Chapter 31
“Maaan, it’s good to be back here!”
I don’t have enough strength left in me to respond to Evander’s enthusiastic statement.
Instead, I slump onto the bench in front of my locker, completely drained.
My arms are shaking just as badly as my knees, and it takes a second try to uncap my water bottle.
I greedily gulp the water down while the locker room slowly fills, player after player trotting in with red cheeks and hanging shoulders.
There are a lot of new faces among them—some will stick around, and some will disappear before the start of the season.
I know that, as their captain, I should make an effort to get to know the rookies and integrate them into the team, but I can’t be bothered today.
“Think Coach is legit trying to kill us this season?” Felix groans as he sinks onto the bench beside me. It’s Seb’s place, but it doesn’t matter—he’s still out there running extra drills for once again being late for practice.
“He’s trying to kill Seb for sure,” Evander mutters, his excitement suddenly gone.
“Someone should talk to him about this,” Felix points out, his knee bumping against mine.
“Seb or Coach?” I ask since I already know who someone is.
“Seb,” Evander suggests, the exact moment Felix says, “Coach.” I raise my brows at them, causing Felix to sigh.
“Both, probably. I don’t think Coach realizes Seb has problems. And I’m worried about him. Like…did you hear from him at all while you were gone? He barely showed his face around here, man.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to press down on my guilty conscience. No, I didn’t hear from Seb at all over the summer, and yes, maybe that should’ve worried me, but with everything going on—the farm work, my father, Mia, Mike, and Linden—I didn’t pay it enough attention.
Putting my elbows on my thighs, I bury my sweaty face in my palms. “I’ll try to talk to them both,” I promise. “But not today.”
“Something wrong between Seb and you?” Evander asks, sinking down on my right.
I chuckle at his question, so carefully worded; it reminds me of a child asking their parents why they fought.
“Not really; it’s just…I’m mad at him,” I admit, my voice kept to a murmur.
I probably don’t need to bother, though.
Everywhere around us, lockers slam shut.
Somewhere on the other side of the room, our fullback is playing rap music on his cell phone.
The guys around him start vibing, the gloomy mood slowly fading away.
“He got my car fixed and didn’t tell me,” I explain before they can ask.
To be fair, I’m not sure it was Seb, but I can’t think of anyone else.
I left my keys with him since I knew I wouldn’t need them on the farm, and he could use them to look after the kittens when Olli wasn’t around.
When we came back, I found my keychain on the living room table, and my car stood exactly where I’d left it, so I didn’t bother trying to use it.
It was only yesterday when I had to make room in our driveway for Vince’s Mazda that my little ball of scrap metal started smoothly, purring like a cat.
No weird noises, no more coughing up dust.
“Aw shit, Seb,” Felix groans while Evander shrugs.
“He probably meant well, and it’s not like he doesn’t have the money. He saw it needed fixing and thought you’d appreciate it.”
“I’d have appreciated it if he’d asked me first,” I huff.
It’s not the first time something like this has happened.
And I know he can afford it, but I don’t.
I almost cried with relief when the scholarship money dropped into my bank account last week.
My first action was to send Dad the sum for his generator, survival kit, or what-the-fuck-ever, just to have some peace until he hits me with his next idea.
But I still need to budget for a new dress shirt for game days—the suit is still fine, but Marisol accidentally shrank one of my good shirts in the wash last season, and I anticipate my cell giving up on me any day.
On top of that, I can now also worry about paying Seb back.
“Would you have let him fix it for you had he talked to you first?” Evander asks. We’ve managed to get back onto our feet by now, slowly peeling our jerseys off the pads and getting out of our cleats.
“No,” I growl, impatiently tearing at the knotted string that is holding my pads together.
“See? That’s why he didn’t. Because you’re too fucking stubborn to let anyone help you.”
“I don’t need help,” I huff, just when he shoos my hands away to work on the knot.
“Everyone needs help from time to time, Micah, even you. And if it bothers you that much, you can pay him back after you get your signing bonus. Now hold still for fuck’s sake, and let me do this!”
I don’t protest at that—not because I agree, but because I don’t want to think about the draft right now.
A long shower later, most of my anger has vanished down the drain. I’m still mildly pissed, but I know Seb had good intentions, so I take a page out of my friends’ playbook and try to talk to him.
However, when I get back out into the empty locker room, his stuff is still there with no Seb in sight. I return to the field, but it is empty, too. Assuming that Coach might give him a final lecture, I leave the facility to walk to my car, my cracked cell phone in hand.
I have five messages from Dad that all link to long talks about a mud flood and poisonous fog. I swipe the notifications away with shaking fingers. I know it’s a ton of bullshit, but even after all this time, my heart still races when I see it.
I open my chat with Seb and type out a short ‘you okay?’, then, quickly and before I change my mind, I add, We need to talk about the car. But thank you. Really.
There’s a black cloud hanging over the Nook when I make it back home.
Not a real one, of course; the weather is still all blue skies and glaring sunshine, even when the scorching temperatures have dropped to a more enjoyable level.
It’s more like a proverbial thundercloud that spreads throughout the whole house.
While Sasha and Linden have made themselves scarce around the house over the past few days with polite excuses, Olli has been openly avoiding me.
He leaves a room as soon as I enter it, sometimes even breaking off mid-conversation with Vince.
The only explanation I can come up with for the piss-poor mood in this household is the kittens slowly leaving one after the other for their forever homes.
Only two of them are left, the smallest of the litter, which Olli keeps insisting are still too weak to get adopted.
I don’t argue with that, even when my eyes start itching again the moment I step back into the house.
I find the culprit curled up atop a basket of clean, folded laundry that someone left on our dining table.
My B-Tech sweater is at the very top of the pile, now with long tabby kitten hairs clinging to the black-and-orange fabric.
I gently scoop the little creature up to get my clothes out from under her, my heart squeezing when she meows softly. I immediately think of Owen.
I wonder if he’s still with the Woodrows. I planned to ask Linden about it several times, then shied away from the topic just as often, not daring to tear open the wounds of that day.
“Any plans for dinner?”
As if magically conjured by my thoughts, Linden sticks his head around the corner. His hair is wet from the shower, a few drops running over his forehead and down his nose. I smile at the image, then frown when I detect dark circles under his eyes.
Isn’t he sleeping well?
Is it from worries?
Because of his parents? His classes?
Is it stress?
I hate that, after spending so much time together, I don’t have answers to these questions.
“Hey,” I say, then break off when the kitten jumps from my arm, sending her hair flying, which triggers a whole slew of sneezes.
“Fuck, Micah, I told Olli not to let them run around down here. Bless you, bless you, bless—do you need a tissue? Olli?! Come get Tibia!”
I wave Linden off, looking after the kitten that darts up the stairs, scared by my sneezing and sniffling. It doesn’t take long until steps sound from above, and Olli appears on the landing, the kitten pressed to his chest.
“Sorry about that. She must have snuck out,” he says, more to Linden than to me. As per usual lately, he’s avoiding my gaze. I bite my tongue when annoyance rushes through me—I have no idea what the fuck I did to him that I’d deserve this treatment.
“We need to look into adoption again with them, Olli. I know you can’t keep them in your room all the time, but I’m worried Micah will develop allergic asthma,” Linden scolds him.
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine,” I interject quickly when Olli’s face immediately darkens.
“Well, that sounds like a him problem. I mean, why would they have to leave? He can also go look for another room.”
For a moment, none of us speaks. Actually, I think I might have entirely misheard until I catch a flash of regret flitting over Olli’s features. It’s gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by a stubborn glint as he juts out his chin. Next to me, Linden stares at Olli with his mouth agape.
“Excuse me? I pay fucking rent here,” I remind him through gritted teeth.
Olli shrugs, his hand stroking over Tibia’s back. “So do I. I could pay for yours, too, and make it into Tibia’s spare bedroom. I bet she’d have fun up there in your little shoebox.”
Oh, I bet he could. He could probably afford the rent for this whole house and live in it completely alone.
I’ve never met Olli’s family, and he rarely mentions them, but they must be loaded.
He has a casualness about spending that I’ve only ever seen with kids who don’t have to pay for their own tuition and housing.