“Why is it so freaking cold?” Sawyer gripes as we walk up the stands.
I feel her pain. The temperatures don’t usually drop below sixty-five in November, but tonight it’s almost fifty. Far too cold for our west coast blood.
“I don’t know, but I’m grateful it’s my first and last football game of the season.”
Behind us, Oakley groans. “Would you two quit your bitching? You’re putting negative energy into the universe right before my boy’s big game.”
“Whatever, you big hippie,” I tease as we find some empty seats and park our asses.
“Remind me again why we came tonight?” Sawyer says through chattering teeth. “I’m pretty sure my brain is frozen.”
I point to my cousin, who’s sitting between us. “Ask him.”
Oakley rolls his eyes. “I told you, Cole banned me from coming to any of his games because he thinks I’m bad luck.”
Sawyer scrunches her face. “So you’re here because…”
“It’s the last home game of the season,” he states with wide eyes. “I figure what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He taps his head. “After all, luck only exists in here.” His voice drops down to a whisper. “Plus, I’ll be out five-hundred bucks if the Vikings don’t take the Knights.”
Sawyer and I exchange a glance.
“You mean if the Knights don’t take the Vikings.”
Oakley looks sheepish. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Sawyer smacks his arm. “You bet against the Knights?”
I smack his other arm. “What is wrong with you? I thought Cole was your friend?”
Oakley looks around. “Will you two keep your voices down?” He rolls his shoulders. “Cole is my boy, but everyone in Royal Manor is banking on the Knights whooping the Vikings.”
“Yeah, everyone except you,” Sawyer points out.
“Pipe down, short stack.” His expression turns pensive. “Like I said, everyone is banking on the Knights going to the state championship game…which means there’s a hell of a lot of money on the line for some lucky asshole if the Vikings win.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in luck?”
“Yeah,” Sawyer mocks while pointing to her head. “I thought luck only existed in here.”
He makes a face. “Would you two get off my case?” He pulls out his phone. “Talk amongst yourselves until the game starts…and then…” He makes a zipping motion across his lips before focusing back on his phone.
“Fine,” Sawyer says before focusing on me. “Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?”
“I’m not sure there’s really anything to do.” I shrug. “I gave the shoes to my aunt. She was a little confused since she told me not to worry about it but otherwise thankful.”
She wasn’t the only one.
Two days ago, I opened my locker to find a box containing a pair of Louboutins identical to the ones I wore the night I took an unsolicited dip in Jace’s pool.
To say I was shocked was an understatement, but then Oakley let it slip that a few days after our disastrous night together Jace asked him to find out my aunt’s shoe size so he could order her a new pair.
Evidently, they were on backorder due to the upcoming holidays, but he was able to track down a pair this week.
The thought of Jace Covington jumping through hoops so he could get my aunt a pair of shoes is…mind-boggling.
Especially since we haven’t spoken.
Sawyer purses her lips. “I’d say text him, but after wham, bam, thank you ma ’am-ing you before kicking yo—”
“Okay,” Oakley declares. “That’s enough girl talk.”
Sawyer looks over his head. “I think they’re serving gourmet hot chocolate at the concession stand tonight. Want to get some?”
It will be the most expensive cocoa powder and water I’ve ever had, but it’s freezing, so I’m game. “Sure, let’s go.” I look at Oakley. “Want anything?”
He starts to speak but Sawyer cuts him off. “Dylan, he’s a traitor. Let the boy fend for himself.”
I suspect my girl may be a not-so-secret fan of the Knights.
Or maybe just Cole. Then again, she still swears she doesn’t like him and claims he makes her skin crawl…so maybe not.
“Sorry, cous. Knights’ fans only,” I say before we scurry down the stairs.
“Are you going to Christian’s tonight?” Sawyer asks after we get in line.
“Probably not. I’m pooped.”
She frowns. “I forgot you had to work on Thanksgiving.” She gives her head a shake. “Even my boss wasn’t that heartless, and that’s saying something.”
Yup, Sawyer’s boss at Cluck You—the chicken restaurant she works at—makes mine look like a saint.
“It wasn’t so bad. Only a half-day yesterday. Granted we were slammed the whole time.”
So slammed Mrs. Dickinson let everyone order whatever they wanted without argument.
“Are you working tomorrow?”
Nope. Normally I work on Saturdays, but I’ll be doing something much worse.
Visiting my dad in jail.
My aunt said he’s been calling and asking her to convince me to see him.
I wasn’t going to, but then I recalled Jace’s assumption about my relationship with my father being better now that Savannah was out of the picture.
Obviously, that’s not the case, but it still struck a chord with me.
I never saw him being in jail as an opportunity to reconnect, but now that the dust has settled, I’m hopeful I can salvage my relationship with him.
It would be awesome if something positive came out of such a disaster.
Sawyer waves a hand up and down. “Earth to Dylan.”
Oh, shit. “No,” I answer. “I’m not working tomorrow.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”
I chew my bottom lip, debating the right words to say. Sawyer knows all about the drama with my dad, but I don’t want her doing her typical Sawyer thing and well…caring.
The girl will end up baking me cookies, offering to drive the two hours it takes to get to the jail, queuing up my favorite songs on the way there, and giving me her shoulder to cry on in the process.
It makes her an incredible friend, but I don’t want her to feel like she did something wrong when I’m not responsive to it.
Ever since I found my mother dead on the kitchen floor, I’ve learned to bury all my feelings and emotions regarding her death and other bad shit into a box and tuck it away.
According to the therapist my dad forced me to see when I was younger, it was my way of coping with something so heavy at a young age.
Then again, she also told my dad it was only a matter of time before I’d snap, and that has yet to happen, so fuck her.
“I uh…I’m visiting my dad,” I whisper so no one around us will hear.
Her eyes widen. “What? Really? Wow…that’s huge.”
I know. “Yeah, but I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Afraid you might chicken out?”
I’m starting to hate how perceptive she is. “Yeah.”
She gives my hand a small squeeze. “I’m here if you need me.”
I know.
Fortunately, we’re next in line.
We order our hot chocolates—and one for Oakley because we’re both softies—and make our way back to the stands.
At least, that was the plan. I’m so distracted by the idea of seeing my dad, I’m not paying attention and I bump into someone. Hot chocolate spills over the side of my cup, but I’m too focused on Jace to care.
His full lips and chiseled cheekbones are slightly flushed from the cold and both hands are tucked into the pocket of his black hoodie.
As always, he looks so gorgeous it makes my breath catch.
The bastard.
“Watch where you’re going.”
And he’s not alone.
Casey—Britney’s second in command, and the one slated to take over her position as cheer captain next year—is next to him.
I can’t help but notice that the Knights’ jacket draped over her shoulders is three times too big for her petite frame and shields most of her cheerleading uniform.
It’s obviously not hers.
My heart twists painfully in my chest.
Jace grabs a napkin from a nearby table and hands it to me, but I back away.
I don’t want anything from him…ever.
All he does is hurt me.
For the briefest of moments, his eyes soften. “Dyl—”
“Come on, Jace. I have to be back on the field in two minutes,” Casey says curtly.
She huffs when he doesn’t budge. “Fine. I’ll get my own bottle of water.” She shrugs out of her jacket and throws it at him. “Give your brother his jacket back after the game.” Her eyes sharpen on Sawyer. “I don’t want my boyfriend getting mad at me.”
Beside me, Sawyer tenses up.
I’d heard a rumor about Cole and Casey being an item, but after the Britney rumor turned out to be false, I assumed this one was too.
The flummoxed look on Sawyer’s face tells me I’m not the only one.
Appearing satisfied, Casey flutters her fingers in a dainty wave before skipping off to the concession stand.
Jace’s eyes ping-pong between us like he wants to say something, but I’m not interested.
I chuck one of my hot chocolates and grab Sawyer’s hand, because even though she might not say it, I know she needs the support.
For some reason, she truly believed Cole was a good guy underneath his flirty, outgoing exterior.
But he’s not. Neither of them are.
The only good Covington brother is dead.
“Breathe,” I whisper as we brush past him. “You’re gonna be fine.”
Although I’m not sure who I’m trying to comfort. Her or myself.
“What the hell?” Oakley mutters when the kicker for the Vikings misses their field goal. “That was our only hope!”
Sawyer and I exchange a glance. Hardly.
We’re in the fourth quarter and the score is twenty-three to three in favor of the Knights.
Even if the kicker scored, it still wouldn’t be enough to put the Vikings ahead.
From the stands I see number sixteen—who Sawyer pointed out earlier was Tommy—punch his hand in frustration.
Can’t say I blame him. They’re getting creamed tonight.
Sawyer rubs her hands together and blows on them. “There’s only a minute left in the game.”
It’s adorable how into this she is, despite lucky number seven—aka Cole—being a douche canoe.
The excitement throughout the stands is infectious as we watch the Knights get into formation. Over the fan noise, Cole’s voice is barely audible as he calls the play, sending both teams into motion. He pulls back and launches the ball down the field, bringing the crowd to their feet.
I’m focused on the player catching the ball when I hear Sawyer scream Cole’s name. My gaze snaps back just in time to see him picked up off his feet from behind and slammed down onto the turf. Dread floods my stomach as his head bounces off the ground at an abnormal angle, and he lands on his neck and shoulder.
“What the hell just happened?” Oakley yells.
“He hit him so late. Cole never saw it coming,” Sawyer says, her voice wobbly.
A combination of anger and shock fills me when I realize who’s responsible for it. “It was Tommy.”
The refs run in, throwing yellow flags as number sixteen climbs off Cole and throws his hands up in the air, acting as though he made a great play.
The asshole is celebrating…while Cole’s lying there…lifeless.
“Oh my God. He’s not moving,” Sawyer croaks out as her hands fly to her face. “Cole’s not moving.”
Beside me, Oakley goes rigid. “What the actual fuck? Cole already threw the ball, there was no reason for Tommy to touch him!”
I don’t know the mechanics of the game, or who’s not supposed to do what, but I do know that hit was beyond brutal. Opponent or not, Tommy shouldn’t be happy about it.
Not unless he did it on purpose like Oakley’s implying.
I clutch my stomach as I watch the medics rush onto the field.
“Is he gonna be…”
My heart’s in my throat as Jace jumps over the chain-link fence faster than lightning.
“Shit.” Oakley flies down the stairs and I follow after him as fast as my feet will carry me.
People in the stands start shouting as Jace makes a beeline for Tommy, but I tune them out.
Oakley and I pick up our pace, rushing through the gate, but it’s too late. Tommy’s already on the ground and Jace is hovering over him, twisting his leg at an odd angle. Tommy struggles to get away, but Jace’s grip is iron-clad.
We’re barely on the field when I hear the snap of bone and Tommy screaming in agony.
Seconds later, a bunch of men in Viking’s uniforms swarm around them, blocking our view, but not before Tommy howls again.
“You two, off the field,” someone barks at us as they take Cole away in an ambulance.
“Let me go,” Jace roars at the players restraining him.
He’s practically foaming at the mouth like a vicious animal. His dark orbs are locked on Tommy who’s writhing on the grass, shouting something incoherent about his leg and wrist.
“I’m not finished with him.”
The sadistic look in his eyes sends a chill up my spine.
“The police will take it from here,” someone states before the medics rush over to Tommy.
As if on cue, I hear the sirens looming in the distance.
“Shit.” Oakley pulls out his phone as someone official escorts us off the field.
“Who are you calling?”
My heart is beating a mile a minute. All I want to do is run out there and protect Jace, but two officers are slapping cuffs on him and dragging him away.
“Hey, Dad,” Oakley says into his phone. “I’m gonna need you to meet me at the police station, pronto.”
