Page 3 of Escape Velocity
He quickly packs his belongings and glances at the field, noticing the mystery player talking with his coach as the other players start warming up with stretches.
He drops his metal water bottle on the bench, and it nearly rattles the entire bench with the force of an earthquake, making one of the girls below squeal in surprise. They all cast him sneers, and he utters a small apology as his cheeks heat, and he barrels down the stairs so that he can’t draw any more attention to himself than he already has.
“Note to self. Don’t work on the bleachers beforeorduring football practice,” he mumbles to himself.
He finally gets off the last step, but just as he flings his backpack around his shoulders, he’s getting another loud, “Hey.”
He sighs and spins around.
“Look, I have somewhere I have to be. If all you have to say is ‘hey’ to me?—”
“Fanning,” the player says, tone even and all-knowing.
Mason raises an eyebrow. How does this guy know his last name? He hasn’t even talked to any of the football players yet—at least he doesn’t think so.
He sees the player sporting the number four. He remembers seeing that number on one of the ginormous player posters on campus. One he tried to avoid.
And only one person ever calls him by his last name…
No. Absolutely not. No chance.
Mason immediately freezes, and for the first time today he takes a deep inhale through his nose. He clenches his fist like a learned response, like onlyhecan elicit.
Mason’s heart nearly stops as the player takes off his helmet, and he’s met with the achingly familiar and piercing hazel eyes of Callum Brown.
Mason couldn’t even tell it was him under the helmet. They haven’t seen each other for over a year.
Not since that last day of Mason’s junior year of high school, when Callum graduated and virtually disappeared.
He’d caught glimpses of Callum when he returned to Northwood from Montgomery at Thanksgiving and Christmas, but he hadn’t come face-to-face with him and been approached with the sheer size of him.
It’s like he’d slapped fifty pounds of muscle on him, and he probably had. He even seemed to grow taller, if that was even possible.
Everything about Callum is different. His black hairis wavier and shorter, and there is a shadow of facial hair along his sharp jaw.
Not only is he taller, but he’sbigger. Not just bigger by a little, but like he works out three times a day. Like he was pumped with steroids the day he screwed off to Montgomery.
Everything seems different, except his amber eyes.
Those are always familiar.
Mason swallows hard, his anger moving to the side and making some room for intimidation and fear to form an insidious trifecta.
“Yeah?” Mason says, gripping the straps of his backpack tighter, gulping and looking in between Callum’s eyes instead of directly in them.
“You go here?” Callum says, a single eyebrow downturned, as if he’s dumbfounded at Mason’s presence on the premises.
Mason scoffs. He looks up at the sky. Looks down to the ground. Back to the bridge of Callum’s nose.
“No, I’m not going to the college I’ve wanted to go to since I was six. I’m just visiting for funsies!”
Callum sighs. The distinctive, quick, harsh sigh that is thick with disdain that’s only ever reserved for his interactions with Mason. Not only does it show that he is already finished with the conversation, but it elicits such a visceral reaction in Mason that he wants to get Callum fired up right back.
“Just as delightful as you were in high school, I see,” Callum says, his voice thick with sarcasm.
Mason sneers at him, his mood already souring as the sun continues to bear down on him.
Callum glances at the field where his teammates are waving him over, like he has places to go and people to see.
