Two months. We'd only lasted two months. They had been an amazing two months, but they were over now.
I kept staring out the glass doors into the darkness outside, not sure what to do with myself. Going upstairs was not an option. I wasn't a good enough actor to pretend that I was fine and that my heart hadn't been stomped on, that the girl I was crazy about hadn't dumped me.
"Monroe," an authoritative voice said behind me.
Dread instantly filled me. I knew that voice. It yelled at me almost every day during football season.
Turning around I said, "Yes, Coach."
Coach Matthews stood there with his arms folded and a scowl on his face. His dark hair was slicked back, and I wasn't used to seeing him without his Waterford University cap.
"I thought I had made myself clear," he said. "No Scarlet or no football."
Shit. I was in deep, deep shit.
"You thought you could keep this hidden from me?" he asked. "You didn't think that I would eventually find out?"
I kept my mouth shut. These were rhetorical questions, and he wasn't done yelling at me yet. I don't know how long he'd been in the lobby and how much he’d overheard between Scarlet and me, but I was in for a lecture.
"I specifically said Scarlet was off-limits, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I know she's a beautiful girl and that you guys would be all over her if I didn't protect her. Football is king at this school, which makes you all like royalty, girls throwing themselves at you hoping to get even just one night with you." He moved his hands to his hips. "I remember being young, a starter on the college football team. I've been you. I know exactly what that world is like, and I hated the thought of Scarlet getting caught up in all that. But you dragged her into it anyway." He paused, the vein in his forehead throbbing.
Eventually he yelled, "Damn it, Rush! How could you be so selfish? Your future, your teammates? Did you think about any of that?"
"Of course I did," I yelled back. "That's why I'm not going after Scarlet right now." I motioned to the door behind me.
He pointed his finger in my face. "You leave her alone, you hear me? You don't talk to her, you don't go near her, you don't eventhinkabout her. You've hurt her enough."
We were both breathing heavily, our chests rising. I wanted to scream. He had no idea what he was talking about. I wasn't him when he'd been in college. I didn't just use Scarlet. I cared about her in a way I'd never felt for anyone before. But he would never listen to me, never understand.
He stepped back, straightening his suit coat. "You're not welcome at the team workouts starting next week. Indefinitely."
My jaw dropped. "Are you kicking me off the team?"
This couldn't be happening. Yes, I had dated his stepdaughter behind his back when he had specifically said not to, knowing the consequences of possibly being kicked off the team, but I was the best wide receiver he had. And now Scarlet didn't want anything to do with me, so we definitely wouldn't be dating anymore. Pain shot through me at that thought.
"I haven't decided yet," he answered. "But you knew the rule, and you chose to break it anyway, so if you're going to be mad at anyone, you can be mad at yourself. If you want any shot at securing your spot on the team, you'll stay away from Scarlet." He turned and walked away, his shoulders tense as he pushed the button to the elevator to return to the party.
I stood there, dumbfounded. How had this night gone so horribly wrong? I'd lost the one girl whom I longed to be with and my future in football that I'd been working hard for my entire life, in less than a half-hour. That had to be a world record time for screwing up your life.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I hurried to pull it out, hoping that I'd see Scarlet's name on the screen.
It wasn't Scarlet, and really it had been dumb to think that she would text me. Instead Wilder had sent me a text. I clicked it open.
Wilder:SOS. Slate's trashed. In the men's room.
What? Where had he gotten the alcohol? This was a school event, and no alcohol had been served tonight.
Me:On my way.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and headed to the elevators.
When I made it back to the large ballroom, the party was still going strong. I hurried to the men's room and opened the door to hear someone vomiting in one of the stalls.
"Wilder?" I called out.
"In here," he answered.
I pushed open the large stall door to find Slate hunched over the toilet as vomit spewed out of him, Wilder kneeling by his side. The toilet looked small next to Slate's bulky form. His face was pale
