Page 16 of Make Me Bleed
Every muscle stiffens at that. “She’s not,” I deny. She can’t be. It’s Ma. She’s strong. She can deal with it.
Because I can’t.
Gabe laughs, but it’s cold and mocking and sends gooseflesh scattering across my skin. “How can you even say that?Of course,she is. She’s dealing with him all on her own while still trying to keep you protected. And I’m assuming she’s still doing a pretty damn good job of it if he still hasn’t gotten ahold of you.”
I snarl. “That’s none of your fucking business.”
I don’t tell him about the phone calls I don’t answer. They could only be from him.
“Of course, it’s my business!” Gabe shouts in a rare burst of anger, causing a few people on the team to look over—including Jordan. His brows furrow as he stares at us, and I barely resist the urge to flip him off, but my mind is elsewhere. “It’s been my business since the moment you came to me and told me the truth. You don’t get to throw that in my fucking face, Peris!” he hisses venomously, and I rear back, stumbling as he shoves his hand against my chest.
“And all I’m trying to do is keep this fucking family together because that’s who you guys are to me. You’re my family. But you don’t make it easy. With your drinking and your anger and your mom’s depression. It’s beenhellfor me, but you don’t care because it’sall about Perisall the damn time.
“Try to think aboutanyoneother than yourself.” And with that, he spins on his heels and stomps away from me, chest stillheaving with every deep breath he pulls in. The rest of the team has stopped playing and is just standing around, staring at the loud display we just made in front of everyone. My face heats in shame, but I hold my ground.
“The hell are you looking at?” I shout, face red-hot and burning.
Jordan makes his way toward me, and I look up at the ceiling, praying to whatever Gods exist to just give me a fucking break before I really lose it.
“Good question, Baxter,” he drawls. “Sounds like a real messy situation.”
“Bates,” I sigh, jaw clenched, “if you don’t shut?—”
“Relax,” he snaps. “Practice is over—for you. Go home and get some sleep. You look like shit, and you stink like booze. Sounds like you’ve got some shit to work out.”
“I don’t need to go home,” I grit out.
He smirks, and I want to slap it off his stupid fucking face. “Good thing I’m not asking. As yourcaptain,I’m telling you. Go home. Sleep. Drink some fuckingwaterand come back tomorrow with a better attitude. I need you well rested for the game.”
“Fuck you,” I snap, teeth bared.
“Atta boy.” Jordan grins at me, two full rows of bright white teeth bared, and I don’t think I’ve ever hated the prick more.
“Fuck this!” I whirl around and stomp to my bag, throwing it over my shoulder with a snarl as I move across the gym, hating the feeling of everyone’s eyes on me as I leave.
“I hope you feel better by tomorrow, Baxter,” Coach calls behind me, and my footsteps falter at the reminder that I’m not alone and I’m basically throwing a fucking fit in front of him and… for fuck’s sake…
“Thanks, Coach. Me, too,” I call over my shoulder just before I leave the practice courts and step out into the frigid air.Autumn is about over with, and it can be felt in the bitterness of the breeze as it washes over my heated skin.
Starting my trek toward home, I pull out a cigarette and light it, already feeling the effects in my lungs. I know I should quit—it’s the worst fucking thing I could do as a player—but there’s something about it… it makes me feel closer to him for some reason or another. I don’t really know.
All I do know is I can’t quit.
So, I take drag after drag off my cigarette, and when it reaches the butt, I flick it into the air and light another with ease, already pulling the toxic smoke into my lungs with a grateful inhale.
The sky is bright above, only a few clouds lingering in the deep blue oasis they’re stuck in. I watch them roam aimlessly, feeling kinship with water, of all fucking things. The way it’s stuck up there, forced to become whatever, do whatever. Just waiting.
I scoff at the thought. Maybe all the alcohol I’ve consumed has finally started to eat away at my brain for me to start having such ridiculous fucking thoughts.
Needing to clear my head, I stick the butt of my cigarette between my lips and pull out my phone. I scroll through my contacts until I reach Skylar’s name. She’s in class, but I know she’ll answer me.
She always does.
Me:
You busy?
As I wait for her to respond, I finish my smoke and flick the butt across the street, watching it bounce across the concrete, the cherry sailing through the air before it lands in a small puddle of water, extinguished.
