Page 29 of Play Dirty
Somehow, we both belong to June. In different ways, we were hers. Broken in different ways, and now we are sharp edges to cut each other with. I don’t speak, just allowing the silence and my presence to say everything I wish I could. I’m not a good man. I’m not good with words, comfort, or any of it. My presence says everything my mouth doesn't.
I just stay.
Even if she hates me tomorrow.
Even if she blames me.
Even if ithurts.
Especially because it hurts, after all, that’s all I have to give. We can’t be friends. I can’t even look at the girl without wanting to strangle her for the scar she didn’t make. Still, I fantasize about watching the life leave those beautiful orbs. In the same breath, I want to be the reason they sparkle with light. I want my touch to be the reason her breath quickens. I know it’s the sickness inside me, but for one day, I offer her something money can’t buy. I can’t give her my truth.
I have no answer.
Just pain that matches her own.
And the hope that, for one fragile moment…
It’s enough…
Chapter Eleven
Nico
Time flies by when you’re the one breathing…
At first, the campus mourned, spots filled with cards and flowers to honor June, but now —three weeks later — the flowers have decayed. The air got colder, the leaves slowly turned from a dull green to flaming red and muted orange, and people moved on
The familiar scent of freshly cut grass dances with the wind, and the sound of the whistle cuts through the team's chatter. It’s only been weeks since June’s funeral, and everything appears back to normal. As if it never happened…
And I'm expected to play as if I’m back to normal, too.
“The first game of the season is in four days,” Coach Jensen shouts, bringing four fingers into the air. “Get your head in the game.”
Only if I could. It’s definitely something easier said than done. We are two drills deep into sprint work, my thighs ache, my lungs burn, and my head feels like it’s going to explode from a throbbing headache. My shirt clings to my skin from the sweat, cooling my body with the help of the fall chill. I am almost close to achieving the familiar numbness of pushing my body beyond its limit.
Past exhaustion. Turning the pain into bliss.
But it’s not happening. Not today, at least.
My mind just won't shut the fuck up.
“Want a piece of me, lover boy?” I hear Zayden snap at Thiago mid-scrimmage; those two have more sexual tension than the maincharacters from Twilight. And I’m not talking about Bella and her two lovers, but the wolf and the glittery vampire. The idiot grins, exposing the golden gem placed on his canine, as he swipes the ball and sprints down the left side of the field like he’s untouchable.
“Trying to outshine Reyes, what happened? Daddy’s money can’t make you the golden boy again?” Zayden taunts as he shoulder checks Thiago, mid-pivot. The movement is swift and clean enough not to get him flagged, but hard enough to send Thiago staggering and get the ball back in his control.
I smirk at the movement; there's nothing like when you play dirty.
However, the moment is short-lived, as Thiago swings back in retaliation and his head meets another thick fucking skull.
“What the fuck?” Zayden growls, stumbling back as he presses his hand on the side of his temple.
“What happened, Z? I didn’t even touch you.” Thiago snaps, blinking hard, pretending that smashing his skull against hard-headed Zayden was nothing more than a smack on the wrist.
“Man, fuck you.” Zayden spits as he opens his arms, walking towards Thiago, but they are quickly intercepted by Coach Jensen. “Back down, Orozco.” Zayden’s nostrils flare, his eyes narrow slits, and his face a disgusted scowl as he looks at Thiago. So much hatred, and the worst part is that it’s not misplaced. We all have a role at Velarium, different from the ones in Delta Kappa Theta.
Thiago is a handler; his job is to watch us, keep us leashed while we are out of reach. Like us, he’s another pawn, just on a golden board, and like us, his body pays the price. Or maybe more so, his morals and his own sexual identity. They continue to argue over the coach’s shoulder, forcing Ezra, our team captain, to jog over and intervene.
Yet, no one is paying attention. Two hot heads who won’t back down. Testosterone and adrenaline. The kind of feeling that makesus feel alive on and off the field. Dragging my hands down my face, I glance towards the bleachers, and that’s when I spot her.
