Chapter Six
Hunter
It’s the first game of the regular season, and we’re playing in Dallas.
I love beating any team, but I love beating Dallas even more.
The Pulse have a long-standing rivalry with Dallas that goes back to the seventies and a brutal game that went into double overtime, when the Dallas defense took out the Pulse quarterback in a dirty hit.
The ball had already left his hand when he was taken down from the side, unable to see it coming.
The Pulse wide receiver made what should have been an impossible catch in the end zone, and the Pulse quarterback left the game with a broken leg and missed the rest of the season.
There’s been bad blood between us ever since. That one game made two teams, two fanbases, and future players hate each other on principle, and I’ve always thrived in that environment—when I have something to prove, when the win is so much fucking sweeter.
It’s exactly what I need to take my mind off seeing Lucas a couple of weeks back.
I don’t know why I can’t get it out of my head.
It was like I’d stepped into another universe, if only for a few hours.
Like for a while, I was able to forget Ellis died and the weight that’s been in my chest ever since.
I could forget who I was too. Because on that roof, I didn’t have to be perfect.
I didn’t have to be the best football player or boyfriend.
Logically, I know I haven’t owed anyone anything, that the fallacy comes from deep within me, but that doesn’t change how it makes me feel.
And now that I’m back in the real world, my brain does what it does best and holds those moments of freedom against me.
“You runnin’ for a hundred tonight?” Oakley, our starting cornerback, asks as we make our way into the locker room at Dallas’s stadium.
I’m closest with Oak on the team. He’s a good guy.
He’s been with his girlfriend since he was a teenager, even though they haven’t gotten married.
They had a daughter when he was sixteen, but he still managed to play college football and make it professionally.
I don’t spend as much time with him as I used to. It’s the same with my best friend, Desmond, who plays for Kansas City. When I go out now, it’s with people I don’t have an emotional connection with, like I don’t want to strengthen any bonds because that’s how you get hurt.
“Are you trying to jinx me?” I playfully shove him, the two of us wrestling around, knocking into other players and the wall before pulling apart.
I haven’t joked around with Oakley like this in a while.
We’re both wearing big smiles, my breathing having picked up a bit, reminding me how much I miss this, how much I need it, even though it doesn’t feel the same as it used to.
Even though sometimes it hurts me just as much as I love it.
“You got this.” He ruffles my hair, then gives me a look, his penetrating stare trying to find something, which makes my back stiffen.
I know what this is, what he’s looking for—he’s trying to see which Hunter is at the game tonight: the one I used to be, or the one who can’t get his shit together. “Fuck off, Oak.”
He laughs, not realizing I’m serious, not realizing I see what he’s doing, which honestly, I would be doing too if I were him. How the fuck could anyone not be? We depend on each other, we need each other, because it’s hard to fucking win when one of your teammates is stuck in the past.
I school my features, then head to my cubby to start getting ready.
I do my best to block out Oakley not trusting me and my night with Lucas, but from the first kickoff, I know everything is fucked.
On our first play, the second the quarterback hands the ball off to me, there’s no question I’m screwed.
I lose two yards on our first dive play, and it doesn’t get better from there.
On our third down, with twenty yards to go, I make a sweep to the right, exploding the second the ball is snapped.
I’m fucking fast, quick, and able to maneuver around the defense to get into position.
But this time, I can’t get open, can’t shake the motherfucking safety, so our QB can’t get me the ball, making the pass to our wide receiver, who, thank fuck manages to get a touchdown.
I do not, in fact, get over a hundred yards like Oakley teased about, ending the night with only twenty-two on nine carries, but we win the game by a field goal.
I don’t talk to the media afterward, too fucking pissed to speak to anyone. Most everyone on the team steers clear of me, outside of back slaps and good games, which I don’t deserve to hear.
I sit by myself on the bus to the private hangar where we’ll grab our chartered flight to LA.
I’m in my seat on the plane when a text comes through.
I expect it to be Coach Blake, Mom, or Desmond checking on me, so I nearly drop my phone when I see it’s Lucas.
We’ve always had each other’s numbers, as a just-in-case thing, but never once messaged.
Lucas: I got a new pen that can write underwater.
Um…what the fuck is he talking about?
Me: Okay…
Lucas: Don’t worry. It can write other words too.
Well, that’s weird, but I do smile slightly. I’ve never had Lucas tell me a stupid joke before. It makes me wonder…
Me: Are you high?
Lucas: I wish.
They make the announcement that we’re preparing for takeoff and to put our phones on Airplane Mode. I do without responding to Lucas. What the fuck would I say anyway? I have no idea why he texted me that, no idea why he texted me at all.
I try to block it out, try to find somewhere else to hide another thought, but my brain is getting too crowded. It won’t be long before things start spilling free.
I don’t turn Airplane Mode off even when we land in LA or as I’m driving home. It’s fucking late anyway, and I’m sure Lucas didn’t say anything else and is fast asleep by now.
My phone taunts me from my nightstand, though, keeping me from sleep. I can’t stop myself from grabbing it and pressing on the screen until the messages start coming through.
Mom—the person I feel the worst about ignoring. She’s great, always has been, and we’ll always be close, but I don’t want to talk about the game tonight, not even with her.
Coach Blake.
Desmond.
Just like I thought, but there’s one more.
Lucas.
I took a beautiful photo of a sunset tonight.
He…took a photo of a sunset…? Why is he telling me this?
Anyone else would have mentioned the game.
I know that’s why everyone else messaged and what they’d say.
Coach Blake would make me feel guilty about fucking up.
Des’s what the fuck’s up, man? would feel less guilt-inducing, but not much better.
And Mom’s sadness and worry would send my thoughts into a tailspin.
If Ellis were here, that’s what he’d want to talk about too. He would already have a plan to put into action, a new training routine or something else to help me get where I want to be.
But that’s not what Lucas messaged about.
I’m swept up in a whirlwind of guilt as soon as I have the thought.
Why am I comparing what Ellis would have done to what Lucas is doing?
The two have nothing to do with each other.
Ellis knew me, knew what I needed because he understood how much I love football, and he felt the same.
What would he think if he knew football is the last thing I want to talk about right now?
That the thought makes me feel like crawling out of my skin because every time I fuck up on the football field, it feels like I’m somehow betraying him.
I’ll take anything that can distract me from that, which I tell myself is why I text Lucas.
Me: Can I see it?
I’m sure he’s asleep—he sent this message hours ago—but three dots pop up seconds later, indicating he’s typing.
Lucas: No.
Me: No?
Me: Why did you tell me about it if I can’t see it?
Lucas: Giving you shit is fun.
I roll my eyes. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s enjoying himself right now.
Me: You’re an asshole.
Lucas: I know… I used to care much more than I do now. What’s the point in worrying about something you can’t change?
My brows pinch together. I don’t know if he’s being serious. Lucas is impossible to pin down. I’m not sure if anyone ever has. If so, not anyone I know.
Me: I was giving you shit.
I hope he realizes that’s a play on his words.
Lucas: But it’s true.
Me: We can all be assholes. It’s human nature.
I don’t know why I’m defending him to…well, himself, because the truth is Lucas can be a bigger dick than most people, but I’m not immune to asshole behavior myself. On the outside, it looks like Lucas had it easy, but I know he didn’t. Coach Blake was never good to him.
I wasn’t always good to him. Ellis wasn’t either.
Lucas: Aww, look at you being sweet. Did you have a change of heart after our night on the roof?
Me: I changed my mind. You’re the only asshole.
Lucas: In the whole world? I’m honored you think so highly of me.
I smile, and it’s a strange thing…smiling while texting with Lucas. It’s strange to be texting with him at all.
Me: Why are you awake? It’s late.
I have an excuse. I just got back from a football game. He could be tucked into bed right now.
Lucas: I’m drunk, and I suck at sleep.
Me: Same.
It takes me a moment to realize I admitted that to him, that I told him I struggle to sleep, because it feels like letting him in on the chaos inside my head.
Lucas: You really shouldn’t drink so much.
I chuckle, the sound echoing in my empty bedroom, which is fucking ridiculous.
Me: I meant the sleeping thing.
Lucas: Oh. My bad. I’m glad to hear you’re not secretly getting drunk.
I roll my eyes. He knows exactly what I meant.
Me: Are you?
Lucas: It’s not a secret.
I frown, his words making me shift uncomfortably.
Lucas: I don’t have an alcohol problem. Stop worrying.
My frown deepens for a different reason now, one that makes my brain short-circuit. How in the hell did Lucas know I was worrying and not taking this all as a big joke?
Me: I wasn’t.
Lucas: Okay.
Me: I’m serious.
Lucas: Should we stay up all night again?
I roll onto my side, holding the phone in front of me. I have no business staying up all night. I should be trying to sleep. Coach is always on our asses about getting the proper amount of rest—Ellis and Coach Blake would be too.
Me: Aren’t you going to tell me I should get some rest?
Lucas: Do you want me to tell you that? Oooh, is that your thing? Do you secretly like being told what to do? I never would have seen you as subby.
Jesus Christ, what is wrong with this man?
Me: What? No.
Lucas: I’m joking. If you want to get some sleep, you should. I guess I just figure you’re an adult who can make his own decisions.
His words shouldn’t make me feel some kinda way, but they do. I am an adult. I’ve been taking care of myself most of my life. Not that I didn’t always have my mom, but we lived the kind of life where I had to learn to be responsible for myself at a young age.
Me: I really should try and get some shut-eye.
Otherwise, I’ll feel like shit tomorrow, and if Coach doesn’t notice and pull me aside during the team meeting, Oakley will. Plus, why would I stay up texting with Lucas? It’s weird and not something we should continue.
Lucas: Fine. I guess I’ll try too. Sweet dreams, Hunter King.
I look at the message for a moment as though some hidden meaning will reveal itself, which makes no fucking sense.
Me: Sweet dreams, Lucas.
I leave off his last name, as if that changes who he is.
Me: Thank you for not bringing up the game.
Because somehow, I know he did that on purpose.
The only response I get is the photo of the sunset. It looks like it was taken from Runyon Canyon, with a panoramic view of the city. The sun looks huge as it dips behind the horizon, the sky painted orange and yellow.
He’s right. It really is beautiful.
I heart the photo, then save it to my camera roll, set my phone on the nightstand, and try to sleep.