I fucking feel it.
His eyes widen as he lifts his brows. “Exactly. It was all about her then and she still made a move that would be bad for herself, get her ass sent back to the hell she lived in, out of spite, but she’s one of us now. Even if she hasn’t said it out loud, she knows it, and look what she did for us when she didn’t give a shit who we were... Pushing the girl in the pool at that Graven party, roping up the chick who had the video of Coach and his girl, the shit at the warehouses when she tried to let us get out without being seen, the cabins...”
When my brows dig in, he nods.
“Now, imagine what she’d do for us now that she cares.”
Fuck. He’s right.
I run my hands down my face and I push past him. “I can’t think about this shit right now, Cap. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow or fuck, tonight, after the game.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “That’s probably a better idea.”
He follows behind me, disappearing into his room.
I stop by the bathroom, finding the water still running, so I head for mine to rinse off real quick.
I don’t know if anything Cap said holds any merit, and I sure as fuck plan to find out, but right now I’m gonna lay with her, fuck her if she needs it, hold her if she lets me, and we’ll worry about the shit that happened tonight tomorrow.
I crawl under the covers, pulling the fluffy comforter up to my chin, clenching it as armor when the sound of his footsteps pad against the floor in the hall.
The handle turns, but only as far as a locked knob allows, and I hold my breath.
What seems like a never-ending beat of silence follows, and I bite into my cheek, denying the pathetic tears trying to fight their way to the surface.
It turns again but slower, quieter as he tries one more time ... just in case.
Angry feet pound against the flooring and a door slams in the distance.
The second it does, I release a deep breath, pull my knife from under the blanket and flip it open. I turn it to run my finger over the blade while reading the inscription.
Family runs deeper than blood.
It’s funny when you think about it.
Family runs deeper than blood, yet it’s the ones we chose we’ll so willingly bleed for.
I poke my fingertip until a drop of deep red appears, then run it across my lips. I rub them together, sliding my tongue along my teeth, spreading the metallic flavor left behind across my mouth in self-hate.
I’m sorry, Big Man. For today ... and what’s to come.
I knew after witnessing pre-game warm-ups that tonight would be a messy battle, but I didn’t expect this. This is just ugly.
For what must be the twentieth time tonight, the ball is passed to Maddoc in hopes of him adding some points to the board.
Switching up positions, he spins around a guy on the opposing team but loses his footing and slips. And like the last time the ball touched his hands, it’s stolen right back.
Maddoc growls, his chest bowing out, but he shakes it off and keeps down the court.
I pinch my lips to the side, cringing when the visiting team makes yet another shot, Brayshaw now down by seven.
This entire game they’ve been playing catch up, but they can’t seem to pull ahead. They’re extremely sloppy, like I’ve never seen before, and unfortunately, it’s trickled across the entire team.
Captain hasn’t made a single shot he’s attempted tonight, his frustration etched across his face. He’s pretty much taken himself out at this point, and Royce is playing angry, which translates into foul after foul.
Right as I’m thinking it, another whistle sounds.
All heads turn to look down the opposite side of the court in time to see Royce get in the referee’s face.
“Oh, you’re not gonna call that on his ass, but you wanna call on me all night? I see how it is, ref.” He bends his shoulders back a little, shaking his head mockingly. “It’s cool, I know who signs your paychecks, bitch.”
“Brayshaw!” the coach yells, but Royce ignores him.
I cut a quick glance at Maddoc and Captain, but they stay back, letting him do his thing.
“Man, let’s go. We’ve got a game to win,” a guy from the other team boldly – or stupidly – shouts and Royce whips around, the wild ass look in his eyes caught from here.
Within seconds he’s shoving the dude in the chest, hard enough where the guy falls back against his teammates and I sit up straight, ready for a fucking brawl, but this is Bray’s house, Brayshaw’s town – nobody dares move closer. Nobody except Royce.
“Get in my face again, motherfucker, and you’ll be eatin’ metal.”
The ref throws his hands out, a cautious look in his eyes as he officially ejects Royce from the game.
He flips him off with both hands and stomps over to the bench. He grabs his hoodie and water bottle, throwing it at the other team’s coach, then slams his way through the gym door leading to their locker room.
Bass catches my eye and narrows his, but I dismiss him.
He can blame me all he wants for this shit show, he’s just as guilty and he knows it. All he had to do was go to them with the news about the video, but he came to me instead.
I mean, I appreciate it, but I won’t take his judgmental bullshit when he can right his wrong any time he wants. My guess, though, is he’s not bold enough to know that he already held back information from the three who trust him with their dealings and money flow.
Maybe they shouldn’t.
I find Maddoc on the court, who happens to look over right as I do, but he quickly cuts his eyes back, sliding into position before the ball is in motion again.
The way they’re playing is completely my fault, I know that. I stressed them out, kept them up for almost two days now – doubt any of them slept last night. I know I didn’t.