“Because Marco will want to know.”
I could kill him.
If not for the fact that pulled a small smile back over those handsome lips. “I’m really fine. Can I go now?”
“You can. You must be desperate for a shower. Sorry you had to wait until last.” Evander swipes up a bottle from his medicine shelf while Robin slides off the table. “Wait five minutes before you wash to give the antiseptic time to work.” He hands over the small container. “Then put some more on before bed.”
“Thank you.” Robin accepts it with a nod, then leaves without another word.
I only realize I’m still staring at the closed door half a minute later when Evander interrupts me. “That’s a dangerous game, even for you, Marco.”
“Haven’t you heard?” I manage a wry smile, even if I feel like he’s just punched me in the gut. “I fuck all the players.”
“Not the ones you care about, you don’t.”
“I don’t care about him. He’s nobody.”
“A nobody you invite to drink with us on his second day here?” Stupid clever Evander.
“That’s right.”
“A nobody who’s for some reason more beaten up than all the other players?”
“Right again.” A beautiful nobody from my homeland. The one person I’ve met in half a decade who I want to wrap and keep safe, while it’s my sole purpose and means of survival in this life to offer him up to the wolves of this city on a platter. “He’s nothing.”
“Then maybe you’d be wiser to keep your distance.”
“I’ll consider that.” This conversation has well and truly run its course. I love Evander, but Atrea is sacred. It’s not a word I’ll share with him or anyone else in this place, and I can’t explain myself any other way.
Shoving off the bench, I grab the door handle and twist it. But I can’t help flinging a parting shot over my shoulder. “I’ll tell Cas you said hi.”
“Motherfucker!” It takes all my quick Deathball-captain reflexes to dodge the bloody cloth that comes flying for my head. It was worth it for the laugh that rips out of him. “Tell him he’s a pain in my ass. Just like you.”
Chapter nine
Robin: Scars
The water burns perfect against my shoulders. Hot enough to loosen the knots Marco’s training left behind, hot enough to wash away the forest dirt and the ache in my bones. I press my fingers against my hip where Cas caught me with his pole, purple already blossoming under the skin.
I let the heat soak into every bruise, every cut. I’m the last one to shower, but somehow there’s still hot water left. A miracle I’m not wasting.
Cas was here a minute ago, laughing about how I’d sent him tumbling off that log. I was worried for nothing. He’s still the same easygoing bastard who looked out for me on that truck ride. Still my friend.
For now.
The thought sits cold in my gut. Soon I might have to kill him for real.
The hot water streams down my face, but I can’t wash away what’s coming. In a few weeks, I’ll step into that arena. The crowd will scream. Marco will watch us from the box.
I close my eyes and the image slams into me. Cas on his knees in the sand, blood running from his nose. The Deathball heavy in my hands. His green eyes wide, pleading—not the cocky bastard who jokes about everything, but broken. Scared.
“Robin, please—”
The ball connects with his skull.Crack. His head caves like an eggshell, blood coating my fingers, warm and slick. Those wild curls matted with red and gray matter. His body crumpling forward into the dirt.
The crowd cheers.
I shake my head hard, water flying from my hair.
