There’s a divide between those players who are pledged to Zeta Pi, and those of us who aren’t. The frat brothers are sticking together and following Holt like blind fucking sheep.
No surprise there.
But the rest of the team is loyal to Julio. He’s our captain, so the team is used to following his lead. It feels natural, and if they’ve played with him for more than one season, then they know to trust his judgment.
Julio made it clear whose side he’s on. Mine. And the rest of the team is either making their positions known or staying the fuck out of it. But until today, tensions have stayed strictly off-field, outside of the game. It’s tense in the locker room. We don’t all get along. But on the field, we keep our heads in the fucking game.
Deacon spits on the grass and grins. His saliva paints his teeth red, and between that and the gleam in his eyes, he’s got one hell of a manic appearance. “Cool. So all the assholes over there are free game?” He rolls his neck from side to side, legs bouncing in place.
I nod. “Safe to say it’s everyone who’s pledged to Zeta Pi.”
“Looks like I won’t be joining any fraternities.” His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t drop his bloodstained grin.
I clap him on the shoulder. “Not unless you want to become besties with those twats.” I nod toward Holt’s entourage.
“Pass.”
Figured as much.
Coach switches us to drills for the rest of the day. I think his plan is to wear us out so we can’t keep taking our shit out on one another on the field. Despite how physical it’s gotten, and how damn near everyone on the team is either bleeding or visibly bruised, he hasn’t once yelled at us to knock it off.
Coach feels the pressure of our game against Crown Point University, too. And while he needs us all in one piece, it’s to his benefit if we’re pissed off during the game. That way, he can direct our anger.
When practice ends, we all make our way to the showers. My calves are on fire and an ache has settled into my lower back. In the locker room, I shed my clothes and grab a towel before heading for the stalls and making quick work of rinsing off the day’s dirt, sweat, and blood. I have no intention of sticking around any longer than I need to. No need to chance another confrontation with Holt. Not when I’m as hot-headed as I am right now.
Done in the shower, I grab my clothes and get dressed before retrieving my things from my locker. Shouldering my bag, I linger a few minutes while the other guys finish up. Holt is talking nonsense a few rows away, and I tune his aggravating voice out.
We need to come up with a plan. One that actually has a shot of working, because on top of what Holt did to Cecilia, if today’s practice is anything to go by, he’s becoming a goddamn liability for the team.
Glancing at my phone, I fight the urge to text Cecilia. To see if she’s okay.
She was visibly shaken after her encounter with Holt. But I know she wouldn’t have accepted any comfort from me. She wants to stand on her own two feet. I get that. But there’s nothing wrong with having a support system. With having people in your corner to watch your back. It’s what I havewith Felix, Atticus, and Julio. Hell, after today, I feel confident enough to add Deacon into that mix.
Cecilia needs to know she has people. She has me.
I should message her.
I’m going to message her.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard and I type out a text only to delete it.
Fuck.
It’s not complicated. We’re not together, but we can still talk. Right? I mean, we haven’t. Not for the past several weeks. But we could. There’s no rule saying we can’t be … friends.
The word is bitter as I roll it around in my head.
I don’t want to be her friend. The thoughts I have when it comes to Cecilia Russo aren’tfriendly.They’re obsessive. Consuming. I want to know the girl inside and out. On an intimate level.
I want to know the girl she was before the assault. Know the survivor she’s become. The fighter she is each and every day.
And I want to meet the amazing woman I know she’ll be after she has time to heal. I want to know every version there is to know of Cecilia. And I want to lay claim to every goddamn one of them.
Fuck, I’m going to turn into a stalker or some shit with the way my thoughts are wandering, but I can’t help it.
I want to own her. Mind, body, and soul. To strip her bare and memorize every inch of her sun-kissed skin. To get inside her head and know her innermost thoughts. Her secrets. Her fears.
Friends.
