Page 37 of Broken Ties (Rixon High 4)

The second I found her, I wished I hadn’t.

Poppy wasn’t seated with our families. No, she was with Eli. But what had I really expected after our talk last night? I’d practically pushed her into his arms because it was the right thing to do—the only thing.

Above a couple of playful kisses when we were younger and the stupid sex pact we’d made the summer before tenth grade, there was a reason we’d never crossed that line.

Still, it felt strange watching her with another guy. Watching her laugh and hang on his every word. Especially when I knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of those smiles and that laughter.

Fuck.

“Bennet, get over here,” someone yelled, and I jerked out of the trance I’d fallen under.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Ezra asked as I moved into the huddle while Coach Macintosh ran over a couple of plays.

“Nothing, why?”

“You were just standing there, staring at the bleachers.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“It’s her, isn’t it? She’s seeing someone now and you’re finally realizing—”

“I’m not doing this,” I gritted out, keeping my eyes ahead.

“Fine. But you need to man the fuck up and tell her how you feel before—”

My eyes cut to Ezra and I hissed. “I said I’m not doing this. We have a game to win.”

I needed to be clearheaded. Focused. I didn’t need fantasies of Poppy running through my head. Fantasies that would never come true. Because this possessiveness I felt over her, this strange sticky feeling inside me, it was jealousy.

That’s all it was.

It didn’t mean anything. It would pass.

It had to.

Fist clenched, I kicked my cleats into the freshly mowed grass and roared, “Raiders, let’s do this.”

Sweat rolled down my back, my heart drumming in my chest. Every hair on my neck stood to attention, the ripple of anticipation in the air a living, breathing thing.

Marshall Prep had come out swinging. They had learned our favored plays, latched on to our weaknesses, and they hadn’t made it easy for Cole or Ezra. One of their linebackers was particularly causing issues for our guys, so I’d kept him in my sights. But he was big and fast and more often than not he managed to break through our line.

“Stay on him,” Coach yelled. “Stay the hell on him.”

We needed a touchdown if we stood any chances of winning. Losing was not an option, but the second I snapped the ball to Cole, they attacked. I dropped my shoulder and ran, pumping my legs hard as I cut straight toward the linebacker.

“I got you,” I breathed, pushing harder, my lungs smarting as I dived, fingers outstretched ready to grab onto whatever part of him I could. He was fast though. Too fucking fast, and I realized it the second his jersey brushed my fingertips. I braced myself for the impact, the thud of hitting the ground, knocking the air from my lungs. The roar of the crowd told me we still had possession of the ball, that either Ezra or one of our other receivers was making a run for it.

Pain tore through my shoulder as I rolled onto my side and looked up to find Ezra flying down the sideline, his long legs eating up the yard markers. Thirty… twenty… ten…

“Touchdoooown.”

Dawson stadium exploded, blue and white players all charging for Ezra to celebrate while I lay there, trying to catch my breath.

Something was wrong. I knew it the second I tried to climb to my feet. Red-hot agony lanced down my arm.

Fuck.

My team celebrated without me, everyone too caught up in the moment with Ezra to even notice me. He deserved it, he did. But I couldn’t help the sting of jealousy. I’d never know that feeling. The high of the win would never be mine and mine alone. There was no I in team, we all knew that. No room for that kind of selfish mindset. But there was always a star. The player who possessed pure natural talent.

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