Page 3 of Fragile (Cedar Lakes University #2)

Chapter two

Miles

My phone buzzes against my ear, and I glance at it quickly, before flicking the call to loudspeaker and quickly replying to Quinn. I’m hardly aware of what I say, the rampage of insults my dad throws down the line demanding my focus.

Right now, my friends are all gathered around, having fun, and I’m stuck listening—barely—to this.

“Yeah, Dad,” I sigh, running a hand down my face. I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing the cues of when to say what he needs to hear to get this over with as painlessly as possible. “I get it.”

“Do you, though?” he barks. I can almost imagine how red and pulsing that vein on his forehead is right now. It’s rare that I see my dad as anything but pissed off at me these last few years, but he’s kicked it up a notch this season. “You cannot put a toe out of line for the next two years.”

Here we go , this speech again.

“The draft is next year, Miles. We need scouts to see you this year, ready for that. We need brands interested in you. Endorsements. One wrong move...one fuckup, and you’ll be dropped before you even make it. Do you hear me, boy?” Exasperation laces his words.

“I get it,” I repeat, harsher this time.

“Don’t you get pissy with me, Son. I’m trying to get you to the pros. I’m using my connections for you, putting my neck on the line for you , so don’t act like an ungrateful little shit,” he snarls.

Ungrateful little shit. That’s what I am to him. For living the dream he never got to fulfill. For getting the life he worked so hard for but was snatched away before he finished his contract playing for the Carolina Panthers.

And that’s the thing that fuels him—his anger. At the world, at his lack of recovery, at me. It’s always there between us like an additional person, lurking in the background. It’s the epitome of our relationship, despite me being four when it happened. It isn’t my fault he broke his leg in six places and it never healed quite right. It isn’t my fault he couldn’t play again, and it isn’t my fucking fault I inherited his talent.

But it doesn’t matter, because there’s always something that is my fault. He wants that second-chance at the pros, the picture-perfect son, a mini-Mark Cooper, and I have to be that for him, no matter what.

I don’t remember when playing football changed from being my passion to a chore. From when I used to love making my dad proud out on the field to having him lecture me after every game. Even the ones where we brought home the W. For whatever reason, I never meet his expectations. He calls my coach weekly to check on me and my performance, discussing game plays and ways I can improve. At some point, he decided my career was more important than him being a dad. I hate it, but he’s also all I’ve got.

“Sorry, you’re right. I’ll do better,” I reply emptily, resigning myself to him once again.

Giving in is easier for now, but it’s not what I want to do. Sometimes, I wonder if Mom ever had this version of him, or if she stood up to him when he was being miserable. Or maybe he was happier back then. The memories I have of us are only in the form of pictures around my childhood home, ones where he looks happy—or happier than he has been in years, at least. I wish I could remember more of her. Remember the family dynamics. But all my memories are fragmented, mismatched by the six-year-old who lost his mom.

I didn’t just lose her that day, I lost whoever my dad used to be too.

“Damn straight you will.” His voice echoes through the phone, forcing me back to the present. “I’m calling more scouts today. I’ll email you the details with dates when I know more.” And then he hangs up.

As I stare at the disconnected call, a tightness in my chest restricts my breathing for a second. I absently rub at it as I lock my phone. “Love you too, Dad,” I mutter.

Hiking my gym bag over my shoulder, I shove my phone into my pocket and make my way to the athletes’ gym, the September air still fairly warm. In all honesty, after speaking to my dad, I’m spent. The gym doesn’t seem like the best idea when my mind fights it, but it’s one of the only releases I have, except meaningless hookups, and even that’s gotten old.

I almost ignore my phone buzzing in my pocket, just in case my dad decides to get an extra insult in before my workout. I wouldn’t put it past him this morning. Curiosity gets the best of me, though, because I suddenly remember Quinn messaged me earlier too. The smell of sweat and the hum of music fills my senses as I step inside and pull out my phone.

Seb

Hey man, Quinn missed you today at the Hangout. You have to make the next one or she’ll send a search party.

I have been neglecting my friends since we got back to school. Not intentionally, but it’s just been a lot keeping to the schedule the great Mark Cooper set up for me.

Miles

Was it Quinn or you who missed me?

Pushing through the changing room doors, I walk over to the lockers, and stuff my backpack inside. I’m already wearing my workout gear, so I grab my headphones and head for the gym, beelining it straight to the treadmill.

Seb

Dick.

Miles

The day got away from me after talking to coach. I’ll make it up to her.

Fuck, I hate lying to my best friend. Regret seeps into my subconscious as I increase my pace, because I don’t like keeping things from Seb about the shit my dad gives me. We’re both victims of parents who have too much to say about our careers. He’s had pressure from his dad too, but the difference between us is that mine doesn’t know when to quit. Mine keeps on until I’m submissive and weak. Which is where I’m at today. If Seb saw me after that phone call, he’d know something was up.

Seb

We’re heading to Lakeside for a late lunch if you want to meet us there?

I steady my pace as my fingers tap out my reply.

Miles

I’ll miss out on food, heading back to crash after this workout.

Seb

That’s cool. Party at the media dorm later, you in for that?

A smile tugs at the side of my mouth. Booze and girls? That’ll have to do.

Miles

Definitely, see you later.

He sends a thumbs up emoji, and I message Quinn too.

Miles

Sorry I skipped today. I promise to bring you extra gummy worms for our movie night next time, okay?

Am I playing on one of her weaknesses? I sure am, because I hate being on the out with Quinn. In fact, I remember the first time I bought her gummy worms…

“Hey, Queenie,” I say, running up the steps to her porch. When she doesn’t answer me, I turn my head to look at her and watch a tear fall down her rosy cheek. Something in my tummy flips. “Are you okay?” I ask as I rush over to her.

“I-I lost my favorite doll today at the store,” she sobs, burying her freckly face in her tiny hands. “Mom told me to leave it in the car, but I-I forgot and I r-really wanted to b-bring her. She would g-get lonely in the car.”

I don’t have much experience with people crying, since my dad always told me that crying was for babies and I’m definitely not a baby. I’m starting first grade soon, but Queenie is only in kindergarten still. She’s not a baby, but I’m bigger than her, so maybe I can help make her feel better. June, Seb and Quinn’s mom, always said a hug will make anyone feel better. Her hugs are always really warm.

“I’m going to hug you.” Lifting my arm and wrapping it around her small shoulders, I ask, “Do you feel better?” I wonder if she thought my hugs were warm too. She feels cold, like a little icicle.

She sniffles and leans into me. “I think so.”

We sit for a little while until my arm aches and I pull it back, shaking it out. Queenie’s smile is still not like her normal ones. She usually has the brightest smile, like sunshine and rainbows and all that girly stuff. “I know what will make you feel better.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the packet with my last gummy worm inside. It’s red and blue. “Here.” I open it, offering her the worm. Her nose wrinkles when she sees it.

“What is that?”

“Gummy worm.”

“But that’s your last one.”

“I know. You can have it, though. I don’t mind.”

My phone buzzes again as I get back into my workout.

Quinn

You know the way to a girl’s heart, Miles Cooper. You’re forgiven, only because you know my weakness for gummy worms.

I smile, making a mental note to get her the sugary apology ready.

***

It’s late. My nap ended up being over five hours, but now it’s almost nine, the party is in full swing, and I’ve got excess energy to burn. The loud, thumping music coming from the speaker system in the common room at the media dorm pumps adrenaline into my veins, the same kind of buzzing feeling I get when I’m out on the field.

Walking over to the make-shift drinks area at the back of the room, my fingers drag over bottles lined up on the counter. Media dorm knows how to party; they have every liquor available. Vodka, rum, whiskey, sambuca, you name it. What will my poison be tonight? I linger over the vodka for a beat. Yeah, that’s the one. It usually is, to be honest. Opening the bottle, I find a red solo cup and fill it halfway, not bothering to add a mixer, and I take my first swig. The clear liquid burns, creating a fiery pathway down my throat as I swallow.

“Miles!” Someone calls my name, and as I turn, I realize it’s Hudson. He wanders over to me, his darkish hair flopping all over his face like he’s in a ninety’s boy band. As usual, he’s got a girl wrapped around him. This one is pretty, with dark hair and dark eyes, clearly as intoxicated as he is, judging by the way they shuffle over to me with dazed expressions.

“Hey, man,” I greet him, then nod to the girl I don’t know. “Hey, I’m Miles.”

“Oh, this is…” Hudson squints, trying to remember her name. Dude is worse than me. He screwed around a lot in his freshman year, and I guess he’s carrying on his streak for this school year too.

“Carrie,” the girl says flatly, her brow pinching like she’s pissed he can’t remember. She doesn’t know half of it with him.

He finger-gun clicks at her. “Right, Carrie. Like the prom queen horror chick. I know.”

The girl huffs, unimpressed, then pushes Hudson away. He stumbles, but manages to catch himself before he bumps the counter. With a shrug of his broad shoulders, he turns to me, grabs my cup, and takes a big gulp before I can react.

“Ugh,” he spits, almost choking. “The fuck are you drinking neat vodka for, man?” He swipes over his mouth where drops of liquid cling to his skin.

“Well, it wasn’t meant for you,” I say dryly, snatching the empty cup from him and turning to refill it.

He slaps his hand on my shoulder as he leans against the kitchen countertop. “You didn’t hang with us this morning. You good?”

“Do I not look good?” Screwing the lid back onto the bottle, I decide to brush him off. “I’m good. Go party. Find yourself another girl to piss off.” In other words, leave me alone to drink my neat vodka in peace.

He laughs loudly as I walk away, only to bump into a guy whose name I can’t remember. “Miles, hey man. Big game coming up. You gonna get us the win this year?” he asks casually, while I feel anything but. My irritation prickles my mood because I came here to relax, but people always want to talk about the game.

I just smile politely and answer, “Damn straight we are.” Then I walk past him, back into the main party area, where I’m stopped by several other people all echoing choruses of “great game last week” and “think we can get a repeat of last year’s championship win?” or my personal favorite, “can you get your dad to sign something for me?” The answer is a resounding fuck no —in my head, at least.

Suddenly, this party feels too busy, too loud, too hot, and I need some air. My feet thud against the floor with measured steps toward the door, but just as I reach it, it swings open. I step back, watching as Seb, Quinn, and Indie stride inside.

Quinn’s face lights up as she notices me, her green eyes twinkling with an innocence that is unmistakably her. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, Queenie, how you doing?” I finally relax as I put my arm around her and pull her into my side, the need to escape quieting inside my head. She immediately hugs me back, her little frame fitting against me.

“I’m, uh, yeah…” she tapers off, glancing around the room.

I watch her for a second, waiting to see if she looks at me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she focuses on spinning her thin silver bracelet around her wrist.

“You sure with that answer?”

She nods and looks at me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just tired.”

She doesn’t look tired, more slightly upset about something, her lips pursing in a subtle pout.

“Come on, lying to me won’t work. What’s up?”

She sighs with a shrug. “Missed you this morning, that’s all.”

I hug her, careful not to spill my drink on her back, moving her body until she’s in front of me. Her head tucks into my chest like it always does when I bear hug her. “I told you I’ll make it up to you with gummy worms, didn’t I? I haven’t forgotten.”

Mumbling into my chest, I don’t hear her answer.

“Huh?”

She steps back, creating distance between us. “I said, maybe you can order me some of my favorite stickers again too, the ones with the pink and purple clouds?”

“Done,” I say without hesitation, kissing the top of her head before letting her go and taking a step back. It’s only then that I register what she’s wearing. I trail my gaze down her green dress that hugs every inch of her and flares at her hips, stopping way too high up her thighs.

“Eyes are up here, Cooper.” She nudges me playfully, a faint splash of pink coating her cheeks as my eyes snap to hers.

I clear my throat. “Sorry, you just… Is that new?”

“My dress?” She drags her hand down the front, which brings my focus to her cleavage before I follow her every movement, every finger that grazes over all her soft curves. Ones I definitely shouldn’t be noticing, ones I’ve never noticed before this very second. I’m suddenly struggling to swallow. What the fuck? “Yeah, it’s new.”

I clear my throat, wanting to say something, but I can’t think of the right thing. “Cool, it…uh, it looks good on you.” Well, that was lame, Cooper.

She smiles, more genuinely this time, and I feel myself relaxing at the sight. Quirking an eyebrow, she nods to my cup. “Guessing that isn’t water?”

I blink, before glancing down and slowly lifting it to my lips, taking a deliberate sip, smiling at her conspiratorially over the top.

Her arms cross over her chest, those green eyes settling on me, unamused. “Don’t you have a game this weekend?”

“Don’t hate the player.” I wink. “Besides, a little alcohol never hurt.”

She looks down at her shoes, and I lean down toward her, a pang of guilt flooding my stomach for not showing up for her today.

“I’m still sorry I missed today. Things got busy.”

Her head tilts up to meet my eyes. “You missed a good one.”

“Jay and Hudson argue over pens again?”

She shakes her head, a smile teasing her lips. “Tape this time.”

I grab her hand, pulling her into my side again. “Next time, I’ll be there. Promise.”

Indie huffs behind her, untangling herself from Seb. “Come on, I’m only staying here for, like, thirty minutes. My skin is already itching from all these people.” She pulls Quinn from my arms as Seb laughs quietly and watches his girlfriend walk away from him, arm linked with Quinn’s.

“We’ve got a game this weekend,” Seb says, nodding at my cup.

A sigh builds in my chest, but I tamper it down. Sometimes I wish he would forget he’s the captain and have fun. “You too? Quinn already gave me the disapproving Dawson look.”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying, as your captain, don’t go crazy.”

“It’s all good, man. Just a drink. This is my first one too. Chill.”

He doesn’t bring it up again. I know what he’s saying; during the season, we all try not to drink. I say try because, evidently, Hudson thinks that doesn’t apply to him. And maybe I think it doesn’t apply to me either. But our coach is keen on us treating our bodies with respect so they perform well for the team. The number of times I’ve heard him say ‘your body is a temple’ should stop me, but it won’t. Not tonight.

An hour later, my body hums with a numbness that can only be achieved with booze. I didn’t listen to Seb’s advice, and I’ve lost count of how much I’ve had to drink. One of the guys who lives here, Levi, is sitting next to me on the uncomfortable sofa with a girl grinding on his lap, making all kinds of slurping noises as they eat face. She moans and whimpers, and I can’t help but chuckle as I stand. “Get a fucking room.”

His hand snaps out and grabs my wrist, stopping me from moving as I sit back down. He leans away from the girl, lowering his voice to whisper, “Are you needing my services again this season?”

I hesitate, glancing at the chick leaving marks on his neck. When I give him a warning look of what the fuck?, he doesn’t seem to get it. “You look stressed is all. Thought you could use something. And hey, because it’s you, the first one’s on me.” He gives me a knowing look and stands up, taking the girl with him. She sways on her feet and reaches out for Levi’s hand. “Find me before you leave, yeah?”

I tilt up my chin, anxiety spiking through me. “Yeah, man.” But I hesitate. What am I doing? “I’ll let you know.”

His offer rings in my head as I sink back to the couch. Something . That word feels too tempting because I know what something can do for me. I never claimed to be a saint, far from it. But last year was the last time. I’d promised myself I’d do better, and then we got to the championships, and I needed that edge again. Winning that game was the closest thing to pride I’d ever seen on my dad’s face, even though it was reckless. Do I want to risk it all again?

“Hey, you.” A feminine hand wraps around my bicep, her thin body dropping beside me, chest pressing against me. Madison and I messed around a few times last year, but I never wanted anything more.

“Hey,” I reply, giving her the once-over, staring at her body she always puts on display like a trophy. She’s all big boobs, push-up bras, over-filled lips, and dark hair. She’s pretty and exactly what I needed last year—a distraction. But it doesn’t hit the same anymore. As her lips graze my cheek, her usual scent of cherries seeps into my space.

“I haven’t seen you around much,” she purrs, her red nails tracing circles on my chest.

“I’ve been around. Just busy with practice, school, and games starting back up.”

She nods, even though I know she hates football. My ability on the pitch never impressed her, and maybe that’s why I kept her hanging on last year. She didn’t even try to talk sports with me, it was just physical. A quick release for both of us and nothing more.

“Hmm, sounds stressful.” Her eyes sparkle, filled with a look I know all too well as her fingers linger over my pec. “Maybe I can help with that?”

Peeling her hand off me, I place it in her lap. “Mads, I’m not feeling it tonight.”

Her features pinch, brown eyes darkening as she tries to hide a scowl. “Oh yeah, sure. I was just coming over to say hi.”

She pushes up from the couch and walks away to a group of girls over by the corner, leaving me feeling like an asshole. But the thing is, I’ve always been one. I’m the one you can find at all the parties, the easy hookup, the one who will give you the best night of your life but won’t be around in the morning. I’ve created that persona for myself, and it’s always been intentional, because not many people know the real me and that’s how I intend to keep it. Hiding in plain sight is easier with everyone expecting the same from me.

I jolt to a stand, stalking toward the group. Grabbing Madison’s shoulder, I thread a hand into her hair.

“Mil—” She doesn’t finish my name as I smash our lips together, swallowing the sound of surprise that quickly morphs into a moan. It doesn’t take her long for her hands to wind around my neck, kissing me back and sticking her tongue down my throat.

This isn’t exactly what I need, but at least this way I’m not thinking about the phone call with my dad or Levi’s offer.