LEV
“What’s this I hear about you manhandling the new girl? I thought we agreed to hold off for now?” I ask Wes while we run. We’re on lap four of our warm-up for football.
It was all over the school, answering the question of where he was during lunch. The idiot snatched Ariah out of the lunchroom and disappeared into parts unknown.
She must have put up a fight because our star wide receiver has a nicely developing shiner under his right eye. Coach is going to kill him.
We have our season opener this weekend, and we always scrimmage against our division rivals. It’s for charity, but more so for bragging rights. Wes having a banged up eye isn't going to bode well for us in practice today. Hell, maybe for the rest of the week.
I go to say this to him but his indignant tone cuts me off. His once placid face distorts, lips upturning, and brows furrowing to create creased lines on his forehead. “That girl is trash and needs to be reminded of that at every turn. If she doesn’t fall in line and learn her place, she’ll pay.” Sucking in a lung full of air, he continues his rant, “She is on the list. When we meet later we need to make a plan to get her out of town. We need to figure out how she and her family were even allowed to move into this town, then make their lives a living hell until they leave. Mark my words if we don’t, she’s going to be nothing but trouble.”
I know he doesn’t like Ariah, but she hasn’t been here long enough for him to form this type of opinion. It doesn’t help that she has taken him and Sam on without fear, like the rest of the sheep do.
I expect Wyatt to say something to his menacing words. He’s made his interest known and I can see his obsession starting to build, but it’s Owen who speaks up, and what he says shocks me even more. Making me wonder if Ariah has gotten to him also.
“How about you stop making unilateral decisions for us, Wes? Especially, right before Coach is about to kick our asses because you went and got yours kicked right before the big scrimmage. Sound good?”
Owen’s right. Wes was stupid for getting hurt before the game and his penchant for trying to make decisions on behalf of us all has been growing old over the last few months.
Wes thrives on control. He needs it and when that control begins to slip he’s reminded of his past, which only makes him pull tighter at the reins, ensuring his grip doesn’t slip.
I raise my eyes to Owen’s, giving a quick shake of my head, signaling for him to cut Wes some slack. Then, I focus back on Wes and try to reason with him.
“Wes, man, take it easy, we'll discuss it later. Let’s figure out what’s going on with the Senator first, then we can do some digging into who Ariah is, and if she’s bad news we’ll deal with her.”
Flitting my head in his direction as we jog back to Coach, I hope to see that my words have pacified him. But the rigidity in his posture and thinning of his lips, as his mouth draws taut, let me know this argument is far from over
* * *
The restof practice was grueling, just like I suspected. Coach showed no mercy. He reamed Wes out, which also meant he reamed us out. In his words, “we can only survive and thrive as a team.”
We had to run the bleachers until we understood doing stupid things that could result in hurting ourselves was not acceptable.
I’d punch Wes for being stupid, but that would mean even more running. I still don’t think I can feel my legs, even after the cold water immersion therapy and my time with the trainer. My injuries are flaring again.
I grunt out in pain and try to stretch out my arm. I’m too young to feel this old and it’s all their fault. Every time my body fights against me my mind goes back to that place and I’m forced to relive it all. Before those thoughts can consume me I hear Wyatt’s approach.
The guys always know to make sure not to catch me off guard. It doesn’t bode well for those who do.
“Hey man, we’re heading to the diner to grab some dinner and try and talk some sense into Wes. Grab your shit and let’s go. We’re going to ride over in Rubi,” he finishes, before turning around to leave.
By the time I grab my bag and head outside, everyone is already out front and waiting in Owen’s matte black Jeep Wrangler Rubicon, with burnt orange leather interior.
I swear every single time I see his SUV I want to add to my collection. It’s an off-roader’s dream. Under the hood sits a 6.4-liter V8 engine that produces a horsepower of four hundred seventy. Meaning that baby can go from zero to sixty in four-point-five seconds flat. If his car was a woman I’d fuck her.
I chuckle at myself as I open the door to the backseat and climb in.
“Well, I see the mood in the car is no better than it was at practice,” I say, once I see that Wes has the same sour look on his face. All scowly like he expected to eat an orange but it turned out to be a bitter grapefruit.
“You assholes don’t seem to get why this is a problem,” he begins to say then pauses, trying to allow the lingering silence to soak up his point. Then, he continues, “She hasn’t been in this school for a full forty-eight hours and she’s already been in a fight with Sam, caused countless scenes, and is undermining our authority.”
“Undermining our authority or your authority? Causing scenes or are other people making those scenes?” Wyatt asks. “And Sam is always fighting someone so she’s a non-motherfucking factor, at all damn times, as far as I’m concerned. Or if I’m being perfectly honest, I think she should be the one on our list. Did you forget her little outburst, yesterday, about making us all hers? She’s starting to get too far ahead of herself. ”
Everyone but Wes hums in agreement. He has some valid points. Sam and her family are starting to be a problem. If I was being completely honest, she’s always been a problem. I’m just not sure we can deal with them yet. It’s one of the reasons she’s being watched now. The council thinks her father is up to something and Wes’s job is to discover what that something is.
Between Sam’s father and the Senator, our plates are full. Ariah popping up is a stressor we don’t need. The shadow organization working with the Senator is the most pressing matter. Whoever they are, they’re good. Every time I run my encrypted software program to capture images of whoever Senator Baker is meeting, there’s a blocking transmitter interrupting the signal.
I dig my nails into my palms, using the sting to stave off my growing frustrations with myself. The feel is a lighthouse guiding me back into the heated conversation and away from my intrusive thoughts.
