Page 68 of The Comeback Pact

“West? The fuck?”

Below me, a rookie glares up at me from his back, sweat glistening on his brow. He tugs his helmet back into place.

Shit. I’d really barreled into him, practically blacking out. I heave myself off him and hold my hand out to help him up. He slaps it out of the way and gets up himself, rearranging his bright-yellow pinny. Apparently being on the opposite team is not the side to be on today.

“Brooks!” Coach calls.

I suck in a calculated breath, resting my hands on my hips. I’m soaked through with sweat, but I can’t even remember what we’ve done today. I’ve been checked out.

After taking another calming breath, I pull my helmet off and peer Coach’s way. He signals for me, so I jog toward the sidelines. He grabs my shoulder pads and gives me a quick shake. “Do not let this get to your head.”

I nod, looking away, catching a few of my teammates sneaking glances at me. Hardly any of them have come up to me, aside from Aidan who sat with me in the locker room while I bitched up a storm.

Among the many messages and notifications I got, one of them was from my mother.“This is what happens when you ignore him, West. You know this.”

She blamed me.

Me.

Not the fucking backstabbing prick who’s running his mouth about me.

“I told you he was calling you.”

And because I didn’t answer, that meant he had to go make a fool of me? It’s bad enough that Hamilton would stoop this low, but what he did is even lower. I have no use for the man. He’s a scum-eating bastard.

“Do you hear me?” Coach asks. The concern in his eyes is unnerving.

I nod, even though I haven’t heard a single word he’s said.

“Good.” He claps me on the back. “Now, get out there and try not to kill my second and third strings. Save that anger for the game.”

Screw waiting for the game.

Logically, I know the best response I can come back with is to play my ass off on Saturday and completely obliterate Hamilton. But the petty parts of me—the parts that want sweet revenge—want to tear my father apart, and I want to do something as equally shitty to Hamilton as they’ve done to me.

Before I get back on the field, I find the rookie. “Sorry, man. My head’s not in the best space right now.”

Clearly calmed down, he says, “It’s cool, dude.”

It’s not, though. I can’t let my teammates see how much this has gotten to me. I’m supposed to be one of the pillars on the team. If I let this get to me, everything else could crumble. Like a domino effect, we can say goodbye to our goal of a winning season.

With only a few minutes left of practice, I keep my head in the game as much as possible. It’s a relief, though, when Coach blows the final whistle. We’re two days away from one of the most important games of the season, and I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I need to get grounded and stay focused.

I stop by the sidelines and squeeze water into my mouth and over my head. The cold feels like a reset button on my brain.

The only thing on my mind right now is getting in touch with Kenna. I haven’t spoken to her all day, completely going back on my word to text her when I could. Not really the impression I wanted to leave her with after the amazing evening we had yesterday.

I think about forgoing a shower and showing up at her place as I am, but when I finally peel all my pads off in the locker room, that’s the last thing I want to do. Instead, I take the quickest shower and am out of there before nearly everyone else. I grab my duffel, swinging it over my shoulder and making my way through the snappy remarks my teammates fling at each other while they’re in varying degrees of getting cleaned up.

They look at me as I pass, some of them with sympathy, some with confusion. I get it. I didn’t know whether I should even address what was being said, but Coach advised to leave it for the time being, and we would reassess it after twenty-four hours. Probably to see if there was going to be any more smear campaigns.

“Where are you going, big guy?” Aidan asks, jogging to catch up with me.

“Kenna,” I mutter, like she’s the answer for everything.

“You want company?”

“To see my girlfriend?” I side-eye him.

---