Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
I don’t talk to the media afterward, too fucking pissed to speak to anyone. Most everyone on the team steers clear of me, outside of back slaps and good games, which I don’t deserve to hear.
I sit by myself on the bus to the private hangar where we’ll grab our chartered flight to LA. I’m in my seat on the plane when a text comes through. I expect it to be Coach Blake, Mom, or Desmond checking on me, so I nearly drop my phone when I see it’s Lucas. We’ve always had each other’s numbers, as a just-in-case thing, but never once messaged.
Lucas: I got a new pen that can write underwater.
Um…what the fuck is he talking about?
Me: Okay…
Lucas: Don’t worry. It can write other words too.
Well, that’s weird, but I do smile slightly. I’ve never had Lucas tell me a stupid joke before. It makes me wonder…
Me: Are you high?
Lucas: I wish.
They make the announcement that we’re preparing for takeoff and to put our phones on Airplane Mode. I do without responding to Lucas. What the fuck would I say anyway? I have no idea why he texted me that, no idea why he texted me at all.
I try to block it out, try to find somewhere else to hide another thought, but my brain is getting too crowded. It won’t be long before things start spilling free.
I don’t turn Airplane Mode off even when we land in LA or as I’m driving home. It’s fucking late anyway, and I’m sure Lucas didn’t say anything else and is fast asleep by now.
My phone taunts me from my nightstand, though, keeping me from sleep. I can’t stop myself from grabbing it and pressing on the screen until the messages start coming through.
Mom—the person I feel the worst about ignoring. She’s great, always has been, and we’ll always be close, but I don’t want to talk about the game tonight, not even with her.
Coach Blake.
Desmond.
Just like I thought, but there’s one more.
Lucas.
I took a beautiful photo of a sunset tonight.
He…took a photo of a sunset…? Why is he telling me this? Anyone else would have mentioned the game. I know that’s why everyone else messaged and what they’d say. Coach Blake would make me feel guilty about fucking up. Des’s what the fuck’s up, man? would feel less guilt-inducing, but not much better. And Mom’s sadness and worry would send my thoughts into a tailspin.
If Ellis were here, that’s what he’d want to talk about too. He would already have a plan to put into action, a new training routine or something else to help me get where I want to be.
But that’s not what Lucas messaged about.
I’m swept up in a whirlwind of guilt as soon as I have the thought. Why am I comparing what Ellis would have done to what Lucas is doing? The two have nothing to do with each other. Ellis knew me, knew what I needed because he understood how much I love football, and he felt the same. What would he think if he knew football is the last thing I want to talk about right now? That the thought makes me feel like crawling out of my skin because every time I fuck up on the football field, it feels like I’m somehow betraying him.
I’ll take anything that can distract me from that, which I tell myself is why I text Lucas.
Me: Can I see it?
I’m sure he’s asleep—he sent this message hours ago—but three dots pop up seconds later, indicating he’s typing.
Lucas: No.
Me: No?
Me: Why did you tell me about it if I can’t see it?
Lucas: Giving you shit is fun.
I roll my eyes. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s enjoying himself right now.
Me: You’re an asshole.
Lucas: I know… I used to care much more than I do now. What’s the point in worrying about something you can’t change?
My brows pinch together. I don’t know if he’s being serious. Lucas is impossible to pin down. I’m not sure if anyone ever has. If so, not anyone I know.
Me: I was giving you shit.
I hope he realizes that’s a play on his words.
Lucas: But it’s true.
Me: We can all be assholes. It’s human nature.
I don’t know why I’m defending him to…well, himself, because the truth is Lucas can be a bigger dick than most people, but I’m not immune to asshole behavior myself. On the outside, it looks like Lucas had it easy, but I know he didn’t. Coach Blake was never good to him.
I wasn’t always good to him. Ellis wasn’t either.
Lucas: Aww, look at you being sweet. Did you have a change of heart after our night on the roof?
Me: I changed my mind. You’re the only asshole.
Lucas: In the whole world? I’m honored you think so highly of me.