Why is life so unfair? Of course the guy I actually truly like would be considered untouchable. He’d be the one guy I’m not allowed to have—the one who has the power to destroy my family.
A ball of emotion clogs my throat, and I desperately try to swallow it down. His fingers, still on my chin, reluctantly slide down my neck, and then he curls his hand into a fist in his lap.
“Talk to me,” he murmurs, his brows furrowing. “You’re upset.”
Beyond upset.
I want him. I want to shout it to the world. I want to kiss him in front of his old team and his new one. I want to grab his hand, march us into the kitchen at home, and tell our dads we’re seeing each other.
But I can’t.
I won’t.
The turmoil inside me is nauseating. Sweat drips into my eyes, making them sting. It could be tears, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever cry in front of the football player fuckfaces. Definitely sweat.
Canyon, though, sees right through it.
He has an uncanny ability to cut into me with just one look.
How he exposes me feels dangerous. Like a scalpel slicing through layers of skin to reveal a pulsating carotid artery. One tiny nick, and it could be over. That’s how I feel around Canyon. He’s a blade tearing through my life, digging so deep I’ll never recover. While he hasn’t done anything detrimental yet, it’s inevitable.
And then I’ll bleed out for him.
For Dad.
This life.
It’ll hurt and, in the end, it will be the death of my happiness.
“Do I need to take you home?” he asks, his voice tight with worry. “You’re kind of freaking me the fuck out right now.”
Absently, I brush my knuckles over his fist, needing his touch like I need air. “I’m fine.”
“You haven’t gotten any more texts, have you?” His worry transforms into something possessive and protective, wrapping its claws around me and sinking in.
“No,” I rush out. “I blocked the number like you said. It’s just…”
“Just what?” His brows crash together as he studies me. “Tell me.”
“Never mind.”
“Don’t do that,” he growls, his voice low. “Tell me.”
I feel like such a dick. It’s his birthday today. We had plans to go to dinner with our dads and then make it a marathon night of Mubona Ikari. I was going to give him the best birthday blowjob—since we’ve yet to move to anything past that—and give him the present I made.
Not have a mental breakdown at track practice.
“I don’t want this to end.” My head drops, and I suck in a deep breath. “I like it.”
Canyon squeezes my thigh in a comforting move, uncaring how it might look to those around us. “It’s not going to end. I promise.”
“Faggots.”
The sneered word behind us has Canyon jumping to his feet, a furious roar rumbling from his chest. I jerk my head back in time to see Gage looming over us, his wicked glare burning into us from behind his football helmet. Canyon is seconds from knocking his ass out. I’m about to intervene when we hear a loud squeal of tires.
A car flies into the parking lot going way too fast, plowing right through the fence. Collective yells of surprise sound out all around us. It all happens so quickly, in the blink of an eye.
A vehicle barreling across the track.
Coach getting clipped and flying up in the air before the car nearly takes out two of our teammates.
It rams into the bleachers behind where Canyon and I’d both been readying ourselves to sprint just moments before. The crash of the car is a deafening cacophony of shattering glass and bending metal. I don’t realize I’m barely standing on two feet until Canyon releases his death grip on my arm and takes off in a dash toward the accident. Gage and several other football players do the same. I shakily follow, hoping no one is hurt too badly.
Canyon and Gage both head toward the car while I rush over to Coach Davies. He groans in pain, clutching his hip.
“You’re okay,” I tell him, assessing him for more life-threatening damages, and then holler over my shoulder, “Someone call an ambulance!”
“Is…Is anyone else hurt?” Coach Davies asks through gritted teeth, his face pinched in pain.
“I think everyone managed to move in time,” I assure him, though I can’t be certain. He had his back turned to the car, so by the time he heard the noise, he wasn’t able to move away in time.
“The driver?”
“Not sure.” I glance over my shoulder to see the crowd that’s formed around the car. “Where does it hurt?”
“Hip.” He grimaces. “I don’t think it’s broken, thank fuck, or I’d never hear the end of it.”
“What?” I tease, though my voice is tight with worry. “That you’re an old man who broke his hip? Coach, we would never joke about something like that.”