But to them, she’s nothing. She’s just the dyke who once went here.
“Come on!” I yell when Krisjen misses the goal again.
“I can’t…” She gasps. “Clay, I can’t. It’s too fast.”
“Too fast?” I bark, getting in her face, the numbness of the last few days gone. “Are you kidding?”
Krisjen backs away from me, scared.
“Gibbon’s Cross is gonna be a lot harder on you. Stop pussing out!” I yell.
Everyone stops, sweat coating my back and no one’s fucking laughing now.
“I’m not losing the biggest game of my senior year because everyone wants to get lazy all of a sudden!”
The game is in two days, for Christ’s sake!
“Collins…” Coach warns.
But I throw down my stick and my eyewear, sprinkles of rain hitting my arms. “God, you guys suck!”
I stomp off toward the locker room. Coach grabs my arm, but I yank it away.
“Coach, it’s okay,” I hear Krisjen tell her as I keep walking. “We’ll go.”
I leave, heading for the locker room without looking up.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
I yank my locker door open, but I haven’t had enough, and I do it again and again, tears spilling down my face as I dig in my backpack for the pill bottle.
I fumble with the cap, finally giving up and resting my head on the locker next to mine, the cool metal feeling like heaven after the heat of the blood rushing under my skin.
“It’s fine,” I sob.
Someone comes up and hugs my back, and I crumble to the floor, Krisjen hanging on and falling with me.
“Clay, it’s okay,” she whispers, and I hear the tears in her throat. “I know you miss him. It’s okay. You can cry.”
Yeah.
Henry. Right.
I let her hold me, giving into it as Amy kneels down beside us, and probably only there because she thinks she should be, but I’ll take it, because the world feels empty enough. There’s nothing. I’m nothing.
I wish tomorrow would never come.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
She’s the one who loses. Not me. Everything is as it should be now.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Just leave her alone. Forget about her.
She’s gone.
“DID YOU THINK I wasn’t going to find out?”
I swallow the small bite of chili and tap the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot before setting it down. I look over at Macon’s hand, watching the screen of the phone that he holds in my face. The video of Megan and me plays, and Iron, Army, and Dallas crowd around him to see.
Aracely sits in the stool, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed, and very interested in what the guys are talking about, because she’s relishing it. She brought it to their attention, I’m sure.
I turn off the burner and grab a bowl for myself. “What were you going to do about it?”
It’s not like I was trying to hide it. I reposted it, didn’t I? I just didn’t make him aware of it. There’s a lot I don’t make him aware of.
“Is this why you left school?” Army chimes in.
“I’m still a student.”
I scoop up a bowlful and place the lid on the pot. Adding some oyster crackers, I pick a spoon out of the drawer and walk into the living room.
“You let them get away with everything,” Macon barks. “And now you let them drive you away.”
“Look what they did to the house,” Aracely chimes in, swinging her arm around as if I’ve yet to notice the destruction that took place when the Saints snuck in Saturday night. They all blame me, because I’d invited them over the tracks.
“Good thing it’s not your house,” I reply.
She casts a glare to Macon as if he’s going to make me respect her.
I sit down on the couch and prop my elbows on my knees as I lean over my bowl on the coffee table. “And I didn’t let them get away with anything.” I look up at Macon. “I took away their entertainment. I won.”
“That’s not how they see it.”
He steps into the living room, approaching me, and I look away, scooping up some chili. So this is about his pride. Got it.
“We’re not letting it go this time,” Dallas tells me.
“And you’re going back to school,” Macon adds.
“Not likely.” I blow on my food.
Macon advances, tossing his phone to a chair on my right, but Trace inches in. “Just leave her alone.”
“You shut up,” Macon growls.
I put the spoon into my mouth, ignoring the fire in my brothers’ eyes. Except Trace’s, because he always takes my side, and Iron’s, because he doesn’t ever get mad at me.
Army picks up Macon’s phone again, studying the screen. “Is this that assistant coach?” he asks, peering over at me.
I eat another bite, everyone’s eyes and ears trained on me, and I’m so damn tired of putting out fires that I didn’t start. Damn her.