Chapter 19
Vale
“That son of a bitch,” I say through clenched teeth, white-knuckling the black grated doors on either side of my gear locker.
Somewhere behind me, someone slams theirs shut, the clang of metal ringing out, echoing off the surrounding lockers. Shoes squeak against the linoleum—the team beginning to shuffle out.
As usual, I was the last to leave the showers.
The metal creaks in my grip, and my chest heaves, neck tendons straining, pulling so tight, it’s a wonder they don’t snap right along with the hinges on the doors.
I’m going to kill him.
I’m going to rip his pretty head from his tight little body.
A hand clasps my bare shoulder, and I whip around, not even bothering to see who it belongs to first before grabbing the wrist in a bone-crushing grip.
“Whoa.” Fletch's eyes widen when confronted with my slitted gaze, and he holds up his free hand. He’s already fully dressed in a muscle tee and gym shorts. “You good, bro?” The corner of his eye twitches, the only obvious sign I’m hurting him.
My teeth mash, fingers flexing with the aggression aching to break free.
So much for working it out in practice.
It's no matter that Fletch is taller and wider than me. I could easily break his bones in an instant if I wanted. Humans are so much more fragile than most realize.
Instead, I release him and shove him back a couple steps. “I'm fine,” I say tightly as he shakes out his wrist, not bothering to hide his wince this time. “Just realized I forgot my keys in my locker.”
He whistles under his breath, dropping to the bench to put on his Jordans just as Casey pipes up. “Fuck, man, that sucks. You want a ride?”
I turn my head, leveling him with a sneer. “And leave my car here?”
Once it hits five P.M., the doors to the school automatically lock from the outside. Not that my keys are actually in my locker, but I’m not about to tell them that Aston of all fucking people snuck in here at some point, no doubt snooped through all our shit and swiped the keys to my Audi.
And who knows what the fuck else.
Casey's brow furrows as he studies me. “The gates get locked once we leave,” he reminds me. He tugs his black Archers hoodie over his head, leaving the hood up. “Your car will be safe for the night.”
I give him a deadpan look. He knows me better than that. “I’m not fucking leaving my car here.”
And that would stand regardless of the fact that it’s Aston who’s currently holding my R8 hostage.
These rich pricks might take their belongings for granted, but I don’t. I take care of what’s mine.
“Just get out of here,” I say gruffly, turning my back on them.
I haven’t even gotten a chance to change yet.
I’m still in nothing but a towel, having only noticed my locker was in complete disarray after I fucking showered.
So blinded by my need to wash the sweat and grime off the second Coach dismissed me, I barely spared it a glance earlier when I stripped down.
I angrily swipe up my phone, making a mental note to get a lock for my locker. “I’ll call security and have them let me in the school.”
“Are you sure?” Casey hedges, grabbing his bag, and throwing it over his shoulder.
“Yeah, it’s fine. I still have to get dressed. Don’t let me hold you up,” I mumble dismissively.
I bring up my contacts and pretend like I’m about to call the pager number we’ve all got programmed. It wouldn’t be the first time one of us needed to be let inside the school after hours.
Not that that’s even happening this time…
“Come on,” Fletch mumbles. “He’s a big boy.”
I fight an eye roll, biting my tongue. But, hey, at least one of us can read the room. The sooner they all get out of here, the sooner I can get this little confrontation over with. And preferably with no witnesses.
Not that I think Aston would be so stupid as to enter the locker room with half the team still lingering about anyway.
But then again, he’s always had the patience of a gnat.
I blow out a harsh breath and bring the phone to my ear. And I wait.
As expected, the guys are quick to gather their stuff and mumble their goodbyes. I wave them off, drumming my fingers impatiently against the side of my locker.
Slowly, then all at once, the receding footsteps and chatter disappear completely with the soft gasp then click of the locker room door closing behind them.
Finally alone, I lower the phone along with what little remained of my facade.
I should’ve fucking known Aston was up to something. I wonder when he managed to sneak in here. It had to be before practice, seeing as I would’ve definitely noticed if he disappeared then reappeared.
Now that I think about it…
He didn’t show up to practice until we’d already been two laps into our mile run around the field. He must’ve made a detour here—watched and waited for us all to disperse from the locker rooms so he could make his move.
At least he’s not a total moron.
The idiot’s got enough of a target on his back already. If the team caught him, he’d be fucked. Hell, if they so much as catch wind he was in here, they’d be insufferable.
Sure, they’re cool for the most part about me being gay. For one, they need me. I’m their star quarterback. The town is small and a little backwards, but when it comes to football, Crowley doesn’t mess around.
And two…
I scare them.
Just ask Bobby Thompson, our previous starting quarterback who graduated last year.
With a broken arm.
Let’s just say, after that, if any slurs are getting tossed around, it’s nowhere near me.
It probably also helps that I don’t act gay. You know, except for the rare occasion when I’ve got a dick stuffed down my throat, or my tongue wrapped around another dude’s tongue.
But at least I make it easy for them to pretend I’m not a raging homo—for the most part—unlike Aston who can’t code-switch for the life of him.
Which, ironically enough, is probably the only thing I can respect about him. Even if it gets him killed one day, because he has no sense of self-preservation what-so-fucking-ever.
Of course, that would mean I didn’t end him first.
Regardless, it doesn’t mean some of these fuckers don’t turn into dodgy-eyed morons any time we hit the showers. Doesn’t mean I never noticed the disgusted side-eyes anytime I’d let Seth kiss me in the halls or grab his hand and walk out with him after games.
Just because they do the bare minimum to tolerate me, doesn’t mean they’ll offer Aston the same grace. Or any at all. His presence in here alone would be grounds for retaliation.
Hell, I’ve already caught wind of the mocking whispers from some of the more vocal, idiotic members of the team when they didn’t realize I was lurking in hearing distance.
I pull up my texts, not surprised to see one from Quentin waiting for me.
Steak alright for dinner?
A glance at the corner of my screen shows it’s twenty to six.
I quickly type out a response.
When is it not?
He replies with two thumbs ups.
Biting the corner of my lip, my thumb hovers over the keyboard. I should tell him what I told the guys. Let him pick me up. We only live a couple of miles from school.
Fuck it. I could just walk. The nights are getting chilly, but it’s nowhere near unbearable.
And yet…
Running late today, fyi. Coach needs me to watch tape.
Quentin replies back immediately.
ETA?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, thumb and finger digging into the corners of my eyes.
What the fuck am I doing?
It’s at that moment I hear a sound. So soft, that if I didn’t know any better, I’d chalk it up to the pipes or my imagination.
But I do know better.
And my imagination is nothing if not a desolate wasteland.
Mouth ticking up bitterly, I quickly thumb out a reply to Quentin and turn the screen dark.
A half hour is being fucking gracious, and I know it, but I don’t think too deep as to why I allow myself this much time to deal with him.
I tell myself it’s for Quentin’s sake. I want to ensure I have plenty of time, so I’m not leaving him hanging with two cooked meals.
A piercing whining sound fills the air, and I clamp down on my back teeth, nostrils flaring.
Slowly, I turn around, just as Aston rounds the corner, dragging his knife lazily over the lockers. In his other hand, he twirls a key ring around his finger, the fob jangling against my silver house key.
He’s got his head angled down, floppy caramel hair curled over his brow, and he peeks up at me through his lashes. “Looking for these?”
I hold out my hand. “Give it.”
Shaking his head, slowly at first, then faster, he murmurs, “Uh, uh, uh. I don’t think so.”
“Aston,” I grit out warningly.
His lips rise, and his teeth flash, pinning the full candy-stained flesh. “Love it when you say my name, baby.”
“Give me the fucking keys,” I growl, taking a lunging step toward him.
But he’s quick to jump back, thrusting the point of his knife at me to ward me off. I halt, rearing back on my heels. Mouth pulled into a tight, unrelenting line.
He tilts his head, a smirk creeping up his face.
My narrowed gaze flicks to the sharp point glinting under the fluorescents, and it hits me that my keys weren’t the only thing he took from my bag. It’s the same knife he left at the party the other night.
“Thanks for keeping this safe, by the way,” he says, as if reading my mind. He twirls the butterfly knife around with practiced ease, sparing it a considering glance. “Getting my hands on one of these wasn’t easy.”
“Well, now you have it back,” I say tightly, my tone flat. “Now, give me what’s mine.”
His gaze hungrily eats up the blade spinning faster and faster in his hand, and then it snaps to mine at the same time he abruptly halts the knife’s momentum, his eyes wide and bright with vicious excitement. “But I’m just getting started, little mouse.”
A throbbing takes up residence in my temple. “Don’t fucking call me that.”
He wets his full, sinful lips, pouting. “But it suits you so well.”
I stare at him, my jaw ticking in time with the pulsing next to my eye.
He stares back, sage eyes twinkling.
My gaze narrows as I study him more closely. Waiting…
Waiting…
Nothing.
That or he’s a better actor than I originally thought.
He takes an abrupt step forward, then another, slinking toward me, knife swirling lazily through the air like he’s readying himself for a duel.
And I let him. I let him think he has control here, taking a step back with each forward one of his. Standing at my full height, arms crossed, shoulders bunched tightly, I keep the bench between us at all times as we circle the small boxed-in space.
His lip twitches like he’s holding back a laugh. “You know, you kind of broke my heart this morning.”
“That so?”
“Uh huh.” He lifts his shoulder, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, rounding his eyes all puppy-like. “I thought we shared something really special the other night.”
I smile, and it’s anything but warm. “Funny. I hardly remember it.”
His steps falter the slightest bit, eyes flashing darkly, his grip on the knife handle turning white.
There you are.
He might’ve been able to delude himself that we left things on a better note than we actually did, but I know the truth. And I’m more than happy to remind him.
I tip my head to the side. “What’s another hole, right?” I mock gasp. “Oh wait.” I press my knuckles to my lips and shake my head. “Does it even count when it’s just the tip?”
His smile flattens completely, face smoothing into something as hard as glass. “Probably not something to brag about.”
“What can I say? I remembered I had standards. We’ll blame the tequila for my momentary slip.” I inhale. “Wasn’t about to waste a load though. A sock, you, what’s the difference?”
His jaw ticks, his face reddening.
I push my bottom lip out, drawing my brows together. “Something wrong…little mouse?”
His mouth stretches open in a vicious snarl, teeth bared, and he lunges for me, swiping the knife through the air.
I spring up onto the bench with two feet and then slam down in front of him just as the knife whistles through the air. Thrusting my hand out, I seal my fingers around his throat and throw him up against the lockers.
A sharp burning sensation rips down my forearm, and I hiss through my teeth, bowing forward, putting us flared nose to flared nose. The clang of metal from the impact of his body echoes across the room.
He flinches back into the lockers, rattling them further.
His pale green eyes bug out inches away from me. We’re so close, I can make out each individual blood vessel threaded through his corneas swelling, threatening to burst.
He claws at my arms, and it doesn’t escape me that in our struggle, my keys and his knife went flying across the floor.
But not before slicing me in the process.
I glance down at the wound bubbling up red along my arm and tilt my head. “Now that…” I look up, meeting his panicky gaze. “That wasn’t very nice.”
His slim body jolts against mine, his gaze growing distant. Beneath my towel, my dick fills, and I moan, lean forward, and turn my nose into his cheek. Inhaling.
So sickly sweet…
Like a fucking cavity, rotting me from the inside out.
I pull back and with a curious sort of fascination, watch him struggle to breathe.
Sweet, and wicked, and so, so utterly defenseless.
With a sigh, I release some of the pressure on his neck and step back just enough for him to curl forward, gasping and coughing.
I look down at my arm, twisting it this way and that. The cut is about six inches long, and surprisingly smooth. Razor-thin. Not too deep either, despite the blood dribbling out, running in rivulets between my knuckles.
Feeling eyes on me, I look up, colliding with Aston’s reddened gaze boring into me. He gulps, gasping, his lips shivering, but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t try to apologize for cutting me or beg me for mercy. Doesn’t start panicking or run off screaming.
No, he fucking drops to his knees.