Then his gaze shifts.
He follows my stare, tracks it effortlessly, because I haven’t moved my eyes since the second Sam laughed again.
I hate how she makes me feel this way without even looking at me.
I hear Jace snort a laugh next to me.It’s quiet, full of meaning.That sound alone makes my damn skin crawl.
I grind my teeth until they hurt.The locker presses harder into my back as I shift my weight.The cold metal grounds me before I do something that would get my ass dragged into the Principal’s office.My fists curl at my sides, fingers flexing, knuckles tight, anger buzzing hot and restless under my skin.
A kid steps into my line of sight.
“What?”I snap.
The word comes out sharp, already loaded.
He flinches.
I clock it instantly.
The nervous half-smile and the way his shoulders pull in, making himself smaller without realizing it.
“You’re in front of my locker,” he says.
His voice cracks just enough to irritate me more.
“Fuck off,” I say, patience already burned down to nothing.
I watch him hesitate.I can see his thoughts flicker across his face—whether he should argue, if the books inside are worth it, or if today is the day he learns a tough lesson about picking fights.He lingers there a moment too long, caught between pride and self-preservation.
I keep staring.
All of this anger isn’t really for him, and I know it.But it’s rolling off me because Sam is still laughing across the hall, and I am still here, stuck in my head, losing my shit over it.
He chooses wisely.He turns and walks away.
Good.
Jace drops his attention back to his phone, thumbs moving quick, probably lining up some girl to keep him busy later.Same shit, different day.
“Still think you can fuck your precious redhead by the end of the year,” he says, confidence dripping off every word.As if he is already claiming the win.
I shove my hands deep into my pockets before walking over to Sam and doing something stupid.My temper doesn’t do well when my brain checks out.
I turn my head when someone calls my name.
“Reece.”
The sound cuts through the noise, enough to grab my focus whether I want it to or not.
I pull my eyes off Sam and focus on the guy a few feet away.
It’s Marcus.
We used to play defense together back when I still showed up to practice and pretended football was just football.He looks rougher than the last time I saw him.Tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix.Thick white wrapping tape peeks out from under his shirt, covering one shoulder.He’s limping, not enough to draw attention, just enough that you notice if you know what you’re looking for.
“What,” I say.
“Coach sent me,” he says, straight to the point.No easing into it.“Tyler blew his knee last weekend.Out for the season.”
