The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1)(3)

My fingers twist the sterling silver snake ring on my index finger that belonged to my dad. He played for the New York Pythons before blowing out his knee five years into his NFL career. When I was fifteen, he died in a car wreck, leaving a giant hole in our family. Then my mom got cancer. Like the kickass fighter she is, she beat it, but…

I rub my chest.

Go away, go away…

I turn away from them and look out the kitchen window. It’s getting harder to pretend I’m okay. I’m a domino, on the verge of falling and making the whole pile crash down. The elephant on my chest started when Mom’s cancer came back this spring, then that pressure escalated with every game we lost.

Out the window, a red-tailed hawk lands on a bare tree, looking happy as shit in the dead of winter. His feathers ruffle slightly in the wind as his eyes sweep the area. You need to fly farther south, I tell him but he ignores my mental telepathy and stalks along the branch. He’s a fighter.

Am I?

I close my eyes briefly.

Just get through this semester.

Come back next year.

Play better next season.

Get your degree.

Do what you can control.

Mom’s words from Saturday swirl around in my gut. She called me as soon as the game was over, her voice weak but confident. Slay your demons, River. All is possible. I believe in you.

I get it, but I’m a ship without a rudder and I’m terrified I’m going to sink to the bottom of the sea. I don’t have a future, can’t see what’s coming, can’t get a grasp on what I need to do for the rest of my life.

And Mom, my beautiful, feisty mother…

If she dies…

I kick the dark thought down and think about my first class. Like it always does, a tingle of electricity zips over me, knowing I’ll be close, but not too close.

Can’t touch her, but…

Five rows in front of me, she will be there.

Rainbow Girl.

Hair like spun silk.

Green eyes.

Lush mouth.

Short skirts.

Banging body.

Not mine.

My unease spikes as I stare down at my copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. The cover is pristine because I’ve never cracked it open. It’s a bunch of mumbo-jumbo, the words all running together.

For the hundredth time this semester, I ask myself…

Why the hell did I take this class?

I have ADHD, dyslexia, and dyscalculia, a trio of pure hell. My attention deficient and hyperactivity make “decoding” even tougher. You know those articles they write about athletes who slip through the cracks academically because they’re talented athletically? Hello, I’m River. I catch footballs.

My reading level has been tested at… I can’t even say it’s so bad. In a weak moment, I told Blair, my ex, and she laughed in my face. She legit thought I was joking. Yeah, just kidding was my reply, and I swore to never tell a girl again. Let them think I’m just like them.

Pressing my fingers to the cover, I twirl it on the island. Frustration ripples over me. There are days, like today, when I wish I were like everyone else.

That boy can’t sound out words.

Doesn’t know numbers.

Talks too much.

My teachers had a lot to say about me in elementary school.

Then, Dad put a football in my hands.

Hollis and Crew move to the den and stretch out on the couch, their legs propped up on the coffee table. I follow them, too antsy to sit, so I pace.

Crew reaches for the remote, sees my face, then eases it back down like it’s a grenade.

I sigh. “Not worth seeing our faces all over ESPN.”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back on the couch.

Hollis has grabbed a Ding Dong—where did he get that?—and eats it in two bites. “When is this godawful semester over?”

“Two more weeks till winter break,” I say tightly as I grab my backpack and a bag of laundry I pulled together to drop off at the Kappa house where there’s a washer and dryer.

I’m the president of Kappa and alternate between spending time here and at the frat house. A huff comes from me. I used to crash in my room there on and off (I get a free one since I’m an officer), but not since she appeared on the scene.

Hollis straightens up from his slouch and wipes at the chocolate crumbs around his mouth. “Holy shit…” His voice rises. “Did Crazy Carl…kiss me?”

Crew, who was scrolling on his phone, holds up his cell and makes a kissy noise. “A big ol’ smooch on the cheek. I have a pic to prove it.”

“Post that and you die.” Hollis scrubs his face. “I’m never drinking again.”

My chest feels tight again as I watch them.

I twist my ring, my head tumbling as Mom’s words dance around in my head.

Slay your demons.

The idea’s been pricking at me ever since I got in the shower. It’s where I do my best thinking. If I get ramped up, I strip down and let the water wash over me. The small space, steam, and being naked help my mind focus. I average about three showers a day, morning, afternoon, and night. My grades might be shit, but I’m quite possibly the cleanest person at Braxton. This is also why I’m constantly out of laundry.

“I’ve been thinking.”

The guys look at me. Part fear, part anticipation.