says as he puts his hands on the bar.
I place one hand between his and push down, preventing him from lifting it. “You’re not fine. You could barely do three reps of the last weight. You’re going to crush yourself. ”
“Let go, Aldrich.”
“No, Campos.”
He’s off the bench and in front of me in what feels like a split second. His nostrils flare with each infuriated breath, and for a moment, I find myself getting lost in his eyes. The deep pools of green and dark eyelashes pull me in like the tide to the shore. And then he speaks, and the moment is gone almost as fast as it came. “What did you not understand about what I said in the hallway? Fuck off and leave me alone.”
“God, no wonder Sanders was the only one who would be your partner. I am not going to let you hurt yourself just because you want to be an asshole.”
“Today is not the day to fuck with me, Clayton.”
I can’t help it. It’s like an involuntary reflex. The corner of my mouth turns up as I say, “Oh, I think I’d fuck with you any day, Rockwell.”
Or just fuck you .
“Back. Off.”
I lower my head so it’s just above his. “Make. Me.”
I’m not exactly sure what it is, but I watch as he wages some sort of internal war within himself. I’m just about to make another smart remark when, suddenly, he blinks, and his hands are on my chest, shoving me backward.
Okay, now I’m going to punch him .
It only takes another second for me to lunge back and knock him on his ass. The two of us roll around on the ground for a few minutes, throwing half-assed punches before Jax grabs me, and a couple of the junior teammates grab Rocky.
“Enough!” Jax shouts between us. Like me, he rarely gets angry or yells, but when he does, you know to listen the fuck up. “If Coach Taylor sees you, you're both fucking done! Get it the hell together.” Then he turns and looks directly at me. “Leave him alone, okay? He’s had a tough day. Don’t make it worse,” he says low enough for only me to hear.
Jax… always the mediator.
Rocky storms off without another word, and the rest of the team goes about their business pretending like they didn’t see or hear a thing. For the next twenty minutes Jax and I finish our workout, all while he casts me worried glances every few minutes.
I’m a lover, not a fighter. So the fact that I just got in a fistfight with someone is enough to cause my best friend concern. Not just someone… a teammate. Wisely, though, he chooses not to make another comment on it while I spend the rest of our workout replaying the entire interaction over and over again in my head.
I don’t know what it is about Rocky Campos, but he gets under my skin like no one ever has .
One thing I do know, though, I sure as fuck am glad I don’t have to be partners with someone like him.
1. Feel Invincible - Skillet