Page 4 of Deceit & Destruction

As soon as I step outside I spot Alex, Victoria, and Mila. The urge to go over and talk to them tugs at me, but Alex has made it perfectly clear he wants nothing to do with me and Webber. He ignores us whether we’re passing each other in the halls of our building or lacing our cleats in the locker room. It should be interesting to see how things play out now that he and Webber are both back on the roster.

Tearing my eyes away from them, I reposition my books under my arm and cross the lawn. I get about two feet before Alex calls my name. Shocked, I turn around to see him jogging toward me. He comes to a stop and shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he stares at me wordlessly.

It’s fucking awkward to say the least and it angers me because me, him, and Webber were tight. Now it’s like we’re fucking strangers.

I clear my throat.

“What’s up?”

“I heard your suspension wasn’t lifted,” he says.

Right.

There are no secrets for us civilians. Our dirty laundry is hung out to dry for the whole fucking campus. How stupid of me to think my shit wouldn’t be the talk of Stonewall.

I roll my neck, refusing to show any fucking emotion.

“And?”

He shrugs his shoulders, his eyes darting around the campus.

“Well, I guess I was wondering why.”

No, what he’s wondering is if Webber changed his story. The thing is, I’m not sure why he cares. Even if Webber outed me as his dealer, none of that would push back on Alex. The guy is hiding something, I just don’t know what that something is and if I’m being honest, I really don’t have it in me to give a fuck. Not anymore. If he didn’t move out, I wouldn’t be so fucking strapped for a cash.

Gritting my teeth, I square my shoulders.

“Coach is keeping me on the bench until I get my grades up.”

Alex’s brows draw together as he pulls his hands out of his pockets and crosses his arms against his chest.

“There’s only a few more weeks and the rate we’re going, we’re not going to make the playoffs. If you don’t play—”

“I’m fucked, Reggiano, I know,” I hiss. “No need to rub it in.”

Gloating isn’t a good look on him.

“I’m not trying to rub it in, Robinson.” His arms fall to his sides, and he looks away. “Look, we’re still a team.”

That last sentence makes me snap. I’m about to tell him there is no I in the word team, but I’m not fucking five. So I hang on to my pride and my maturity by putting a new spin on the infamous line my mother drilled into my head since she learned I could catch a football.

“The last I checked teammates don’t abandon one another,” I sneer.

That’s right, kids. My mom is the reason I play. Mariana Robinson didn’t know a damn thing about the game, but one Christmas she bought me a football and later that spring, she took me to the school yard that was three blocks from our apartment building and tossed me the ball. If you ask her, she’ll tell you she saw greatness in me, that I had hands of gold. That’s why she educated herself on the sport and two weeks later, I was enrolled in a local flag football league. From there I went on to play tackle and eventually I was in a travel league that took me all over the country. By the time I was a freshman in high school, I had a stellar record.

It wasn’t easy for her, and it definitely wasn’t fucking cheap. She was a single mom and travel leagues were expensive as fuck. But I never missed a single practice and I made it to every game. And how do I repay her? How do I thank her for her sacrifices—for all the years she went without so I can have a damn good future?

I fuck myself and my dreams.

Anger slashes through me and I force myself to focus on Alex.

“I don’t have time for this,” I growl.

I’ve got to find a fucking tutor and a bag of money wouldn’t hurt either.

Fuck.

Chapter Two

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