10. JAXON
10
JAXON
Sweat pours down my back. It’s too fucking cold outside today—well below freezing—so Coach has had us in the gym for the last three hours. Our first practice has consisted of warm-ups, lots of stretching, running, and various drills. It’s pretty standard at the beginning of a season that we’d do a lot of conditioning before actually being allowed to play ball. Some of the guys are huffing and puffing through it, too. Suckers.
After learning the hard way last year, I made sure to do plenty of preparation on a regular basis during the offseason. I allowed myself some time for my body to recuperate from my first collegiate season, but then I’d begun preparation for this year. If I want to be the best, I have to work like it.
My eyes flick to Logan. The asshole appears to have followed the same plan. And of course, Coach Kimball has all the pitchers training together right now. There are sixteen of us in total, starters and relievers combined—a strong number to have on the roster. We need enough manpower on the mound to ensure the team doesn’t suffer if one of us has a bad night… or if there’s an injury. But in this situation, there’s nowhere to get away from Logan. My stepbrother and I have had more face time in the last three hours than we’ve had the last year and a half since I left for Evermore.
Considering our parents—my father and his mother—have been married two years, one would think we’d have figured out how to deal with each other. Instead, when we’re in the same space, whether that’s at home, school, or on the field, it’s the same old story. We compete for every little fucking thing. Asshole wants what I have. And the shitty part for me is sometimes he gets it. It’d been for the best when I left for college and spent vacations from Evermore with my mom. She needed me home, anyway. But then the dickweed decided to apply here; so now I’ll make him pay for that decision.
Stuck in a training situation like this where we’re in close quarters? The issue is worse. Amplified. It’s got my temper flaring, especially since the fucker won’t stop giving me the evil eye. I study him from my peripheral vision, noting with grim satisfaction that he looks like he’s edging toward exhaustion, the same way I am.
And the best part is the poor guy doesn’t even know what’s coming for him. Hell, I didn’t have to do anything yesterday. Does he realize how much his girlfriend seems to like me? I can’t decide whether to use that knowledge as a hot iron to poke him with or let him find out on his own. Surprise! Sometimes the good guy doesn’t get the girl.
“All right!” Coach Kimball shouts. “Cool the fuck down. Take your time to stretch those muscles. Ice baths do wonders for recovery. Fucking use them. Don’t care that it’s cold outside and you feel your balls jump up inside your body and your dick shrivel.”
A rumble of tired laughter rolls through the entire team, but I’m not paying much attention because Coach has his gaze narrowed on me. And Logan.
Fuck.
His jaw twitches. While the rest of our team collects their gear in an awkward attempt to get the fuck out of Dodge, Logan and I remain unmoving. He jabs a finger at me, then Logan. “You two. Come with me.” Separating us from the rest of the team, he beckons us to follow. Everyone else scatters, not wanting to incur Coach’s wrath. We trail behind him all the way to his office before he pivots on his heel, facing us, and crosses his arms over his broad chest, peering from under his ball cap. “Did you dipshits get your animosity toward each other out yesterday? Or do we need to go over my expectations of you again?” His irritated gaze lingers on Logan before it shifts to me, just as aggravated. Well, fuck.
I grimace, glancing at Logan and shooting him a tight smile that has my bruised cheek aching. I mutter, “I’m fine if he is.”
“You know, I thought it might be interesting to have brothers on the team.” He gives a swift shake of his head. “I was right on that score. One hundred percent. All I can say is I hope you get your heads out of your asses. The competitive streak you both have is obviously ingrained in you, even if it’s not genetic.”
I pinch my lips together to keep myself from shouting that we are not brothers. Stepbrothers. What a fucking joke. This guy couldn’t be any less my sibling if he tried.
Logan wets his lips. “I’m really sorry for yesterday, Coach. I hope you’ll give me a chance to prove myself.”
Ass kisser.
With a curt nod, Coach Kimball grunts out, “You sure had fucking better. And if there’s any more bullshit from either of you, there will be consequences. I watched your interaction today—or lack thereof. This is a team. You’re going to have to figure shit the fuck out. Period. Now, get the fuck outta my office before I regret not kicking both of your asses to the curb.” He punctuates it with an angry snarl before he sits at his desk and fires up his computer, pointedly ignoring us.
I know better than to argue with Coach when he gets like this. I’ve seen it once or twice before when he’s been particularly displeased with one of my teammates. Turning on my heel, I stride quickly toward the locker room, needing to get the fuck out of here. Halfway down the hall, the equipment closet beckons to me. With a perfunctory glance around to make sure no one else is watching, I throw open the door, then grab Logan by the bicep and yank him inside with me.
“The fuck,” he shouts, leveling me with a fierce scowl as I shut us into the small room.
Anger boils inside me, and I don’t think, I simply act. Whirling on him, I hiss, “Shut up,” then slam him against the door. He gasps, and my jaw clenches. Even his breathing sets me off. I itch to wrap my hand around the wide column of his throat, so I do, smacking the back of his head against the wood for good measure. It feeds the wrath creeping beneath my skin. Logan’s pissed-off blue eyes are just visible in the dark. The offended way he stares at me makes me laugh somewhat maniacally. “You’re dead set on fucking up this season for me, aren’t you, little brother ?”
He spits back, “ Not your little brother. And I could say the same for you. I’ve had minimal interaction with Coach Kimball before yesterday.” His voice comes out rough as I squeeze his throat, but to his credit, he doesn’t back down. Irritation fills his eyes as he attempts to wrench free of my hold, but I’m quick to brace my forearm over his chest, effectively pinning him in place.
“Cry me a fuckin’ river, dickweed,” I growl as I study him.
He aims a look of pure wrath at me. “Now he’s convinced I’m some sort of bad”—he shoves at the ball of my shoulder—“fucking seed, out to cause trouble.”
I’m like a stone wall in front of him, though, unmoving as I narrow my gaze. “You are.”
His chest rises and falls several times, grabbing at my wrist and arm to try to pry me off him. He stares coldly at me, as if I’m making no sense. “Are what ?”
“A bad seed. You’re here to cause me trouble,” I growl, leaning into my stance now.
“What the fuck ever. Stay. Away. From me.” He shoves me in the chest. Hard. And it’s just enough to get me to loosen my grip on his neck. Interestingly, he doesn’t move away. Instead, he tilts his head to the side and through clenched teeth, grits out, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re thinking moving into the dorm, but do us both a favor, and back the fuck off.” His jaw twitches, anger shooting from his eyes. “And you can stay away from Rya, too, while you’re at it. ”
Nose to nose, I slowly shake my head, then shoot him a wicked grin, fully intending for it to piss him off. His lip curls. Good, success. “None of your fuckin’ business why I’m in the dorm. And no, I won’t stay away from Rya.” The venom filling my voice practically drips from my lips. “Not unless she asks me to.” I draw in a breath and realize we’re so close my chest brushes his. It makes him jerk in surprise, which is probably why I get a chance to grab his wrists and pin them against the door. He blinks, clearly thrown. I smirk. Dampening my lips, I lean in close once again because it’s making him uncomfortable as hell from the stuttered breath he’s just taken. One of my brows arches as I whisper roughly, “And right now, man, I hate to tell you, but your girl isn’t telling me to back off. In fact, she’s seeking me out. Wants every fucking thing I have to offer her. And I’m going to take her from you. It’ll be so fucking easy. The girl is ripe for the picking. Why is it that you haven’t been able to give her what she needs? You’re pathetic.”
The pure hatred in his gaze tells me everything I need to know. I’ve struck a dissonant chord with my words. Grasping him by the shirt, I shove him out of my way, whip the door open, and stalk out.
In the locker room, I keep my head down, choosing not to let anyone see that I’m pissed off. They already saw the beginning of Coach laying into us. They don’t need to see any fucking more than that. Don’t need to know that after the warning we received I yanked his ass into the closet with me to sort things through in my way. He’s lucky I didn’t put my fist in his face and give him a couple of bruises to match mine.
Not feeling like freezing my nuts off in the ice bath today, I opt for a hot shower, instead. I strip out of my clothes and grab a towel, sighing as I turn around to head to the showers, only to come face-to-face with Logan again. My expression hardens as I slowly lock eyes with him. “Get the fuck outta my way.”
“I just wanted to tell you one thing.” Logan folds his arms across his chest, idly scanning the room for unwanted listeners before focusing back on me.
A disgruntled laugh bursts from me. This prick … “And what’s that?”
He drags his teeth over his bottom lip as he eyes me. His voice is rough and gritty as it exits him, like the words are being scraped over gravel. “You think you’re taking her away from me. You’re not. But understand this: if you hurt her, I’ll make sure you fuckin’ regret it every day of your miserable life.”
I arch a brow. That fire in him. It’s interesting. But I don’t know what the fuck he means by what he’s said, and at this particular moment, I need to remove myself before I do something I’ll regret. Because my stepbrother? There’s never been anyone else who can drive me to lose control the way I do when we’re forced into a situation like this. He’s like a plague. Showed up and decimated my life. My dad definitely likes him more than he does me. Why wouldn’t he? According to my sperm donor, Logan is more talented. Has a brighter future. I turn my back on him, letting him think whatever he wants.
After spending an extra-long time in the shower, I shut off the water, standing there for almost a full minute, listening to nothing more than the madness inside my own head. The shower didn’t do anything to calm me down, so thank fuck there’s not a soul left in the locker room.
From across the room, the sound of a phone vibrating in my locker grabs my attention. Setting aside all the bullshit from earlier, I hurry over and grab my duffel, quickly unzipping it and digging out my phone. Thumbing open my text messages, I read a handful of messages waiting for me from my mom.
I wanted you to know I’m sorry that it’s come to this.
I hope everything is going okay.
This isn’t what you wanted, I know.
And I hope you can find your focus despite everything .
Anguish churning in my gut, I shut off my phone without responding and sit heavily on the bench. The phone clatters to the floor as it slips from my fingers. I drop my head into my hands and let my eyes drift shut.
Focus. Oh, I’m focused, all right. Just not on what my mother would prefer.