37. Juliet
37
JULIET
T he following Friday brings with it a fresh wave of icy bullshit. Winter is in full force and autumn is all but dead, barely clinging to survival by the thinnest of threads. Huh. Now, why does that remind me of myself?
“Here.” I look up from where I’m perched on the edge of a frigid bleacher seat to see Mads hovering over me with two Styrofoam cups, holding one of them out to me.
I reach for it and sigh in relief as my cold fingers immediately warm at the heat emanating from the liquid inside. Mads grins at my reaction and takes a seat next to me.
“It’s hot chocolate,” she says. “Thought you might like some—even if it’s just to hold.”
“You’re right.” My shoulders hunch inward and I burrow deeper into the hoodie I’m wearing, wishing I’d put on more layers before leaving Nolan’s this morning. I sip on the hot chocolate and relish in the warmth that spreads from my throat to the rest of my body.
“Season’s almost over, so we should be free from sitting out here in the cold soon,” Mads murmurs, drinking from her own cup.
Winds whip through the crowds around us, making some of the braver souls who ventured here in little more than body paint and skin tight leggings and skirts squeal in dismay. I roll my eyes. Roquel is one of those souls, and though I can’t hear her, I turn back and glance up the aisle to where she’s hanging out with a few of our classmates at the top, her cheeks flushed and Hudson Gray’s number displayed prominently on her cheek in bedazzled blue and black. They’re not dating as far as I know, but she still wants him.
“I don’t know what she’s thinking,” Mads murmurs, having caught what my attention is on. At first, I assume she’s talking about Hudson’s number, but then she follows up her first statement with, “it’s colder up there and windier.”
Turning back around, I shiver as another cold wave moves over me. To say that I can’t wait for football season to be over would be an understatement. Though, then I have to consider what that means for the guys. What do they do when they’re not training or playing football? Will it be more work for Darrio Vargas? Will things change?
The last half a year has been nothing but an exposé in adaptation, but I can’t help but feel a little anxious about it happening all over again.
“Oh, here they come.” Mads quickly hands me her cup and lifts her camera, pointing it towards the painted banner as the announcer’s voice crackles over the loudspeakers. She snaps a few quick pictures just as the banner rips apart and the team comes spilling onto the field.
First is Silverwood Public and then Silverwood Prep… again . Normally, the football teams wouldn’t play each other multiple times in one season, but today’s game is a special one meant to raise money for charity. I keep my gaze pinned on the field and on the numbers I recognize. First comes Nolan, then Gio, and then Lex. I don’t veer away or even glance across the field to the opposing team’s side lest I see people I really don’t fucking want to.
Mads sighs and then plucks her cup from my hand. “Thanks,” she says, taking a long gulp and shuddering before leaning into my side.
My lips twitch in a smile. “You’re welcome.”
Nolan’s head comes up and despite the fact that I’m sure it’s cold, his helmet is off as he scans the bleachers. When he gets to me, he pauses and lifts a hand. With a scowl, I flip him off. Mads gasps, and I ignore her as I narrow my eyes on Nolan’s face as he bursts into laughter.
“Well, you seem to be getting along better…?”
I lower my hand and roll my eyes. “Fat chance of that.” I’m stuck in his house, but I still haven’t forgotten what he pulled at that party the other weekend. I start to chug my hot chocolate before I remember that I should probably save some for the rest of the game. With a grimace, I lower my cup back to my lap.
“You have to like him at least a little,” Mads presses. “You are living together.”
Pursing my lips, I tighten my hold on my cup and don’t answer as the coaches on either side of the field call their teams into a quick huddle as the announcer goes through the sponsors for tonight. My stomach sinks to the bottom of my abdomen when Morpheus Calloway’s name echoes into the night. He’s another reason why I refuse to glance over to Silverwood Prep’s side.
I wonder if Ms. Beck told him about my reaction to our discussion of him. I don’t put it past the bitch.
“So…” Mads’ curious murmur has me looking back in her direction. She circles the rim of her cup with a glove covered finger. “I haven’t seen you at work lately. Did your hours get cut or something?”
The Styrofoam cup in my hand cracks and warm liquid gushes out as it crumples in my fist. “Fuck!” I jerk to standing and hold the cup away from my body as Mads jumps up too.
Thank fuck I drank more than half of it already, because had it been full, it would’ve drenched my jeans and hoodie. With a scoff of disgust, I blow out a breath and hurry over to a trashcan and dump the last of it inside before wiping my now sticky hands on my hoodie. When I return to the seats, Mads is waiting with wide eyes and a small tube of hand sanitizer. I don’t even care about the sickly-sweet smell of it as I dump a good portion onto my hands and slather away the sticky liquid before sitting back down—away from the puddle I’d created.
“Okay, so that’s not a good sign,” Mads points out, eyeing me.
I grit my teeth and stare out at the field, unseeing. “I was fired.”
Silence is all I get in response, and it’s so loud that I could laugh. Then Mads makes a noise in the back of her throat that forces me to actually look at her again. Wide blue eyes with their irises are blown huge and she gapes at me.
Yeah, girl, I want to tell her. I get it. I was shocked too.
Before she can say anything more, though, or ask questions about my recent unemployment, a familiar voice calls out my name. I turn my head back to the field to see a blue and black jersey break away from the team as the coach releases the members. A few of the players head off to the sidelines and the remainder find their places on the field.
Gio lifts a hand in the air as he jogs, his other clutching his helmet. He doesn’t stop until he’s close and even then, he doesn’t so much come to a stop as he reaches for one of the rungs that separates the stands from the field and hauls himself up until he’s half climbed over it.
The dark chocolate curls of his hair hang over his forehead, giving him a boyish expression as he grins at me. “What is it?” I ask, frowning as he drops his helmet onto the metal floor by our feet and leans in close.
I yelp as, instead of answering, he hooks two fingers into the neckline of my hoodie and drags me forward. “What the fuck!” I slap at his arm, but Gio is locked on and he doesn’t release me as he peers down my shirt.
A moment later, he lets go and gives me that crooked grin of his as I scowl at him, debating if now is a good time to shove my fist up his ass.
“You’re wearing my jersey,” he says. “Just wanted to make sure.”
I gape at him. “That’s why you assaulted me?”
Gio laughs. It’s no light chuckle, but a full belly, throw your head back and cackle kind of laugh. He looks so carefree and actually amused that it stuns me stupid for a second. My chest squeezes tight and I don’t know why.
To hide the strange feeling oozing throughout my limbs, I cross my arms over my chest and glare at the man still hanging off the bleacher wall. “Just make sure that you wear that every game from now on, Prep Girl,” Gio says, his laughter finally drifting off as he lowers his head and smiles down at me. “You’re my good luck charm now.”
“The season is almost over anyway,” I mutter. “It wouldn’t matter if I wore it or not.”
Gio shrugs. “These next games are the most important,” he says before nodding to something to our right. I follow his line of sight and spot the same man from before—the man that looks more like a professor than a sports scout.
At my side, Mads stiffens. I swivel back to look at her, but she’s tilted her head down and is fiddling with her camera again, her cup of hot cocoa sitting forgotten to the side.
“Vargas! Get your ass on the field!” Silverwood Public’s coach is yelling from the field, his own arms crossed and an annoyed expression on his face.
Gio huffs and waves over before swiping up his helmet. Just before he drops back to the ground, I shift and reach for the rungs. “Don’t—” He stops and looks back as I speak. I grit my teeth and rethink what I’d been about to say. Shaking my head, I sit back in my seat. “Nevermind. Just … break a leg or whatever.”
Gio arches an eyebrow, that stupid smirk still on his face, but he merely nods and hops onto the field before heading away. My hands find the cold metal of the seat under me and curl around the edges.
“Are you worried?” Mads asks.
“No.” It’s none of my business if Gio hurts himself on the field. He’s the one who knows his body best. I didn’t wear his dumb jersey because I wanted to cheer him on. It’s covered by a hoodie anyway. No one will see it.
As he lines up with the rest of the team, however, I can’t help but remember how he looked in that hospital bed all those weeks ago. Head wrapped and covered in bruises. All because of me. Because some assholes had jumped him and warned him away from me.
Why, though? Why did it have to be about me?
The wind bites through my hoodie and jeans. I keep my gaze locked on the field, my lips curving down as a familiar number from Silverwood Prep’s side appears in the group of players. Bran.
I really wish I hadn’t come.
With a curse, I stand up. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick,” I mutter as Mads jolts at my sudden movement, her head turning up as she frowns at me. “Be right back.”
I take off before Mads can offer to come with me. As much as I like her uncomplicated presence, I’d rather not have to deal with her concerned eyes on me as I fight off whatever anxiety attack is swelling in my chest.
My legs eat up the distance as I power through the crowds of late comers showing up and searching for their own seats as the game starts. Ducking my head, I swerve around groups of girls and a few dressed down teachers, chatting together. I don’t stop until I come out of the gated entryway and bypass the ticket booth. The girl inside—one of my classmates from homeroom—glares at me as I pass. I don’t pay her any attention.
Unlike Silverwood Prep’s parking lot, Silverwood Public isn’t well lit, but the darkness as I pass down the aisles towards where the Scorpion Kings had parked earlier in the day is calming. It makes me feel invisible when I’ve spent my whole life as anything but. I never realized how much I wanted to feel unseen until being seen became too much to handle.
It’s always been oppressive, the sensation of so many eyes on you, of expectations that you know you’ll never meet.
I slow my footsteps as I spy Gio’s Firebird and then I stop entirely several feet away when a shadowy figure steps out from the other side. My entire body goes on red alert as I see the cold eyes staring at me from beyond a black ski mask. I take a step back, turning my body in preparation for an attack. The man doesn’t move. His large frame just remains in place, his gaze settled on me for a split second before it moves upward, to a place over my head.
A hand touches my shoulder almost as soon as his attention diverts, and I know before I turn that they’re not here to help me. Still, I glance over anyway, finding another bulky body and cold eyes staring out from a second mask.
Fuck. Me .