Page 76 of Off Limits

My mouth twists and my brows draw together before he can even finish his sentence. “The fuck are you talking about?”

He glances at me, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Look, man, I’m not saying you definitely let Kilpatrick get clobbered or that you wanted him to get a concussion, but—”

“No buts, Cal. No fucking way. You’re my friend, but there’s no way in hell I’d deliberately slack on my job to let a teammate get hurt just so you can play. I can’t believe you’d even fucking suggest something like that.”

He has the audacity to look offended at my anger. “Look, man, I’m just sayin—”

“I hear you loud and clear,” I tell him, my voice getting louder as I rise to my feet. “Look, you selfish little asshole, not everything is about you.”

He stands up, crowding his chest against mine, his eyes sparking with anger. “Asshole? Who’re you calling an asshole? You’ve been stomping around snapping at everyone, grinding until you can’t play for shit, and I put up with it, try to help you out, and you bail on me? Then have the balls to callmean asshole?” He shoves my shoulder, undaunted by the fact that I outweigh him by fifty pounds and have a longer reach.

I shove him in return, hard enough that he stumbles back a few steps, and then hands yank on my jersey from behind, dragging at me, another hooking into my shoulder pads and yanking me away from Cal. When I turn, Coach Bennett, the offensive line coach, is in my face, steaming mad. “Whatever this shit is,” he says, “I don’t care. Shut it down. Now. We’re in the middle of a game. Our starting quarterback is injured, for Chrissakes, and we’re still down by four. We don’t need a fight on the sidelines between our replacement quarterback and our left tackle on top of all that. You don’t have to hold hands and kiss, but you sure as hell have to play on that field together. Whatever your problem is, deal with it later. Got it?”

Head down, I nod. “Yes, Coach.”

“Get a drink and sit down somewhere else.”

Coach Bennett stomps over to face off with Cal, pointing at the bench we just vacated as I make my way down the sidelines. Coach Reese catches my eye, giving me a baleful glare.

I sigh, irritated with myself. Irritated with Cal. Fed up with all the drama and bullshit swirling around me.

How did my life even come to this?

I was fine on my own. Content to be known as the grumpy giant who’d grudgingly agree to go to parties occasionally but mostly left alone. My goal this year was to play football, go to class, and stay on top of homework so I can go to the NFL combines in the spring and graduate shortly after.

Now I’m fucking up on the field, getting my teammates hurt, and about to face off with my best friend on the sidelines?

Maybe Cal was right to keep his teammates away from his sister after all. Maybe I should’ve listened. Maybe I shouldn’t have let my dick do my thinking for me.

Except that’s never all that was between Ellie and me. Or at least it wasn’t for me, even if it was for her.

Fuck.

Just … fuck.

* * *

Despite Cal’s bluster all season about how unfair it was for Kilpatrick to replace him as starter, he can’t pull off a win either. We advance the ball, at least, but never manage another touchdown.

Or maybe that’s partly my fault too. My head isn’t in the game like it should be, despite all the reminders from the coaching staff to get it together. I’m too messed up in too many ways, and I just can’t.

Dejected after a punishing loss, we file into the locker room to strip out of our muddy gear once the game ends. Thankfully, Coach doesn’t do more than look at us and shake his head. I’m sure we’ll get a lecture next week as a team, and I know I’m not getting away without another visit to Coach’s office after the way I acted and played today, but at least I don’t have to deal with it right now. I don’t know if he’s not up to it either, or if he just realizes that beating a dead horse won’t get him anywhere right now. Either way, I’m grateful to be able to take a shower in relative peace, change into my street clothes without anyone trying to talk to me, and head out the door.

Once I leave the locker room, I stop short. Because there’s Ellie, her form enveloped in a puffy gray coat, a Marycliff beanie on her head, her cheeks and the tip of her nose rosy from the cold.

She gives me a little wave and a tentative smile. “Simon. Hey. Um, can we talk?” Her gaze darts around, and I’m not sure if she’s nervous about talking to me or about the possibility of her brother finding us together. And I’m so exhausted that I don’t know which one’s worse.

But before I can even answer, Cal’s voice echoes from behind me. “Ellie? What are you doing here? And why do you need to talk to Simon?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Ellie

My eyes dart between Simon, standing in front of me, his face wearing that impassive mask I haven’t seen in ages, and Cal behind him, his mouth turned down and his brow furrowed in a confused frown.

“Leave my friends alone,” Cal says, gruff and irritated. “I’ve told you a million times.”

A flash of irritation and frustration warms me from the inside, my heart pounding with anxiety and anger. “Shut up, Cal. You’re not the boss of me.” Turning back to Simon, I offer him a tentative smile. “I’m sorry to ambush you like this, but I really need to talk to you.”

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