Today, I walked into practice pissed at Kennedy for yet another reason. I stewed about him and Juniper all last night. I kept replaying the conversation I’d had with her, over and over again, until I was damn near ready to drive over to Kennedy’s house at midnight.
Fuck him for creating another reason for Juniper to hate me, and fuck him for hurting her.
I brushed by the asshole himself while leaving the locker room, making sure to shoulder-check him the way he always did to me.
“What’s your problem?” he grunted at my back as I kept walking away from him.
“You’re my problem,” I muttered, but I knew he wouldn’t hear it.
Apparently, though, Kennedy really wanted to hear what I had to say about him, jogging after me until we were making our way across the field, and he was nipping at my heels.
“Not gonna turn around and fucking face me?” he called at my back.
I was the baby? When he’d been pissing and moaning all season long?
When he spoke again, he’d dropped his voice. “It’s about Juniper, isn’t it?”
I stopped in my tracks and slowly turned to face him. A few drops of rain splattered to the ground between us, and I hoped the skies opened up so I could watch Kennedy act like a baby about that, too.
“I’m not talking to you about her,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Kennedy’s expression reeked of exasperation. “She came crying to you, huh? Careful, Briggs. Your jealousy is showing. Your sister might not realize how badly you want my girlfriend, but I sure do.”
Losing it a little, I took an intimidating step closer to Kennedy, satisfied when he quickly took a step back.
“She’s not your fucking girlfriend,” I reminded him. “Not anymore.”
That was the one good thing to come from him being a cheating asshole.
