Chapter 29
The football stadium reminded me of a living thing, pulsing with every roar of the crowd.
I’d only been to three games in the whole time I’d been at Westbrooke.
The first time was freshman year, when I thought happiness lay in experiencing every clichéd college moment.
The second time was the water bottle incident.
Third, when I was experiencing one of my bouts of homesick moments and knew I’d find David on the field.
Unconsciously, I’d looked to him for distraction through the years.
And his gift of distraction had evolved into one of comfort.
The Angels were ahead by three, their kicker winning them enough wiggle room to still have a decent shot at a victory. Tension was high considering we were up against the Mendell Hawks, the school that poached not one but two of Westbrooke’s best offensive players and one offensive coordinator.
“Think a fight will break out?” Haven had to cup her hand around her mouth as she whispered in my ear.
Typically, the stadium was divided with the fans on their respective team’s side.
And typically, home teams could expect way more fans than away teams. But Mendell had shown up and out, decked in their forest greens, mountain logo tees, and yellow foam fingers, claiming number one.
There was a particular group of rowdy Mendell guys a couple of rows down who would cheer until their faces were red anytime Mendell so much as touched the ball.
And their faces went blue anytime a referee called a play against their precious Hawks.
“If it does—” I eyed one superfan as he whipped off his shirt, twirling it in the air. “—we’ll exit stage left. No hesitation.”
Haven nodded and grabbed hold of my hand as if she were ready to bolt in a heartbeat. I squeezed her fingers, grateful she’d agreed to join me.
I’d said ‘yes’ to attending this game for David while hopped up on post-sex calm. David wanted to see me in his jersey. His number.
“Paint it on your cheeks,” he’d whispered to me this morning between kisses along my collarbone.
“What’s in it for me?” I’d asked.
His chuckle had sent my body aching despite having come twice. “Always negotiating.”
“It’d be a waste not to. How else will I be satisfied?”
“I can think of one guaranteed method.” He’d disappeared underneath the sheets and had me promising to paint his number anywhere else he wanted within a matter of seconds.
I untangled myself from the image of David in bed, replacing it with that of him on the field.
He played focused. David didn’t find himself in the arguments fueled with a competitive venom that’d plagued most of today’s game.
When the Angels and Hawks clashed post-play, David found himself outside the circle, either talking to one of the assistant coaches on the side of the field or Nathaniel, who (expectedly) also kept his frustration (if it existed) internal.
It was a relief to see David not taking the bait of fights.
It was also a joy to see him in those tight white pants, and his muscles hardened whenever he got his hands on the ball or tackled a man in blue.
The sun was setting, and within a couple of minutes, we’d be at some celebration party, counting down the moments until we got to sneak out for some alone time.
I was counting down the seconds. But prepping for such a night proved to be a jinx after a Mendell lineman somehow got his hands on Weston.
The crowd collectively gasped and winced at how hard the quarterback went down.
And the angry uproar that followed was born from the lineman yanking Weston back up before slamming him into the ground again.
My gaze immediately found David. He’d been the one to shove the lineman off of Weston. And he didn’t stop there. The fury on the field flooded into the crowd, dyeing our clean waters red.
“Yara.” Haven tugged me behind her when the guys from below started shoving a couple of people in protest of the thrown flag.
Someone broke a beer bottle, and the shattered glass made another person scream. And so began the avalanche of highly charged fans who wanted nothing more than their chosen football deity to stand firm at their altar.
Haven’s ironclad grip made it impossible to unlatch, no matter how many times a wayward person knocked into us.
My wrist screamed in protest of being twisted at all kinds of angles, but I didn’t consider letting go for a second.
I could barely think straight, wide-eyed and fearful in all the chaos.
One could get trampled to death in this kind of crowd.
My sides ached from hard elbows and aggressive shoves.
What happened above, happened below. The football field was in shambles.
Coaches and referees in the mix, trying their best to break up cluster after cluster of guys.
“When I run, you run,” Haven called over the crowd. She had only time to glance back at me for a second. “Okay?”
“Okay!” I said as loud as I could.
There was a brief opening in the crowd where Haven and I could slip through.
We didn’t waste a second, bolting to our escape.
Haven tripped over the bottom of her skirt.
I tugged her upright before she reached the ground.
We continued running, hand in hand, until we were past the concessions and near the gate that led to the parking lot.
Cop cars lined the lot, their lights blinking. We ducked into the darkness of a row of cars, sensing even more trouble on the horizon.
“Are you okay?” I asked through heavy breaths when I noticed a cut on her elbow. Dark blood trickled down her arm.
“Fine.” She peeked over the hood of a rusted truck, trying to suss out the vibe before we moved forward. “Next time you convince me to come to one of these things—”
“Not happening,” I told her with a humorless laugh. “Nothing is ever this serious.”
“To them, it’s life.” She sighed and shook her head. “Did you see what they did to Hart?”
“What? No.” I’d been too focused on David, too worried about how he’d lost his helmet at the beginning of the fight.
“His arm looked broken.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, as if trying to rid the image from her brain by sheer willpower.
My heart sank into my stomach. “Really?”
Haven gave me a solemn nod, mouth pulled down in a frown. She gestured me forward. “Hate this kind of energy. Bad omens all around.”
No matter how many times I tried, I couldn’t get David or Hart to answer their phones.
The school’s social media blasted updates and safety alerts for everyone on campus.
Warnings about probation and potential expulsion for vandalism and violence were the focus.
I got caught in an online rabbit hole of other students recounting tonight’s events with far more information than Haven and I’d been privy to in our section of the stands.
“Hart answered,” Haven finally updated from her seat on the couch. She’d been chewing on her nails, trying to get in contact with him for the past hour. “He’s in the hospital. Doing good. His shoulder just had to be popped back into socket.”
“Thank God.” I sighed, grateful at least one person on my list of worries was okay. After learning Indie and Covee had been somewhere in the crowd too, my anxiety heightened in fear for their safety. Neither of them was answering their phones either.
Weston, the last person I’d thought would contact me, sent a simple text:
Weston
Can you get to David’s dorm in the next half hour?
My heart jumped, and I immediately responded:
Of course. Is he okay? He’s not answering his phone.
Weston
Rough shape. I need to go check on Nat and Hart. But I can’t leave him alone like this.
I was already tugging on my jacket and asking Haven for a ride. It took us longer than usual to get to the other side of campus because of post-game traffic. Haven couldn’t find on-street parking, so she let me off at a red light close enough that I only had to backtrack a couple of yards.
Here! Will you let me in?
Weston came down in less than a couple of minutes, pushing the door open for me.
He smelled of grass and looked like a train wreck.
Someone had haphazardly taped the cut above his eye, his bottom lip was purple with early signs of swelling, and his knuckles were red and bloodied as though he’d rubbed them against a cheese grater.
“Has he told you about freshman year?” Weston mashed the elevator button multiple times until the doors opened.
“Freshman year?” I hurried in behind him, heart rate rising when I saw how his hand shook when he pressed the number for David's floor. “No, I don’t know… are you okay? What happened out there?”
“I want to say what usually happens,” he began, trying to smile. “But those guys… that was rougher than usual. David’s been good at avoiding fights like this up until now.”
I tugged at my sleeves, resisting the urge to pluck at the loose hair curling around my temples.
“He’s going to be fine,” Weston assured quickly as the elevator door dinged open. The floor was cold, empty, and eerily quiet. He led the way toward David’s front door. “He’s just… and that stuff in high school and then, freshman year—”
Weston stopped so quickly in the middle of the hall that I nearly bumped into him. “What?”
“If he hasn’t told you yet, I don’t think it’s my place to talk about it. But it was hard for a lot of us new guys in our freshman year. Toxicity runs deep in this sport.”
I scoffed, almost upset at how casual his tone was. How accepting he’d become of the fact of the matter. “That’s an understatement.”
“He needs… time,” Weston said. “Right now, he’s in what we call the loop.
And he knows how to get out of it on his own, but I don’t like leaving him to do that alone.
He deserves to have someone. I want to stay, but Hart’s with Nat and…
he’s in worse physical shape than all of us. I need to check on him.”