Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Simeon was relaxed and tossing the ball for Marcus to drive forward, and their entire offense just moved with well-practiced precision. They were a well-oiled machine, and we were made up of multiple hydras with heads that didn’t talk to one another. It didn’t help that the defensive coach was snarling at us from the sidelines.
After their second down, Rocky was a ball of rage. I heard fucking faggot leave his mouth at least twice, and I knew exactly who it was directed at. Everyone else looked uneasy, but I stared him dead in the face. Once the game was over, me and him were going to have some serious words. There was something off about his vehemence. About how desperate he was to prove that being out and queer was a bad idea. And like Simeon was a bad influence for putting it in my head. Yeah, we needed to talk. And I had a funny feeling it was going to lead to me realizing he was protesting a little too much.
On the next series, we loaded up against their run with the intention of preventing Simeon from throwing the ball anywhere. There were open receivers in good spots, but we had him so pressed he’d have to throw another bomb-ass Hail Mary to get that ball across the field.
And what do you know? He fucking did it.
Which is when Rocky mimicked my preseason dick move of barreling into him after the ball had already left his hands. Except this time, he went full helmet-to-helmet. Laid Simeon down flat.
The rest of the game disappeared around me as my heart stopped. Simeon was completely motionless on the field. The terror gripped me so absolutely that all I could do was stand there with my arms dangling and my mouth open.
A lot was happening all at once. Marcus running to kneel by Simeon, trainers rushing around him, and the game coming to a grinding halt. My ability to move returned with a shrill collective shout from the crowd, and then a louder boo. Aimed at Rocky Swoops.
I turned to him just in time to see Gavin charging at him like an enraged bull. Rocky tossed his helmet to the side, looking a little frantic and putting his hands up. I did the only natural thing—intercepted Gavin to clock Rocky myself.
The booing had become excited shrieking, but I didn’t give a shit. The image of Simeon motionless behind me was burned into my corneas, and the anger was all-consuming.
“Motherfucker,” I shouted so loud my voice cracked. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
Rocky wiped a hand over his busted lip, blood smeared across his face. “If this is how you’re gonna act every time someone touches your man, you’ll see real quickly why the shit he put in your head is a bad fucking idea. Consider this a lesson learned, Bravo!”
He didn’t have his hands up this time, but I hit him again. This time, it was him laid out on the field with me on top of him with my fist cocked back to put his lights out. The rage in me was unraveling into violence that would get me more than suspended for a few games, but strong arms encircled me. Someone huge jerked me back, holding me in a bear hug.
“Calm the fuck down.”
Brawley’s voice. Gavin held me from behind, which was amazing since my own teammates appeared to have gathered around to watch without lending a hand. A member of the Barons was putting a stop to this shitshow. Of course.
“You’re gonna kill his ass. That’s what you want?”
I stared down at Rocky, the breath ripping out of me and my eyes burning. “Simeon—”
“The doc is looking at him.”
My heart sank. Gavin let go of me just long enough for me to spin around and search for Simeon. He was being carted off the field on a stretcher.
This couldn’t be happening.
I threw my helmet to the side and sprinted after the trainers. People were shouting at me, but their words, the screams of the fans, and the announcers all blended together in my head. It was just a rush of white noise that did nothing to muffle the fear cutting its way through me, or to distract me from the tears streaking down my face.
By the time I stopped running, they were already off the field and in their locker room. And everyone was looking at me. The lights were bright around me, the Jumbotron trained on my face. I could barely see it through the glare of the lights and the dampness of my eyes.
And then, before I could steel myself for the onslaught, reporters swarmed me.
“How do you feel about Simeon’s injury?”
“Do you think he’ll be back on the field?”
“Will you be suspended for the rest of the season?
“Adrián, why did you hit your own teammate?”