Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
I look away a moment. “You’re not…mad at me, right?”
Maybe I shouldn’t care if he is, but I can’t help that I do, and to be frank, I would understand if he was.
The expression on his face seems to mirror my thoughts, as if he’s not sure why I would care—though he’s not upset that I do. The opposite, really.
His smile is forgiving. “I’m not mad, Cammie. A little sad for myself, but I can take it, and I’m well aware I made the bed I’m in.”
“I don’t want to intentionally hurt you, Alister. I’m just…” Doing what I can to let you go? Using Brady to help me do that? Enjoying being with someone I can trust, even if it’s not real?
I don’t know what I want to say here.
He reaches out, pushing my hair behind my ear, and my eyes close of their own accord. When I reopen them, he’s gazing sweetly at me. “I know you don’t. That’s not who you are and that might be part of what’s so hard about all this. You’re good. Sweet. Spicy.” He smirks a little, and a low chuckle escapes me, but a hint of sorrow falls over him in the next moment, though he tries to hide it. “What I mostly feel is regret.”
I swallow. “Is it okay if I say same?”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “It is. Is it okay if I say I’m a little worried about you?”
A small scowl builds. “Why?”
“Why did you stop where you did?”
I open my mouth but then close it.
I didn’t stop for any reason. I was just…watching.
Alister holds my gaze a moment but then curses as he looks down at his phone. “I hate to run off, but if I don’t go now, I’ll be late for my session. I’ll see you in class next week?”
I nod, watching him walk away.
I spin back around to find the girls are no longer standing there, and neither is Brady.
With a deep breath, I tuck my little trinket back in my bag, head to my dorm, and crawl into bed with the TV remote.
And that’s where I stay all weekend.
Brady
“What the hell do you mean, you’re injured?” I jump up from the chair I only just planted my ass in, my frown snapping from Mason to Chase to Coach and back to the man in question. “How? You kicked ass out there. Walked off with your head high and got on a damn bus. How did you get injured in your fucking sleep, because I know for a fact all you did was go straight to Payton’s and crashed when we got in last night?”
I’m sure they fucked first, but that has no bearing on this damn conversation, so I don’t mention it.
Coach sighs, uncrossing and recrossing his legs where he’s perched against the desk. “Sit down, Brady, and lower your damn voice.”
My head snaps toward Chase, who stares at Mason with a scowl that matches my own.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Woke up about five this morning with a pounding headache and started throwing up. Called Coach to give him a heads-up that I might not make it to practice tomorrow if I still felt like shit in the morning. He hung up on me and thirty minutes later sent me this clip.” Mason turns the tablet in his lap around, and we both lock on to the screen.
Mason presses Play, and I watch as the Sabers’ D-end breaks through our line, knowing what play it is before the clip finishes. Mason gets sacked, stays on the ground for a split second, his eyes closed, but hops up a heartbeat later.
My eyes move to Coach, then Chase, then back to the screen when Mason zooms in, replaying the last four seconds in slow motion.
We watch as Mason’s head hits the turf before his body, bouncing once, twice, his neck crooked to the side slightly when it finally comes to rest against the grass.
“A concussion?” Chase says, and we both look to our best friend.
Mason nods. “None of us even realized how hard of a hit I took until Coach went to check the game film after I told him how I was feeling. Honestly, I should have put two and two together, but it didn’t even cross my mind.”
“Fuck.” I rub my hands together. “Concussion protocol puts him out for two weeks,” I say, stating the obvious.
Chase looks to Coach. “Why did you call us in here to tell us this?”
It’s a fair question. Normally, these are private conversations we’re none the wiser about, and unless a buddy of ours tells us beforehand, like Mason would have done, we find out who’s on the IR list as a team at the start of Monday’s practice.
Coach looks at us both, sighs, and kicks off the desk, moving behind it to drop into the seat. “Because the three of you are a unit, and that plays a huge factor in how the team has responded to Mason. With him out, that means—”