The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(60)

“He does that sometimes, restless sleeper. Talks a little once in a while.”

“Yeah, I got smacked in the face when we went camping. I woke up with his toe in my ear.”

I chuckle. “He’s growing out of it. Out of so much. He called me Mom the other day and I almost cried.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve always been Mommy.”

“Must be nice,” he mumbles before stepping past me. “Thanks for letting me have my own first.”

“Troy, please, I just need you to understand. It’s just been him and me for so long.”

He stops in the center of my living room. “Oh, I think I’ve been pretty fucking understanding.”

“You have. And I appreciate it so much. Just—”

“Night,” he says without glancing my way.

Fed up, I call out to him from the front door as he starts to cross the lawn. “You know, you are going somewhere eventually, Troy. Eventually, you’re leaving, and where does this situation stand? Have you thought about that?”

In his eyes, all I see is contempt. “That’s all I think about. And if I can earn this ticket, Clarissa, he’ll never want for anything again. I’m making fucking sure of it. So, please, for once, stop telling me what to think, how to act, or what to feel, and stop giving me unsolicited dating advice. You want understanding? You got it. You want respect? All yours. You want patience? I’ve got some of that left for you too. You want me to think of him and only him, we’re on the same page. Cool?”

His venom is deserved, but I’m unprepared for the hurt it causes and can barely manage my reply. “That’s fine.”

“Night.”





Troy



Palming my forehead, I sit on the bench, feeling my mapped future falling away piece by piece. We just suffered another loss. One we can’t come back from. Our chances are slim to none at this point in making the playoffs. My college ball career is ending, and I’m having a tough time swallowing that I’ll never have a bowl game. The locker room is eerily silent. Coach didn’t mince his words with his pissing post-game rant. A few guys walk past me and give me a nod. I caught every pass, ran like my life depended on it, scored two touchdowns, but it wasn’t enough.

Lance slaps me on the back as he wordlessly leaves the locker room while the rest of the guys shed their gear. There’s nothing to be said, and today, even Kevin seems lost in his own thoughts.

I pull my phone from my duffle as I head out of the locker room.



Clarissa: I’m so sorry. If you need to talk, I’m here.



Talking is the last thing I want to do.

She’s been nothing but apologetic since our confrontation with Mom, and I’ve been nothing but a prick to her. It seems like any step forward I take with her always leads to a thousand back.

I don’t have much fight left in me. I’m exhausted from the expectations weighing me down. And for once, I just want to stay down.

In the past, after days like this, my first instinct would be to find a good party, a never-ending bottle, and a soft place to land, but nothing about that appeals to me.

My phone buzzes again, and I know it’s Mom.



Mom: Don’t give up, baby. You’re the best player on that team, and you played your heart out today.



I text her back because I don’t want her to worry or pop up to check on me. I just want to be alone.



Troy: I’m okay, Mom. I’ll brush it off. Love you.



Grabbing my gear, I head down the hallway and out to the parking lot. I’m halfway to my truck when I hear mixed voices spewing venom.

“Happy, you little bitch?”

“P-please, please stop!”

Dropping my duffle, I head toward the crowd and tense when I hear another cry. I make my way toward the commotion, moving bodies to get through it, and then all I see is red.





Clarissa



I knock on Troy’s door for the second time, knowing he’s home. Theo’s car is gone, but Troy’s King Cab is in its usual spot. When the door finally opens, it’s Lance who answers.

“Hey, how are you, Lance?”

“I’m good, Clarissa. Thanks for the cookies. They were delicious.”

“You’re welcome. I’m so sorry about the game.”

“Yeah,” he says, his disappointment clear, “that was something.” Lance is dangerously beautiful. When I first introduced myself to him, I was intimidated by his menacing stature. But he’s as gentle as they come, the strong silent type. At least that’s my impression of him now. Harper is far more outgoing. Briefly, I wonder how that dynamic plays out in their relationship.

“You played really well.”

“Not well enough,” I can see the sadness in his smile. “If you’re looking for Troy, he’s upstairs.”

“Thanks,” I make my way to Troy’s bedroom and knock once.

“Sup?” I hear him call from behind the door, and I poke my head in to see him tense when he sees me. Shirtless, he’s sprawled on his bed in sweatpants, books open and scattered all over his mattress. He catches his football mid toss. “What’s wrong, where’s Dante?”