Chapter 17
Vale
A whistle blares, and we’re off, cleats kicking up grass and mud as we race across the field.
After a long, shitty day dodging rumors, dodging Seth, dodging Aston…
It’s exactly what I need.
Hell, it’s the only reason I didn’t dip out early—as tempted as I was. Because to do so would’ve meant no practice. School rule. And if there’s one thing that can settle me when I get in a mood like this, it’s football.
Quentin knew even before I did—before puberty well and truly set in—how badly I’d need an outlet. Something to channel the aggression that builds inside me when the boredom and apathy grow to be too suffocating.
Signing me up for a sport, football in particular, something I was already drawn to, encouraging me to give it a try…it’s one of the best things he ever did, not just for me, but for the poor oblivious fucks of this town.
Now, grunts and heavy breathing fill the chilly air, clashing with my thundering pulse, with the squishing thumps of our feet pounding the damp earth. The bright glare of the sun catches on the steam wafting from our overheated bodies and puffing from our mouths like smoke.
I skid to a brief stop when I reach the white painted line before shooting off the way I came, only vaguely aware of the rest of the team doing the same.
Heart pounding, chest clenching with my carefully measured breaths, I pump my legs as hard as they’ll go.
Chasing that high only extreme exertion can provide.
On either side of me, Fletch and Casey run just as hard.
And while I strain like hell to keep up, it doesn’t bother me too much that they’re faster.
They should be. I’m a quarterback; they’re my best running back and wide receiver.
I’m competitive, but not stupid. The day I beat their asses—the day I have more stamina than them—will be the day I need better players.
Eventually, Coach Simpson blows the whistle, and we all stumble and skid to a stop, panting heavily, many more than others. A couple of the younger guys—freshmen who managed to bypass JV right to varsity—gag and curl over, heaving bile all over the grass.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Casey says by way of greeting when I join him at the benches, grabbing his water bottle.
Shielding my eyes from the sun that finally decided to make an appearance after a long, dreary day of on and off rain showers, I reach down for mine and bring it to my mouth, popping the sports cap with my teeth. “Yeah. Well aware,” I mutter.
Throwing my head back, I shoot the lukewarm fluid down my throat, pointedly ignoring the eyes boring into me from the nearest set of bleachers.
I’m honestly surprised it took him this long to show up at one of my practices. Between this and the fact he managed to crash a party…I have to assume his new warden loosened his leash a bit.
Or he’s gotten braver, more creative in his scheming as time passes.
Casey huffs at my side. “He’s certainly a weird one. Not sure I believe all the rumors about him though. I could take him. Easily.”
Everything in me turns rigid. The plastic bottle creaks in my grip, and for a moment, my vision reddens, veering toward black.
“Hell, I imagine so could Thea,” my best friend goes on, clueless as ever. Chuckling under his breath, he takes a knee to re-tie his cleat.
Jaw clenched, I duck my head, and spray water all over my sweaty head.
We’ve only been out here for a half hour, but Coach decided to make the best of the chilly afternoon by making us run suicides in our gear.
And because of the rain earlier, we’re covered with mud all over our shoes and compression pants. But I try not to think about it.
The mess…the dirt caked under my fingers…the mud and grass staining my clothes…
My legs burn, but no more than usual. I relish it, the strength coursing through my veins, sharpening my body into peak shape. I know I’m not invincible, but in moments like this, barely out of wind and high off the endorphins rushing through me, I feel like I could be.
Jamming the sports cap closed with the heel of my hand, I toss the bottle on the grass, and shake out my head, spraying water all over the place.
“Hey!” Casey shouts with a laugh, jogging back a few steps to get out of the way.
Straightening, I reach up, slicking my hair back. All the while, I’m keenly aware of the eyes raking over my movements from the stands, utterly shameless in their open perusal of me.
The base, useless part of me preens at the attention. But on the outside, I remain as cool and unaffected as always.
“Prick.” Casey chuckles, giving my shoulder a shrug. “Stop teasing the poor kid.”
I roll my eyes, lowering my shirt from where I was wiping my face.
“Pretty sure I can see drool dribbling down his chin.”
“Stop looking.”
“Why? He clearly has no shame. Why should I?”
I shake my head.
There’s a weighty pause, then, “You jealous?”
Tensing, I sear Casey with a withering look before I can help myself. “Why the fuck would I be jealous?”
His mouth twists and he takes a step back, raising his hands in a show of surrender. “Whoa. I’m just screwing with you, man. No need to get your jock in a twist.” His words say one thing, but the shakiness to his laugh says another.
Still, despite that little chink in his composure, betraying the baser part of him, his gaze moves with a mind of its own. Trailing down my neck, my arms, where the pads don’t cover…lingering on the faint scratch marks Aston had given me when I was choking him out.
I arch a brow when Casey’s blue gaze springs to mine. “Problem?”
He clears his throat and glances away, narrowing his eyes at some distant spot. “I heard some rumors. About the other night.”
“And?”
He spreads his hands, thinning his mouth. “Just sayin’. If you’re gonna cheat on Seth, maybe be a little less obvious about it. Or, I don’t know, break up with him like we all know you want to, instead of fucking him over in the first place.”
I blow out a harsh breath and shake my head, muttering, “First Q, now you.”
Casey’s brow furrows.
“How the hell do you know Seth didn’t give me these marks?”
“Seriously?” Casey says with a scoff. He gestures to my neck where the shoulder pads mostly hide what Aston did to me.
But he definitely saw them earlier in the locker room when we were changing.
All the guys did, but they know better than to ask—well, everyone but the closest thing I have to a best friend.
“You’re gonna try and tell me after all this time, Seth Harris, champion fucking chess guru or whatever, has got a little freak buried under those chinos and button-ups?”
A soft snort punches out of me at that, softening some of my hostility, and I’m reminded why I keep Casey around in the first place—why he’s someone I consider a friend, and not just because of what he can do for me.
He’s…funny. Some of the shit that flies out of his mouth without any second-guessing amuses me. It also just so happens to be a bonus that his utter lack of filter, when harmless, is good fodder. He smooths my edges, prompts me when I need it… You know, shit like that. For when I…forget myself.
It also helps that I don’t have to say much to convince him of things, even when he gets lucky and hits the nail right on the head.
“Look,” I say in my usual, easy-going manner, “what happened at Alicia’s party the other night was a mistake. I got shit-faced. Things got out of hand.” I shrug and shift a sideways look at the bleachers as I finish firmly, “But it’s being remedied, and won’t ever happen again.”
Aston perks up at having finally captured my attention.
Fucking idiot.
He’s wearing red heart-framed sunglasses—who the fuck knows what poor little kid he stole those from—and is sucking away on another Blow Pop. One he pops free of his mouth to wave it at me, before blowing me a kiss with his other hand.
Jesus fucking Christ.
If there was any doubt that how I acted Saturday night didn’t scare him off, or piss him off enough—hurt him enough—to make him want nothing to do with me…they’re nonexistent now.
If anything, just as I figured, he’s taken it as some kind of permission, rather than the warning it was.
If I let this go any further…
At my side, Casey tries and fails to choke down a laugh.
Clearly, there’s no point denying that Aston and I…hooked up, or whatever. Not to Casey, at least. I’ve heard the rumors thrown around today, and it’s not like Aston’s being subtle about it or doing anything at all to tamper them.
But at least if I have my best bro on my side to help with damage control, I stand a better chance at getting on top of this and putting said rumors to rest before it gets even more out of control.
If there’s one thing I can rely on for certain, it’s that Casey is loyal to a fault. He’ll spin any story I want him to. And our collective word against the school’s newest and far from reputable pariah will go a long way in pivoting the general perspective.
Plus, I helped him last year when it got out that he was smoking weed. I pissed in a bag for him and everything. Spoke up for him to Coach and the school board so he wouldn’t get cut.
He owes me, and he knows it.
“He’s fucking insane,” I mutter, looking away from the bleachers. Grabbing my helmet, I’m about to shove it back over my head, when I pause, leveling Casey with a serious look. “Seth and I broke up, okay? It’s over.”
His blond brows fly up. “When?”
“This morning. Before the bell.” It was bound to get out eventually…
He whistles low under his breath. “How’d he take it?”
I shrug. “As well as you can imagine.” Understatement.
Casey snickers.
“But here’s the thing,” I go on, lowering my voice for effect. “He blacked out at the party. Doesn’t know I cheated on him.”
Casey’s eyes widen. “For real?”
I nod. It’s a total lie, but I’m sticking to the story I fed Seth, despite his insistence.
Seth most definitely remembers some things…
More than I truthfully thought he would.
“He drank too much, more than even I did. He was passed out in the ensuite bathroom when I found him afterward.”
Casey’s eyes bug, mouth parting. “In the same room that you and…” He jerks his head toward the bleachers.
I nod.
He cringes, and looks away, wiping his palm across his mouth.
I wonder what he’d think if he knew the truth…
“I denied the rumors, so…”
Casey nods, working his jaw. He kicks the grass, eyes trained thoughtfully on some unseen spot on the ground. “Gotcha.”
“This is why I don’t fucking party, man,” I say seriously.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“I lose control. Fuck shit up.” I wince and shake my head for good measure. “I never, in my right mind would have…” My voice trails off.
He winces right back and scrubs the back of his sweaty blond head. “Yeah.”
Except you did, a voice pipes up, reminding me.
And a few shots of Patrón are nowhere near enough to strip me of my restraint.
It was all him.
Aston.
Provoking me, teasing me, bringing up the past…
He knew exactly what fucking buttons to push to flip my switch.
Like hell was I gonna let him have the upper hand.
Like hell was I gonna let him get away with it and walk away.
Like hell I wasn’t going to take a little of what I’m owed.
“He’s cute though,” Casey says casually. “Aston, I mean. If you like that sort of thing.”
I give him a what the fuck look and he spreads his hands as if to say, What? He visibly fights a laugh.
“I like my guts in my stomach, thank you,” I say dryly. “That’s what I’m into.”
He guffaws like what I said was ridiculous. I just stare at him.
“Dude, come on. You don’t actually believe those rumors, right?”
“Says the one who calls him Myers.”
He just laughs. “So, he’s got some mental health shit going on. Who doesn’t?”
Casey’s chuckle turns a little uneasy the longer I don’t say anything. “Wasn’t he, like, being abused when he did it? Sounds like self-defense to me.”
Sucking in my cheek, I study my closest friend. The fact he knows abuse was involved tells me he must’ve done some researching of his own. “I don’t know what to believe,” I eventually tell Casey.
But that’s not true.
It’s probably the biggest lie I’ve told yet.
But telling him the truth—admitting that I’d lied the night of the Bell Game, that I did know Aston. I lived with Aston…I was there that night…
It isn’t an option. Not unless I want to incriminate myself.
Fortunately, it’s at that moment that Coach yells for us to hit the field and get in position to run some drills. Fletch jogs past us backward, shouting, “Let’s go, boys!” before woofing and beating his chest and falling into a couple of other players.
Next to me, Casey pumps his fist near his crotch, making a crude gesture at the rest of the guys running past. They all laugh and howl like the idiots they are.
Shaking my head, I grab my helmet.
“Regardless of how it all went down, I’ve got your back, man,” Casey turns to me to say, tugging his helmet over his head.
From behind his face mask, he meets my gaze, and nods firmly.
“Consider the rumors—” he pretends to blast a bomb between his hands, mouthing what I assume is supposed to be the sound of an explosion.
Without waiting for a response from me, he turns and jogs over to where the others start lining up mid-field.
Clenching my helmet between my hands, I press it against my chest and squeeze, feeling my muscles ripple and strain along my arms. I cast one last look over to the bleachers, not at all surprised to find my deranged ex-foster brother still there, still watching me, still looking as cheerful as fucking ever.
He cocks his head, rolling the Blow Pop obscenely around his mouth so the little white stick wags around. With the sunglasses covering his eyes, it leaves me little to work with.
What’s going through that fucked up head of yours? I wonder not for the first time today.
As if he heard my silent question, he reaches up, sliding the sunglasses down his nose, and even from down here, there’s no mistaking the exaggerated wink he sends my way.
My jaw snaps together, and I narrow my eyes before whipping around, putting my back to him. I shove on my helmet and jog toward the O-line to take position.
Something heavy and dark presses down on me as I crouch and call out the play, not unlike that lapse of rage that possessed me earlier, when Casey made that throwaway comment about being able to take him.
It slithers hotly through my veins, boiling my blood.
Over my fucking dead body.
No one touches him.
No one fucks with Aston St. James but me.