And I let him.
Because I didn’t fuck anyone last night.Didn’t even jerk off.I lay there in the dark, hard and wrecked and completely alone.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
The sheets still smelled of her.
I didn’t jerk off last night because the thought of my hand felt pathetic and hollow.I sure as fuck wasn’t going to insult it with some mindless tug while thinking about Sam.
I wanted the real thing.
But now she won’t even look at me.
So, I do what I always do.Slap on a grin.Throw on the swagger.Pretend.
Play the role of the guy who doesn’t care.Let Jace think I’m still that guy who can fuck a girl and forget her name ten minutes later.The guy who shrugs things off and laughs at feelings like they’re a punchline.
And now I’m pretending not to care, even though every cell in my body fucking aches for the girl who walked away.Because if I reveal the truth, I’ll have to admit what’s really happening—that I’m falling for her and I don’t know how to stop.
It’s easier that way—to fake it, laugh it off.Lie through my teeth and hope no one notices the way she’s tearing me apart from the inside.
By the time practice rolls around, I’m barely holding it together.Half-feral with need, frustration, and whatever the hell this ache is she left behind.
Coach yells for drills, and I’m already moving.First in line, body tense, fists clenched.I hit harder.Run faster.Tackle like I’m trying to bury the memory of her in the dirt.
Every grunt is a battle cry.Every hit is my attempt to shake her from my mind, to bleed her out through sweat and bruises.
It doesn’t fucking work.
But it gets me noticed.
Coach lets out a low whistle after I slam one of the starting forwards to the ground.
“Well done, Reece,” he says, eyebrows raised.“That was brutal.Keep it up and you’ll be the first pick this weekend.”
It’s what I want.What I’ve wanted since the day I lost it.To claw my way back into that starting lineup.To prove I’m not just some loudmouthed asshole who burns everything he touches.
Even if I’m only getting the nod because they’re short on the team, it still all counts, and it fucking matters.It’s something I earned—through bruises, sweat, and grit in my teeth.
I need this.I need to believe I’m still worth something, that I haven’t lost every damn part of myself chasing a girl who won’t even acknowledge me anymore.Because when I’m on the field, when I’m hitting, running, and getting knocked on my ass, this is mine, and for the first time in too fucking long, I don’t feel hollow.
Chapter 15
Sam
Isawher.
Maya.Lip gloss smeared on too thick, tits stuffed into a glittery top like she was auditioning for a music video no one asked for.She swayed right up to him in the hallway, every move choreographed, as if she were auditioning for the world’s most obvious hook-up.
And Reece… he leaned against the lockers, that signature smirk pulling at his mouth.All charm and ego.A performance he’s perfected.
I saw her hand on his chest.He didn’t push her away; instead, he let her flirt, and I hated every second.
I didn’t stick around to watch her drape herself all over him.Liz was crying, clutching her phone, mumbling about plane tickets, leaving, and how the world had gone unreal around her.I couldn’t let her fall apart.Not after everything she’d done for me.
But it burned deep.
God, it burned so badly.
