Page 18

18

MASON

Three Years Earlier

‘YOU AND CHELSEA?’

Exhaling heavily, I turn to face a smirking Zayden. The plan has worked almost perfectly. I need to let Anya go. She deserves better than what I can offer her, and I can’t risk jeopardising my relationship with my best friend. All of it makes my head hurt. And my stupid, damn heart. I can’t wait to get out of here for a little while. I feel as if I haven’t breathed fresh air for weeks now.

Shrugging off his hand, I mutter something incoherent. It’s not fair on Chelsea either, but I don’t know how else to keep my mind off Anya. She needs to be hurt and angry to move on. As much as it kills me, it’s how it has to be.

The laughter and chatter in the locker room drowns out our conversation, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that I don’t want to discuss this.

‘Come on.’ Zayden grins, lightly backhanding my shoulder. ‘Give me some goss. You two have ...?’ He makes a barbaric hand gesture, and I screw my face up.

‘Drop it, will you?’ I grunt, stomping into my boot.

Zayden pouts. ‘You’re no fun.’

He eventually moves over to the other guys, and my shoulders sag at the relief of being left alone. I’ve been in a depressive, anxiety-riddled state for weeks – ever since the conversation with Anya that broke both our hearts.

‘I hear my little bro is planning to ask out your sister,’ I hear JP drawl, and my head snaps up at his words. He leans against his locker, a crooked smirk on his lips.

Zayden’s eyebrows rise as he blinks at JP. ‘I don’t fucking think so,’ Zayden snarls.

JP shrugs, and I want to wipe that smug look off his face. ‘That’s what he reckons.’

‘Your brother is a dirty dog,’ Zayden mutters.

JP barks out a laugh. ‘That he is.’

I feel the urge to empty my stomach onto the floor, but I force myself to stand, swallowing down the bile climbing up my throat. I’m the last to leave the locker room, and everyone is already spreading across the field as I jog out.

I look upwards, admiring the afternoon sun. It’s been a sweltering Australian summer, with lots of humidity and afternoon storms, but as we’re moving into autumn now, there’s a refreshing coolness in the air.

I’ve been throwing myself into football; I’m living and breathing it. I’m barely even spending any time with Chelsea, her dislike for which she makes clear any chance she gets, but it’s the only way I can tire myself out and ease the thoughts racing through my mind.

Now that’s been ruined too. Because every time I see JP’s face, I picture his smart-ass younger brother – Dylan – and rage uncoils in my chest, threatening to detonate at any moment.

Swallowing the anger, I push through practice, going harder than I have all week, and I’d already amped it up. I notice Coach’s eyes on my back more than a few times. He’s probably wondering what’s going on with me, but since I’m turning up to every game and delivering every single thing he asks for, he isn’t complaining or asking after a reason, which I appreciate. My commitment to the team comes and goes depending on where my head is at, but I’m working on getting better at that.

Sweat drips down my forehead by the time we finish, and I swipe it away with the back of my hand. Fatigue rattles my bones; I’m starting to feel the week catching up with me.

Zayden wanders over and nudges my side. ‘Hey, you okay? You’ve been quieter than usual.’

I shrug. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Your dad?’ he guesses. ‘Have you been back to see him?’

I shake my head. ‘No.’

‘What is it, then?’ he asks, forehead crumpling in concern. ‘Not into Chelsea?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re crazy, man. That girl is hot .’

I breathe a half-scoff, half-laugh. I feel like shaking him and saying, ‘ She’s not Anya .’ But I’m too tired and drained from thinking about all of this. I have spent the last week contemplating whether I should just confess everything to Zayden and hope he forgives me, but the anger that simmers in those eyes at the mention of anyone being with his sister is enough to make me second guess that idea. He says he doesn’t trust anyone with her, which only confirms even further that Anya deserves way better than me – I’ve already broken her trust. I just have to man up and accept that, as hard as it is to do.

I understand why Zayden feels the way he does. Both of us have struggled with controlling our anger. My father is a violent man, and their stepdad has anger issues as well. We’re both certainly traumatised by them. We’ve struggled with this for a long time, but I’m working really hard to break the cycle. Neither of us are anything like our father figures, but we still want better for Anya, because that’s what she deserves.

Zayden sings off-key the entire drive back to his house, and I try to relax and enjoy spending time with my best friend. The bass is so loud, it rattles the doors. He swerves into the driveway and as we pile out of the car, I swing my sports bag over my shoulder.

My chest tightens when Anya steps down from the porch. Her long, tanned legs are smooth, and the dress she wears clings to her tightly. My hand clenches the strap of my bag.

‘Where are you off to, dressed like that?’ Zayden queries, pulling off looking curious and stern at the same time.

‘I have a date, if you must know.’

My eyes close briefly, and I want to bang my head against the side of the car, hoping it sends me into a coma.

‘A date?’ Zayden echoes, a pinched expression appearing on his face. ‘With who?’

‘Zeke.’

Both of our heads whip up. Zayden’s eyes narrow. ‘I heard a rumour you and Dylan were an item.’

‘He asked me out too.’

Of course they both did. She is stunning and kind. The boys would be biting at her heels to get her attention.

‘I don’t approve of this.’ Zayden frowns.

‘Good thing you’re my brother, not my dad ,’ she says snarkily. She brushes past me, and I clench my jaw when a wave of her perfume hits me. Delightfully sweet, like her. Well, most of the time.

‘Don’t be out late.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ she tosses over her shoulder just as Zeke pulls up at the end of the driveway. She disappears inside the car, and he throws a wave in our direction before flying down the street, the car’s loud exhaust drilling inside my skull.

‘Fuck this shit, I need a drink,’ Zayden mutters.

‘Me too.’

We go inside, and I’m feeling glum as fuck. I’m pissed as hell too – with her, with Zeke, with Zayden and, most of all, with myself. Better Zeke than Dylan, but I don’t want her with either of them. With anyone .

I stumble into the bathroom and slide down the wall. Black dots swallow my vision and I choke on my breath just trying to inhale. Pushing to my knees, I throw my head inside the toilet bowl and retch, waves of nausea rolling over me as the anxiety eats its way through my body.

When will this fucking end?