Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Just then someone else jogs to where we’re standing, my brother Ledger, and I can barely suppress a growl. “Hey, you okay?”
Before I can reply Riot jumps in for me. “He says he’s fine.”
Ledger glances at Riot for a beat, something passing between them that annoys the shit out of me, before coming back to me. “We could take a break and—”
“You call for a break,” I say, cutting him off, “and I’ll fucking break your nose.”
For a few seconds, all Ledger does is stare at me, and I notice Riot going alert in the periphery. While I’m not one to shy away from a fist fight—In fact, I’m usually the one who provokes it; fighting makes for a good distraction too—I don’t do it with my youngest brother. Mostly because he’s got anger issues, the kind that you need a therapist for.
But I don’t give a fuck. In fact, I want him to fight me. I want someone to fight me so I can get this fucking aggression out of my blood, this storm that’s been brewing for the past few months. I wonder if this is how my little brother feels all the time, his chest tight, his stomach churning. His entire body shaking with restlessness.
Just when I think Ledger’s going to take me up on my offer, he throws me a smirk. “Yeah, well, if you break my nose, my wife will break yours. And as tiny as she is, she packs a mean punch.”
Ah, right. His wife.
My little brother is in love too. In fact, he’s already hitched and has two kids. Almost a year old, and twins: Dove, the girl, and War, the boy. Anyway, love seems to have done wonders for his temper. More so than the therapy he had to do, that he still does. These days, it takes a lot to provoke him. No wonder people say love conquers all, and no wonder I want to fucking punch his face. Again I feel guilty for thinking that, because I want him to be happy. Just as I want Stellan to be happy. They’re my brothers. My family.
It’s just that… my head is fucked and them being here, showing concern isn’t helping.
“Didn’t know you were letting a girl fight your battles these days,” I say, smirking back; although I don’t think mine has any humor in it. “It’s okay though. You can run home to her with your ugly mug intact.”
He keeps smirking. “Ugly or not, this is the mug that gets me laid, so go fuck yourself.”
“I thought it was your big dick that gets you laid,” Riot chimes in at this point.
Ledger eyes Riot. “Why, you afraid you won’t get any action? Given the state of things downstairs.”
Riot throws him a smile, clapping his shoulder. “Appreciate your concern, man, but my girl has no complaints.”
“And why would she,” Ledger retorts, clapping Riot back, “when with your size, you probably just go”—he shrugs—“right in.”
Riot chuckles. “Ah, fuck, is that where you’re going wrong? See, it’s supposed to happen that way. You gotta prep your girl so it does go right in.”
Ledger opens his mouth—to retort, I’m sure—but I butt in. “All right, you fuckfaces, enough. Fucking 101 is over. Measure your dicks and trade your war stories on your own time, yeah? Let’s get back to the game.”
Then I can’t help adding, because were I in my right mind, I’d remind them of this fact—and despite them irritating the fuck out of me, I don’t want them to unnecessarily worry over me— “Besides, no matter how many times you bust out the ruler, I’m going to be bigger and better. By a fucking mile. So the discussion is moot anyway.”
They both flip me the bird before flipping each other one and finally jogging away. I take one last look at the glass partition, only to notice they’re both gone. Probably to get a room. Well, good for them, isn’t it?
The rest of the practice is uneventful. As in, I don’t miss any passes, but I also don’t score any goals. Fantastic. I don’t let it get to me though. I can’t. I can’t get into my head, not where my game is concerned. I’m a natural. I know that. I’ve always known it. I was born to play soccer. I’ve been playing it since I was five years old. Through all the shit and fucking tragedy, soccer has been my one constant in life. I just need a distraction. That’s all. I just need to find something that’ll get me to move on and focus. Once I figure out what that is, everything should be fine.
We’re back in the locker room and I’m about to hit the shower when I hear my name being called. It’s Conrad. He stands at the door, his features looking grave. “A word.”