Page 6

CARSON

Shit, I was an asshole this morning.

What kind of douchebag just walks away without even saying goodbye?

I’ve been regretting it all fucking day, but it’s not like I can do shit about it.

If anything, I should be celebrating the fact that I’ve probably put her off me for good. She’s not gonna waste her time on someone like me. And she shouldn’t.

This is a relief.

It fucking is!

But as I’m taping up for practice, I can’t shake this dark, foul feeling festering inside me. It’s making me a real shithead, but I can’t seem to control it. I’m communicating in grunts and growls, sounding more like a caveman than anything else, and the guys are giving me a very wide berth.

Fuck!

I should be happy about that, but it’s just making me feel even worse.

Throwing on my practice jersey, I head out to the field and start our usual warm-up drills.

For late October, it’s a hot afternoon, and sweat is soon dribbling into my eyes and running down the back of my neck.

I push my damp hair back and run to my right, following the line Coach laid out for us before pivoting left and catching the ball.

“Nice take, McAvoy.” He claps. “Now go again.”

I do as I’m told, running the drills until my body is aching.

We’re only halfway through practice, and I want to pack it in. But then again I don’t, because if I’m not out here hurting and sweating, I’ll just be sitting on my ass thinking about her, and I so don’t need that shit right now.

I can’t even believe?—

A ball smacks me in the side of the head, and it fucking hurts.

Spinning with a growl, I look for the culprit, and the second I spot him, this fiery surge of anger rises within me.

“Heads up, dickhead.” Fleischer laughs. “Put your fucking helmet on.”

I growl and start running toward him. He laughs like this is one fucking fantastic joke. Does he not realize I’m about to rip his throat out?

I’m three steps away from punching him in the throat when Grady steps into my path. His hand lands on my chest, and for a guy who is smaller than me, he’s surprisingly strong.

“Think,” he snaps. “Use your head and think!”

“I’m just gonna beat him up a little bit,” I hiss. “He’ll still be breathing. Through a straw.”

“I know that would so fucking great. I’d like to see that, I really would. But you’re not doing any of us a favor if you let that asshole bench you.”

I growl, and Grady pushes me back a little.

“We need you tomorrow.” Snapping his fingers in my face, he forces me to look at him and repeats in a low voice, “We need you. And he knows that. If you fuck with him right now, he’s gonna get game time.”

Gritting my jaw, I seethe, “He hit me first.”

“Yeah, because he’s a total fuck nugget. And you…” He taps me in the center of the chest with his pointer finger. “You’re the bigger man. And you’re the better player… unless you let him bench you right now.”

I huff out my nostrils, sounding like a bull, and Grady starts to relax.

“Just turn around and walk away.”

Glaring over Grady’s shoulder, I curl my upper lip at Fleischer. He gives me a cheesy smile, raising his middle finger and laughing until a ball hits him in the side of the helmet. His head snaps to the right, and I can’t help a soft snicker.

Turning to my left, I spot Zander, who raises his chin at me. “Got your back, man.”

It’s impossible not to give him a lopsided grin while Fleischer curses up a storm. Zander stops, turning to give our idiot teammate the best fucking stink eye. Fleischer’s foul-mouthed diatribe peters off, and he ends up muttering, “Whatever,” before stalking down to the other end of the field.

Sending my captain a silent thank-you, I then slap Grady on the shoulder and turn around, jogging back to my position and opening my hands for a fresh catch.

I’m still pissed.

I still want to see Fleischer curled up on the field in the fetal position, whimpering like a fucking baby. But I’m not going to make that happen today. I’ll save it for some other time. Maybe once the season’s over.

For now, I’ll get back to practice and focus on the fact that I have a game tomorrow and I need to play well, because that’s about the only thing in my life I actually get right these days.

The rest of practice goes by without incident, and it’s dark by the time I’m walking to my bike and getting my standard phone call from Mom.

She calls every Friday around the same time to wish me…

“Good luck for the game tomorrow!” Her face lights up the screen, looking all happy and bright. She’s like the living embodiment of a circus—all stars and sparkles. Her voice is loud, her smile is dazzling, and I have to put up with this fucking show every time I speak to her.

Sometimes I wonder if she is just a stupidly happy person.

But most of the time, I’m guessing it’s fake.

Just a show she puts on for her ass of a husband.

He must be standing in the kitchen, just off-screen or something. My insides twist into a tight, painful knot, and it’s too much effort to put on a smile.

“You feeling good about this one?” Mom sips her wine.

I nod, stopping under a parking lot light so she can still see my face. “Yeah. Should be an okay game.”

“I know you’ve been putting in hours of prep. I’m sure you’re gonna be amazing, as usual. I’ll be watching.” Her lips pull into a fake pout. “Though I wish I could be there in person. I want to give my boy a hug.”

Leaning back against the post, I cross my ankles and remind her, “Your boy’s twenty-one. He doesn’t need hugs from his mommy anymore.”

“That’s a complete fallacy. I don’t care how old you are. I will always hug you. You’ll always be my boy.”

“Mom.” I wince.

“So, are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”

“I’ve got a game.”

“Well, aren’t you getting a few days off after that? Or over Christmas? It’d be great to have you back for a few nights.”

“I don’t know. I?—”

“Seriously?” And the douche has arrived. His face pops up behind Mom’s, and my entire system goes on high alert. “Your mom is missing you like crazy, and you can’t commit to a few nights. Come on, Carson. It’s the least you can do.”

“It’s okay, Johnson.” Mom tries to appease him like she always does.

“I just don’t think it’s fair.” His voice softens when he’s speaking to her. “Don’t let him be selfish.”

I roll my eyes. “You know I can hear you, right?”

“I’m hoping you can.” Johnson’s bright eyes flash at the camera. “It’s bad enough that you didn’t pick a school in California. We had all your options lined up, but no, you had to go and move to Colorado, just so you could be closer to?—”

“Watch it,” I warn him.

He huffs and shakes his head. “Your mother loves you. She does everything for you, and you give nothing back in return. That man you think is so great doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“Johnny.” Mom gives him a desperate look, but it’s too late. He’s crossed a line, and everybody fucking knows it.

Anger boils hot and fast, spiking inside me until I let out a harsh growl. “Don’t talk trash about my dad. You don’t say a fucking word!”

Closing his eyes, Johnson takes in a breath like he’s summoning some kind of inner calm, but fuck that!

“You don’t know him,” I seethe.

“I don’t want to know him. The guy’s a criminal.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Carson, please.” Mom’s desperate look is now on me, but I can’t let her shithead of a husband get away with this.

“Fuck you, Johnson!” I spit out his name, hating every syllable of it.

“Fuck me?” He points at himself. “Fuck me? The guy who supported you through your shitty teenage years. The one who’s paying for your college education. You think I’m the bad guy here? I didn’t murder someone. I’m not rotting in prison because I got sentenced to life!”

He didn’t get fucking life! Asshole!

I grip my phone tighter, seconds away from smashing it on the ground.

“I’ve been nothing but supportive of you, you little shit! And you can’t even commit to coming home and visiting your mother. This woman has sacrificed everything for you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter, then internally cringe when I see Mom’s expression crumple.

But I’m not taking it back.

She didn’t sacrifice everything for me. The second Dad went to prison, she gave him up, and within a year, she was marrying Mr. Douche with all his fucking money and zero personality.

“You know what? Don’t come home,” Johnson barks at the screen. “I don’t want you in my house anyway!” Storming away from the phone, he clips out of the kitchen while Mom feebly calls after him.

The silence that follows is thick and deafening. It’s fucking painful, actually.

And I don’t know how to fill it.

So I just stand there, watching Mom’s jaw work to the side. Watching her blink and fight tears before putting on that fake smile of hers.

“Well, that could have gone better.” Her laughter is weak and as phony as her smile.

Shit, I should apologize, right?

But Johnson was being a total fuckwit!

“So, listen…” Mom sniffs, then licks her lips. “Why don’t you check your schedule and see if you can’t come home for even just a night. I’ll pay for your flights. I’ll pick you up from the airport. I’ll make everything as easy as possible, ’kay?”

I shake my head. “Don’t think it’s worth it, Mom. Besides, I’m not invited anymore.”

Her face bunches, and shit, I think she’s about to cry.

Standing tall, I wave at the camera and quickly mumble, “Better go.”

“Love you, bud.” She blows me a kiss, and then the screen goes blank.

Closing my eyes, I dip my chin, feeling like complete shit.

This day has turned into a clusterfuck.

I doubt I can salvage the night, but I run to my bike anyway, jumping on and starting up the engine with a roar.

I can’t go home feeling like this. Revving the engine, I squeal away from the stadium and gun it down the road.

The wind hits my face, stinging my skin, and I accelerate even faster.

I need to douse this scorching burn in my chest.

The only problem is, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to ride fast enough to put out the fire.