Page 15 of Shut Up and Score
Stillownsme.
And I don’t know what’s worse.
The fact that I let it happen. Or the fact that I still want it.
The water keeps running.
But nothing feels clean.
I walkinto the tail end of practice with all the cockiness I can muster, pretending I belong.
Which I sort of do…right?
I was accepted back. I jumped through all the hoops. I get to play again.
Coach notices me immediately and scowls like it’s muscle memory.
I chuckle as I approach him, acting as if he’s not the one who could bench me for the season with a single nod. The one that has benched me in the past.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, no apology in my tone.
“Late?” He barks out a laugh, wiping sweat from his forehead with the edge of his shirt. “Practice isover, Blackman. But not for you.”
He jabs a finger toward the track.
“You can run laps with Taylor. Sweat some of that alcohol still clinging to your fucking skin out of your system.”
My smirk falters.
Taylor?
Of course.
I turn my head, and there he is—Colton—shirt damp with sweat, posture tense, eyes already locked on mine like he felt me coming before Coach even said my name.
He doesn’t say anything.
Neither do I.
We just stare.
Long enough that it becomes athing.
Then I shrug and roll my shoulders. “Cool,” I say. “Nice of you to give me company.”
Coach waves us off like we’re both a disappointment and stalks toward the bench, barking at a freshman to clean up the cones.
I start jogging.
Colton falls in beside me.
The silence between us is louder than anything Coach could scream. Our cleats hitting the track seems to echo with each step, and still, I refuse to even acknowledge him.
“You’re back?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“Disappointed?” I shoot back, not even looking at him. “You tried so hard to ruin my life. Didn’t succeed. Guess the golden boy doesn’t get everything he wants.”
His breath stutters beside me, just enough for me to catch it.
