3. Caden
Chapter Three
CADEN
For two weeks, rage simmered in my stomach, eating me up. It was a bubbling constant of agitation, not at all helped by the fact that all we ever did was practice, work out, and sit around.
These two weeks before the semester were crucial. Normally, we would get our heads aligned and use the time well. We would have all day to slide back into a routine and bring up our strengths to the maximum.
But that wasn’t the case.
Beckett was waving his dick around and provoking me to challenge his authority whenever he got a chance. The fucker had the nerve to reprimand me for being late just this morning. I wanted to shove my stick up his ass until his eyes bulged, but I resisted my freshly discovered murderous tendencies.
“This isn’t the kind of behavior I expected from you, Jones,” he said at last.
“I’m just following my captain’s example,” I said shortly.
My defiance was brittle and I was ready to cut him into pieces if only he stepped on my toes a little harder.
This had been the case for our two weeks of pre-season practice.
Beckett was tickling me with his massive ego and I was checking where the edge of my patience was.
Of all the things he could have been, Beckett decided to be the expert on keeping me at the very line between anger and rage.
He never did anything to make me cross that border, but he sure as hell kept nudging.
Awkwardness filled the locker room. I changed into my gear swiftly while the others waited around. The silence was heavy and Beckett was fuming in his corner. I could feel the weight of his stare on the back of my head.
“Let’s just go out there and do our best, alright?” Beckett’s enthusiasm was gone for the day. I took it as a personal victory as I headed out after the team. Beckett failed at whatever attempt this was at motivating us to work harder. As was to be expected.
The guy had never had any leadership skills. He was a spoiled, privileged kid with a head three sizes too big for him.
Coach Murray joined us with instructions for the day. Only next week, we were supposed to fill up our time with scrimmages, simulating the game. We were behind schedule and overall performances sucked. We would spend our time today on offensive drills.
I took this coolly. Offensive drills meant Beckett and I had to pull in extra weight.
Avery was in the same group, but Coach Murray had no complaints about Avery’s performance.
In fact, Coach Murray pointedly praised Avery and three reserve guys for their work.
He also took the time to praise Sawyer’s work at the goalpost and the entire defense.
He made a passing remark that my work had seen better days, which stung more than it should have, considering I was calculating just how much of myself to give.
A balm was needed for the burn that Coach Murray said next.
“Jones, I expected more from you.” And that was the end.
Sweaty, flushed, and scolded enough to have my hackles stand, I marched into the locker room with everyone else and changed in silence.
Other guys made some small talk and some agreed to hit the Thirsty Thinker later.
As for Beckett, it felt like an air of anger and blame followed him everywhere.
His floppy hair was matted and sticky with sweat, his cheeks red, and his chest heaving up and down when he stripped to his underwear and carried the towel to the shower.
I followed with the rest of the team, my eyes on the back of Beckett’s neck.
Sweat slicked his skin and a scowl decorated his face when he turned and looked at me over his shoulder.
Beckett held my gaze for a moment as if challenging me to give him a reason for a fight. I denied him the pleasure. Instead, I let the corners of my lips stretch just enough for him to notice, then entered the first available shower.
I took my time showering. Hot water and a soapy massage eased the tension out of my shoulders. More and more guys finished and left while I remained inside. I stood still, letting the water beat my skin and trickle down my body. I caressed my aching muscles gently and attempted to clear my head.
The atmosphere in the team house for the past two weeks had resembled a warzone at the time of the ceasefire.
Everyone was on edge, waiting for the first shot to spark an all-out battle, but nobody fired it yet.
Sebastian and Tyler made snarky remarks about the awkward mood, but the rest of the team seemed just as tense as I felt.
Smaller skirmishes had taken place between guys.
Paxton had a run-in with Avery just the other day over the beer duty and the stocking of the mini-fridge.
Jordan and Asher seemed to growl at one another perpetually, pointedly leaving the room when the other one entered.
And Beckett was a whole different mess. He was typically short-fused, but shorter still since becoming the captain.
He snapped regularly, lectured others on responsibility, which he had never mastered, and attempted to meddle in people’s personal times where he had no reason to be involved.
His attempt to get the whole team to the gym at the same time had been a catastrophe and resulted in Beckett returning from the workout with a scowl.
I hadn’t been there to witness whatever had triggered him.
My time was spent differently. With nothing to study in these two weeks, I had resorted to the wonderful — and slightly tiresome — world of Grindr dates, getting my fill, so to speak.
I tied the towel around my waist after dabbing the excess water off my skin, then strolled out.
Silence in the shower helped relax my muscles a little more.
With the house full of guys and awkwardness and the locker room always abustle, it was hard to find peace and quiet.
And if I could have five minutes in the locker room to just close my eyes and breathe, I would be eternally indebted to whatever divinity got me that.
I walked out into the locker room, already savoring the fact that the loudest noise came from the ventilation pumps in the distance and the refrigeration plant that kept the ice from melting.
I walked around the corner and into the spacious locker room, glancing at my spot when movement in the corner made my heart skip.
“Fuck,” I snapped, startled. I wasn’t going to admit he’d scared me, though.
Beckett glared at me. He was half-dressed in his regular clothes, consisting of only a pair of black cotton shorts.
Uneven ends of the drawstring irked me when I dropped my gaze.
Then, defiant to my own goddamn instincts, I lifted my stare.
It hadn’t been the drawstring that I’d scanned.
And I had no business checking the bulge that cast a soft shadow on the lower side of his crotch.
His shorts were tight enough to emphasize Beckett’s narrow waist and firm ass.
Above the edge of his shorts, an inch of expensively branded underwear peeked.
I narrowed my eyes and refused to consider the firmness of his abs, the broadness of his shoulders, and the tautness of skin over his muscular chest. He was cocky enough without getting any ideas about his good looks.
Luckily for me, the momentary lapse of my judgment was swiftly rectified when Beckett reminded me just how much I detested everything he stood for. “What’s your deal?” he asked sourly, his lips forming an unbearably annoying pout.
“Were you fucking waiting for me?” I demanded.
I wished I wore underwear. Whatever the shithead was playing at, I wouldn’t let him affect me.
I needed to change into my clothes and Beckett wouldn’t be why I waited.
It would only make him think I was hiding something.
And I had nothing to be ashamed of, damn him.
“I asked you a question,” he squeezed out through his teeth. He made a step toward me and threatened my territory.
I wasn’t putting up with this today. I faced him fully and made a step toward him, too.
Our heights were similar, although Beckett had an inch — maybe a little more — on me.
It didn’t matter until we stood so close that I had to slightly lift my chin to look into his eyes.
“And I asked you one. Are you stalking me, Partridge?”
He stretched his lips into a disgusted sneer. “I’m so fucking sick of your bullshit, Jones. Are you trying to sabotage me?”
I snorted. “You wish. Your shitty performance is your own fault, Partridge,” I said, jutting my chin out to emphasize my words. I spat his famous name at him.
“Are you so fucking petty that you’d tank your own career just to take me down a peg?” he asked, somehow growing taller. I wanted to look down and see if he was rising on his toes, but that meant I would have to scan his entire naked torso.
“I’m not tanking anything,” I said venomously. If I’d imagined there was a career here for me, I’d been wrong. There was nothing here to tank. “And if your massive ego can’t fit into the confines of reality, that’s none of my fucking business.”
Beckett’s brown eyes flashed with anger. He flinched as though he was about to leap at me but then drew back a step. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”
“Spare me,” I said, pulling away, too. The tension was easing only so much that the likelihood of a brawl was lower.
It never disappeared, though. I turned away from Beckett and grabbed my duffel.
I pulled out my denim shorts and sleeveless black T-shirt, tossed them on the bench, and then placed my underwear on top, giving Beckett a hint.
I wasn’t uncomfortable with nudity in the locker room. This was my space. I didn’t mind taking my towel off around ten other guys. There had never been anything sexual about it. I’d never cared about checking out any of my teammates.