Page 82 of Shut Up and Score
I swallow. Yeah, that’s not going well.
I was supposed to be over him. Stronger. Colder. Untouchable. Instead, I’m the idiot lying in bed, refreshing a chat app as though it holds the answers to my heartbreak.
I set the phone down, face-down this time, as if that’ll stop it from owning me. Then I pick it back up. Because I’m weak. And maybe a masochist.
The dots appear. Three tiny, pulsing betrayals. He’s typing. My breath catches. Then they vanish.
I shut my eyes and press the phone to my chest, trying to absorb the chaos inside me.
I could message him. Ishouldmessage him. But all I can think is…what if he’s better than Colton? What if he’s worse?
What if heisColton?
The thought makes my stomach twist. I sit bolt upright, suddenly too hot in my own skin. My brain won’t stop spinning with worst-case scenarios. I shove off the blankets and pace the room.
I want to scream. Or cry. Or punch something that won’t get me benched.
Instead, I grab the hem of my shirt and yank it over my head, throwing it across the room like it’s responsible for my unraveling. I stand there, bare-chested and bare-souled, staring down the little notification on my phone feeling as if it’s my execution date and not a stupid message.
And for the first time in forever, I say it out loud, the thought that won’t leave me alone.
“I still love you, Colton Taylor.”
The silence after is loaded and the kind of thing you can’t take back.
It’s too earlyfor rational thought.
The sky’s still ink-dark, the field lights barely punching through the fog. My muscles ache from yesterday, my brain aches fromeverything, and Luke keeps muttering curses under his breath as if the air personally offended him.
I keep my eyes down as we jog the perimeter, pretending the cold is the reason for the goosebumps on my arms. It’s not. It’s all Colton.
The field’s covered in dew, the kind that soaks into your socks and makes everything feel colder. Early morning practice is Coach’s favorite punishment. Which sucks, because I’m pretty sure we’re all paying for my attitude yesterday.
Luke yawns beside me, then he groans like he’s physically allergic to cardio. “Remind me again why we do this?”
“Character building,” I mutter, watching Colton out of the corner of my eye.
He’s already warmed up, already talking to Caleb and acting normal. While I’m pretending he didn’t steal all the oxygen from my lungs the second I walked out here. I’ve gotten good at ignoring him. Mostly. Until he looks my way. Until my heart trips over itself like a clumsy freshman who can’t run the tire drills.
Coach calls out a change in the drill. Partner passing. Of course.
Of fucking course.
I end up with Colton. Luke gets paired with Caleb and shoots me a look that saysgood luck, bitch.
We don’t talk at first. Just fall into rhythm. Toss, catch. Toss, catch. His passes are crisp. Controlled. Perfect. It pisses me off.
He breaks the silence on the third round.
“I get it now,” he says softly. “Why you’d rather feel nothing than everything.”
I freeze. The blood drains from my head.What?
The ball hits my chest instead of my hands, bounces off, and rolls across the grass. Still, I just stand there in shock.What the fuck did he just say?
“What?”
Colton doesn’t even flinch. Just steps forward, retrieves the ball, and tosses it back to me as if it’s no big deal.
