“She is.”
“Then why can’t I see her? Why isn’t she texting or returning my calls? It’s not like she has cholera! It’s the flu—there’s a shot for that. And she should still be able to see her friends.”
“Callum pretty much has her quarantined,” I lie.
“I don’t believe you,” she says bluntly. “I think something’s wrong, like seriously wrong, and if you don’t tell me what it is, I’m going to kick you in the balls, Reed Royal.”
“She’s home sick,” I repeat. “She’s got the flu.”
Valerie’s jaw opens. Then closes. Then opens again to release an aggravated shriek. “You’re such a liar.”
She follows up on her threat, lunging forward to knee me in the balls.
Agonizing pain shoots through me. “Son of a bitch.” My eyes water as I cup my junk.
Valerie stalks off without another word.
A loud hoot sounds from behind me. Still gripping my aching nuts, I groan as Wade Carlisle sidles up to me.
“What’d you do to deserve that?” he asks with a grin. “Turn her down?”
“Something like that.”
He runs a hand through his messy blond hair. “You gonna be able to spot me, or should we go find some ice first?”
“I can spot you, asshole.”
We head for the gym—I hobble and Wade cackles like an old lady. The gym is reserved for the football team between three and six, which gives me three hours to work out until my body and mind completely shut down. And that’s exactly what I do. I lift until my arms ache, pushing myself into a state of pure exhaustion.
Later that night, I go into Ella’s room and lie on her bed. The scent of her skin grows fainter every time I enter. I know that’s my fault, too. East popped his head in last night and said the room stunk of me.
The house stinks, all right. Brooke has been here every night since Ella took off, her hands on Dad and her eyes on me. From time to time, her palm lingers over her stomach as a warning that if I step out of line, she’s going to bust out the pregnancy news. The baby must be Dad’s, which means it’s my half brother or sister, but I don’t know what to do with that or how to process it other than that Brooke’s here and Ella’s not—and that’s the perfect symbol for everything that’s wrong in my world.
The next day is more of the same.
I go through the motions, sitting in my classes without hearing a word the teachers say and then heading for the field to attend afternoon practice. Unfortunately it’s just a walk-through so I don’t get to hit anyone.
Tonight there’s a home game against Devlin High, whose offensive line breaks apart like a cheap toy after every snap. I’ll get to pummel their quarterback. I’ll get to play myself numb. And when I get home, hopefully I’ll be too drained to obsess over Ella.
Ella once asked me if I fought for money. I don’t. I fight because I enjoy it. I like the feel of my fist in someone’s face. I don’t even mind the pain that blooms when someone else lands a punch. It feels real. But I never needed it. Never really needed anything before she came along. Now I’m finding it hard to breathe without her next to me.
I reach the back doors of the building just as a group of guys breeze out. One of them jostles my shoulder, then snaps, “Watch where you’re going, Royal.”
I tense up as I lock eyes with Daniel Delacorte, the creep who drugged Ella at a party last month.
“Nice to see you again, Delacorte,” I drawl. “I’m surprised your rapist ass is still at Astor Park.”
“You shouldn’t be.” He sneers. “After all, they let all kinds of scum in.”
I don’t know whether he’s referring to me or Ella.
Before I can reply, a girl runs between us, her hands covering her face. Loud, choking sobs momentarily distract both Daniel and me, and we watch as she runs to a white Passat in the student lot and climbs inside.
He turns back to me with a smirk. “Isn’t that the twins’ girlfriend? What happened? Did they decide that they were tired of their beard?”
I swing around and take another glance at the girl, but it’s definitely not Lauren Donovan. This one is blonde and willowy. Lauren’s a tiny redhead.
Turning back, I give Daniel a contemptuous look. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” The twins’ relationship with Lauren is screwed up, but it’s their business, and I’m not about to hand Delacorte any ammo over my brothers.
“Sure you don’t.” His lip curls. “You Royals are sick. The twins sharing. Easton slamming everything that moves. You and your dad dipping your wicks in the same pot. Do you and the old man compare notes about Ella? I bet you do.”