A laugh burst out of me, unexpected and embarrassingly loud.
Marcus grinned. He bumped my knee with his. “Dude, you gotta chill. Fuck the legacy stuff. Seriously. Parents get in our heads and stay there like mold. You don’t owe them perfection. Not even close.”
I hesitated. “He called me hours ago and he knew the lineup...”
“Seriously?” Marcus asked.
“Yes, dude... I feel like he set this up. He wants me to beat Liam. Badly. And if I don’t...”
Marcus shook his head in disgust. “Your dad is a fucking weirdo. Who does that? Doesn’t he have better things to do?”
“Apparently not. He thinks that—”
Marcus raised a hand. “Pause. Why does he get to decide what you need? You want to beat Moore? Cool. Race your heart out. But do it because you want it. Fuck him.”
The words hit somewhere deep.
Marcus shrugged. “And hey... even if you lose? Big deal. Athletes lose. Rivals win sometimes. Blame it on Thomas Harrington if he set the shit up.”
I sat with that for a moment, letting the tightness in my chest loosen just enough to breathe.
Then Marcus slung an arm over my shoulders and pulled me into a half-hug. A bro hug.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he said. “No matter what happens, you’re not alone in this. You’ve got a whole team behind you. Including your favorite pain in the ass.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Thanks, Marcus.”
He nodded. “Anytime. Now remember, first weekend party on Saturday. So whether you win or lose, we’re getting blasted that night.”
And for the first time all day, the panic eased. I’d known Marcus for a long time and most of the time he was a dick. But he cared and that felt good. He knew what it was like to come from wealth. His dad was just as bad, but the difference between me and Marcus—he was the problem child and I was the good boy who did everything I was told.
Maybe this year was the year I’d be a little more like Marcus.
Chapter 11: Liam
The locker room was already loud when I walked in—guys tossing gear bags onto the benches, unisuits half on, the air thick with that pre-practice humidity. I barely got to my locker when Tyler flung a half-empty water bottle in my direction.
“Look who finally rolled in. The chosen one.”
“Jesus Christ, dude! Trying to knock me out?”
I dodged the water bottle and it hit the concrete block wall.
Tyler barked out a laugh. “I’d need more than a water bottle to knock out a beast like you.”
I shook my head and sat on the bench by my locker.
Jace was tying his shoes a little further down. “Hale talked to you, right?” he asked.
I shrugged, pretending it didn’t mean anything. “He talked. I listened.”
Remy peeked out from behind a row of lockers with a mischievous smile. “Translation: coach said ‘future captain,’ and Liam had a full-body crisis.”
The guys laughed, and I’d normally fire back, but all I could feel was weight—Hale’s expectations, Emily’s expectations, and the fact that I’d jacked off to Alex last night.
It had been a while, maybe almost a year since I’d done that.
It felt fucking good though.
