The Perfect First (Fulton U, #1)(64)

Was that what he thought of me? There were so many things I’d always felt were lacking, so many ways I’d never measured up. What if he was wrong? What if I wasn’t and never would be? That fear ran strong within me, but there was also a smaller thought in the back of my mind: what if he was right?





24





Reece





I slammed my hand into the punching bag in the gym. Icy Hot, sweat, and disinfectant melded together into a smell that only lived in a place where people threw heavy weights every day, but the place was empty now. The heat kicked on, but it wasn’t enough to warm the space when it was empty.

Each punch I landed echoed up to the steel beam rafters with peeling white paint above my head. I’d been seconds from laying her dad out. I’d never wanted to slam my fist into someone’s face more. The way he spoke to her—how could a father speak to his child like that? My parents and I had our arguments, but every word out of Seph’s dad’s mouth mouth was yet another dig at her, another thing she was doing wrong in his eyes.

How had she even managed to think she could do anything right with someone like that constantly berating and belittling everything she did? Seph was ten times stronger than any guy on my team. Sure, we’d all had coaches yell and shout at us, had them make us run drills until we puked, but it was never because they thought we couldn’t do it. They were always trying to build us up. After a couple hours around her dad, I admired that she’d even taken the chance to leave.

My fingers ached and throbbed. I imagined her dad’s face at the center of the bag. The flag the ref had thrown the day before when I’d charged one of the defenseman had come when I’d only let out about a tenth of the anger still pounding in my veins.

She’d stood there and let him talk to her like that. Even her mom had looked like she was afraid to make a wrong move. The sometimes embarrassingly, over-the-top way my parents were together didn’t seem so embarrassing anymore, and Seph’s reaction at their house over a spilled glass made so much more sense now, the way she’d stared at me like the world was about to explode. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and make sure she knew everything would be okay.

What would it have been like, growing up in her parents’ house? No wonder she was so cautious and didn’t know how to interact with people. How could you when you were worried every second that you might make a mistake?

I didn’t care if he was her dad or not, but laying him out wasn’t going to win me any points in her book. My dad and I hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but there was never a doubt in my mind that he wanted me to be happy. It was why he’d let me play football in the first place after years of giving me a resounding no.

One of the double doors to the gym swung open, creaking like it had never met a can of oil in its life. It banged closed, and I went back to punching—not a smart move considering my whole future rested on keeping my hands protected.

“Want to talk about it?” Nix grabbed the bag, hanging on to it as I landed another five punches.

“Not really.” Sweat poured down my face.

“It’s either that or fuck up your hands for the game next weekend.”

I threw another punch, but he moved the bag out of the way, making me miss and stumble forward. “What the hell, man?”

“You’ve been unusually quiet since Thanksgiving. You said you were going to Seph’s for dinner, ditching the team, and then you’re on the bus the next morning looking like you want to bite someone’s head off. Meeting the parents didn’t go well?”

“No.” Using my teeth, I ripped at the Velcro on the base of the boxing glove on my hand. The satisfying rip filled the air. Tucking the glove between my legs, I grabbed the other one, taking it off as well.

“You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

“Why?” I spun around, throwing my gloves down. “Why do I have to give you anything? You’re barely around. You keep disappearing. I’m not the only one with secrets.” Grabbing my towel, I clenched my hands around it.

“Mine aren’t affecting my game play.”

I ran the towel over my face. “Always the perfect player.” I threw it down on the bench and brushed past him, knocking into his shoulder. He’d lived the life most people dreamed of. He would get a first-round pick in his sleep and had a legend as his dad, a man who had three championship rings and even more records to his name.

He grabbed my arm and jerked me back. “Fuck you, man. I came here to help you, to let you vent to someone off the field so you don’t screw up the future you’ve been killing yourself for, for how many years? But if you want to be an asshole about it, that’s on you.”

Spinning on his heel, he stomped away.

“Wait,” I called out, and my shoulders sagged as I sat on the workout bench. “Just wait.”

He stopped and turned, walking back to me. Dragging a bench press bench over, he sat across from me.

“I’m sorry, okay. I went to Thanksgiving at Seph’s house with her parents.”

“I take it things didn’t go well.”

“If you call almost beating her dad’s face in and storming out not well, then yeah. It was a clusterfuck.”

“What happened?”