Shelby, Letti, Dani, and Georgina all look up as I walk through the kitchen. They’ve clearly heard my outburst, and the salad prep comes to a standstill—knives still, hands half lifted—as they watch me in silence. Concern lingers in their eyes, but no one says a word.
I head upstairs without looking back, shut the bedroom door behind me, and let the quiet swallow me whole.
I ended up crashing after my little temper tantrum. I guess being miserable and running around in the sun with countless beers wiped me out. Plus, most nights I haven’t been getting much sleep. I usually lie in bed thinking about her for half the night, then my stupid boner keeps me up the otherhalf. Emotionally I’m drained, and I’m so sick of sitting around feeling this way, and apparently my friends are too. It’s not who I am, I’m usually such a happy, positive person, always laughing and joking around. I didn’t get to being the star quarterback by sitting around sulking. I worked my ass off for it every single day. This self-pity and wallowing in my feelings isn’t me, it’s not who I am. I’m a winner. I go after what I want and I always get what I want because I’m fucking persistent. Granted, this wanting Rachel is a whole new thing completely: love, a relationship. Usually what I want just revolves around me, and when it does involve women, it’s a fleeting want, easy to achieve. But I have never wanted something as much as I want her. So, I’m sorry, Rachel, I’m not going to give up on us. I’m tenacious, ruthless, a go-getter—hell, I’m straight out fucking annoying, like a dog with a bone, never going to let that fucking thing go stubborn type of man.
The next morning I wake more determined than ever before. Sliding on my gray Raptors shirt, loose black gym shorts, and my lucky all red Nike shoes, I jog downstairs.I turn into the kitchen and slap Seth on the shoulder as I pass him sitting at the table. “Sorry, man,” I say as I take a seat next to him and reach for the coffee pot.
“All good,” he says back. “You good?”
“I’m great,” I reply, feeling like my old self. Seth seems almost concerned by the overly chirpy mood.
“Shelby went to see if you wanted lunch yesterday, but you had crashed.”
“Yeah, I think I needed it, but I’m sick of my self-pity act, like I know you guys are. I’m having this coffee and going over to Rachel’s.”
His dark eyes look at me over his coffee; dressed all in black he looks like he is about to head out himself. Black jeans,shirt, and his black leather jacket hanging over the back of the chair. “When you’re not being a miserable dick, seeing you strung out over a girl is actually entertaining.”
“Going somewhere?” I ask to change the subject off me.
“Just a ride with the boys from the garage.”
“You should go for a drive to visit your mom,” I dare say to him. God knows how long it’s been since he has visited them—at least a year, I think. His family would be missing him, but yet, he doesn’t, too ashamed of himself to make the drive and see them.
He doesn’t say anything, just looks straight through me.
I throw back my coffee in one go. “All right, I’m out,” I say, dusting off my hands.
“Good luck,” Seth says to my back as I walk out of the kitchen.
I turn back to him, flashing a cocky grin, “Pfft, I don’t need luck…I’m Randy Harrison,” I say, adjusting my Raptors cap. “No girl can say no to this.”
30
Randy
“No!” she says, her voice tight as she starts to shut the door.
But I’m faster—my hand catches it mid-swing. “Please.”
She hesitates, her fingers still curled around the edge of the door. “What are you doing here?” Her voice isn’t angry. Just tired. Frustrated.
“I wanted to talk to you, and you’re not returning my calls. I was so happy when I noticed we had Written Communication together, but you’re ignoring me in class.” I sigh. “You aren’t leaving me much of a choice here.”
I pull my eyes from hers as a bouncing, brown-haired boy comes to the door and stands beside her. He’s adorable, with the same olive skin and brown eyes as his mother.
Rachel tenses, placing a protective hand on his shoulder as he wraps his small arms around her leg.
“Wow. Do you play football?” he asks, pointing at my team shirt, his eyes widen in awe.
“Hey, buddy. Yeah, I’m quarterback—the best position,” I say with a grin.
He stares at me, dumbfounded. Pure hero worship in miniature form. “Wow, you’re Randy Harrison, aren’t you?”
I crouch to his level, “Sure am,” I beam, loving that he knows who I am. “Do you play?” I ask, soaking in the excitementlighting up his face. His skin is flawless, just like Rachel’s, and he has a dusting of freckles across his little nose.
Rachel runs her hand down his back. “Mom won’t let me. She says in a few more years. But I like passing the ball around in the yard with my mommy and pop. I watch your games with my pop all the time. Pop and I went to your last game. Mommy was meant to come but she wasn’t feeling well. I was sad that you lost.”
I was sad too,” I admit, looking up at Rachel as the confirmation lands—she really wasn’t at my game. I mean, I figured, since Shelby told her she wasn’t going, but I wasn’t completely sure until now.
