Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Our keeper punts the ball back into play, and I get clobbered going up for a header. I take Kenny’s elbow in the neck and stumble on my hands and knees trying to spin after him. From the corner of my eye, I see Coach launch his water bottle into the stands.
I don’t blame him. I’ve been shit at practice today. Two steps behind during this five-on-five scrimmage and feeling like a JV first-year. I’m usually one of the sturdier guys on the field, but today I’m getting bodied off the ball left and right. Can’t seem to find the energy.
“Bishop!”
Coach barks my name and jogs over to the touchline for my thrashing.
“Hey, get your head in the goddamn game,” he snaps from behind reflective sunglasses. “I don’t care whatever bullshit’s going on up in that skull of yours, you need to focus. Now get out there and put the damn ball in the net, or you’ll be taking penalties until sunrise tomorrow.”
It’s not for lack of trying. He doesn’t know the considerable effort it’s taking to be even this half-present. Truth is, since Casey stopped talking to me, I haven’t been able to concentrate on much else. I spent the weekend sliding into a pit of despair, and I’m only about halfway up the slick, slippery wall, still trying to climb my way out. Each time my thoughts drift to her, my grip gives way and I’m back on my ass at the bottom of that pit. Staring up at a tiny dot of light so high above my head, reaching it feels impossible.
When we line up for a free kick and I take a point-blank shot straight to the face, I don’t feel the ground come up to catch me. The pain is so hot and intense, I can’t open my eyes. The whistle blows and that’s practice. Coach calls it rather than risk peeling my corpse off the field.
“Dude,” our team captain says in a low voice. “You okay?”
And that’s when I know I’ve hit rock bottom. When Duke frickin’ Jessup shows genuine concern for me. His uniform damp with sweat, he follows me toward the side doors of the sports building.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, dragging my feet as we head for the locker rooms.
“This is all your brother’s fault,” Duke says darkly.
I look over, only half-interested. “What?”
“Shaw. The motherfucker shows up and everything’s out of whack now. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
I give a tired laugh. “Bro. RJ won that fight fair and square. You gotta get over it.”
“Never,” Duke vows and stalks past me through the door.
After a shower, I pull my phone from my locker to see no new notifications. I know I shouldn’t, but there’s nothing that can curb the compulsion to text Casey again.
Me: I know you hate me right now. Please, can we talk? I’m sorry.
I watch the screen, waking it when the brightness begins to dim. Waiting for the blinking dots. They don’t come, so I get dressed and toss my sweaty practice jersey in the laundry bin. When I check my phone again, her response slaps me in the face.
Casey: Fuck off forever.
Yeah, I know. It’s about what I expected, only more explicit. Still, I can’t help hoping the next message I send is the one that will catch her in the right mood.
My luck doesn’t get any better when I get back to our dorm room to find RJ on the couch with Sloane.
Goddamn it. I’d rather take that ball to the face again, thanks.
“Stop texting my sister,” she snaps right off the top.
“Please.” I go to the fridge and grab two cold soda cans to press to my cheeks. “Can you just write it down and leave it on my bed? My head’s killing me.”
“I don’t give a shit.” She jumps to her feet, all revved up and spoiling for a fight. “Casey told you to leave her alone. If you can’t do that, you’re going to deal with me instead.”
“I get it, Sloane. You’ll rip off my dick and feed it to me.” I lie on my bed and silently hope if I stay very still, she won’t see me.
“You think it’s a joke, but you have no idea the damage you’ve done to her.”
With my eyes closed, I hear Sloane’s angry footsteps rush closer.
“She’s been a completely different person since she found out what you did. She’s withdrawn, confrontational. Having angry outbursts at the slightest thing. You know she blew up at some girls who were bullying her last week?”
“Good,” I answer, because it’s about damn time Casey sticks up for herself. “What’s the problem with that?”
“I wasn’t there, but I heard that Casey said some nasty things to them, which, sure, for me might be normal. But for my sister, it’s completely out of character.”