“Go,” Chloe urged me. “Just go. I’ll speak to him.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Shrugging Kye and Zane off me, I gave Denby a cold stare. “Stay the fuck away from her,” I spat.
“Or what, Wilder? What the fuck are you going to do? She’s one of us now. She—”
Zane shoved me out of the store. “Move, now.”
“He’s a fucking asshole.”
“And you walked right into it. What the fuck, Nix?”
They herded me toward Kye’s car and I climbed in the back seat, slamming the door behind me. But not before glancing toward the windows of the store. Denby glared back at me, a shit-eating grin on his face as he pointed two fingers at his eyes and then toward me as if to say, I’m watching you.
“I’m going to fucking destroy him,” I muttered, clenching a fist.
“Is that before or after you get your ass thrown in jail?”
“I barely touched the guy.”
“Come on, Nix, Z’s right. It didn’t look good. Brianne’s uncle—”
“Yeah, yeah, I screwed up. Just fucking drive, Carter. The sooner I get out of here the better.”
But before he could get the car into gear, Nate burst out of the store, jogging toward us.
“What the fuck does this asshole want?”
“Beats me,” Kye murmured, cranking his window. “What?”
“You should be more careful, Wilder. Denby doesn’t need any more reason to go after her,” the guy said, hands tucked in his pockets with casual poise.
“Oh yeah, and who the fuck are you?” My throat bobbed, my heart sinking into my fucking toes.
“Consider me… a friend.”
“Yeah, right.” Kye chuckled but it was full of warning and distrust. “We literally saw you arrive with Denby and his group of douchebags.”
He leaned down and rapped his fingers on the window frame. “Sometimes, you gotta know how to play the game. I’ll be seeing you.” He gave me a curt nod and doubled back around toward the store.
“Okay, that wasn’t weird at all.”
I stared after him, watching as he slipped back into the store and Denby approached him. The conversation got heated, the two of them arguing about something.
Or someone.
Fuck my life.
How have things gotten so complicated in such a short period of time?
Whichever way I looked at it, Kye and Zane were right. It all came back to her.
Harleigh.
And I didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.
Monday at practice was brutal. Every inch of me hurt but I reveled in it. Siphoning every ounce of pain, every crash and thud of my defense against my barely healed body, into a vicious unstoppable weapon.
“Go, go!” Coach yelled across the field as I dodged a player and faked left and then darted right, cutting around him and taking off toward the end zone.
I wasn’t typically a rusher. My strength on the field lay in my passing, not speed. The precision with which I commanded my team. But sometimes, like right now, I needed to run. I needed to feel my cleats hitting the ground, the ping of exertion in my muscle as I pushed myself harder… faster. Pushed myself until my lungs burned and legs ached.
Hench grinned as he dropped back to block my route. “Your ass is mine, Wilder.” The promise in his words only propelled me faster.
“Come get me, asshole,” I taunted, switching directions and racing toward the end zone. Thirty yards. Twenty… Ten.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw a wall of magenta and black fly toward me. That fucker had timed his assault down to the second, and I knew… fucking knew he was going to take me down. But I wasn’t going to go without a fight. Pushing down onto my knees, I leaped into the air, sailing as high and far as I could. His hand connected with my ankle, fingers grasping, clutching, but I shoved myself forward. Willed it from my very soul and landed out of his reach.
Hell yeah. I mentally high-fived myself as I cockily jogged into the end zone and slammed the ball down, glancing back at him.
Touchdown, motherfucker.
One hand pressed to the ground, he glared up at me, shaking his head. “I almost had you, asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah, tell it to someone who cares.”
The rest of the team descended on me, jostling me and clapping me on the back.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Coach made his way toward us. “That right there is going to take us all the way to the playoffs. Nice work, son.” He gave me a small nod.
Zane shot me an amused grin over Coach’s shoulder, mouthing, ‘Nice work, son.’
I flipped him off discreetly. Sarcastic fucker.
“Okay, listen up. I had a call earlier and there’s been a change to the schedule. Dartmouth will no longer be our first game. Instead, we’ll be playing DA at their stadium.”
Fuck.
A chorus of grumbles went up around me.
“Seriously, Coach. We’ve got to go to their place again?”
“It’s out of my hands, ladies.” He shrugged. “But look at it this way, when we beat their sorry asses it’ll feel that much sweeter.”
“Fuck yeah,” Hench bellowed and everyone followed, cheering and clapping.
But I didn’t share their excitement.
Going up against Denby and his pussy friends on their turf was going to be a dog fight. I wasn’t worried about losing… but I was worried about the shit they might pull to throw us off our game or get us in trouble with the game officials.
“Okay, bring it in. Hawks on three.” Coach said, shoving his hand into the crude circle. Hands fell on top as everyone closed ranks, pressing closer. “One… two… three. Go Hawks. Now hit the showers.”
The circle broke apart, guys jogging toward the locker rooms. But I lingered behind, hardly surprised when Zane and Kye joined me.
“Where’s your head at?” Zane said, quietly out of earshot of the coaches.
“I don’t like it.”
“Me neither,” Kye said. “First game of the season at their place. Denby will put a target on your back. And now that B goes there—”
I shot him a cold look and he dropped that line of thought. “I’m just saying, he’ll be out for blood.”
“Or maybe he’ll lay the trap to let you hang yourself.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I narrowed my eyes at Zane, and he shrugged.
“It’s means she’s still your fucking kryptonite and she’s in the hands of your worst fucking enemy.”
Harleigh
“Ignore him,” Celeste said as I returned Marc Denby’s hateful stare.
“What’s his problem all of a sudden?” I asked through gritted teeth. “I’ve been here six days now.”
It was Tuesday, and painfully apparent that my settling in period at DA was over. Yesterday, the whispers had been louder, the stares less curious and more hate-filled.
Marc Denby’s crowd of followers had poked fun at me every time our paths crossed.
Wilder’s pet.
Weirdo.
And my personal favorite trailer trash.
I’d let their taunts, their barbed words, and cruel snickers roll off my back. At least, for the most part. But by the end of the day, some of their poison had seeped into the tiny cracks of my heart.