Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(90)

I can barely get the words out, but I say them. “I don’t want to be with you.”

Matty stands up then—a giant in his room towering over me. Angry is too soft of a word for what’s on his face. I’ve never seen him like this.

His words come out sharp, like a knife, and ice cold. “Get the hell out of my room.”

Unlike Ace, I don’t have to be told twice. I race out of there so fast that I’m sprinting by the time I hit the main floor. Hammer’s standing at the base of the stairs, but I can’t muster up even a polite goodbye.





33





Lucy




It feels like my insides have been scooped out by a melon baller and filled with acid. I go home and cry my head off.

“This calls for real ice cream,” Sutton says darkly.

Charity holds my head against her chest as I give myself two shots of insulin. That’s bad, I know, but I’m a mess.

Neither of them judge me. Neither of them tell me I’m a fool for breaking up with Matty, no matter that I cry so hard I become dehydrated. Sutton even runs to the store and buys some water they give babies because it has extra electrolytes.

Two weeks pass, but my phone remains silent. I have no idea if Ace is still calling or texting because I’ve blocked his number. I don’t block Matty’s because I still want him to call me and convince me I was wrong in my risk assessment, but he never does.

It’s hard to believe that in two short months, Matty made such an impact on my life. He was like a meteor, a hot flash of delight followed by a huge crater of destruction.

I throw myself into mock trial, but it doesn’t consume me the way it has in the past. Every time I enter the practice room, I can still feel Matty in the back, his eyes glowing with pride.

Heather’s reverted to sucking, but I can’t summon the energy to correct her even though we have only two practices before regionals.

When she stands for the third time and approaches Emily on the witness stand without permission, I fear Randall’s head will come off.

I try to prevent the impending explosion.

“This is like a game of Randall Says but instead of ‘Captain, may I,’ you say, ‘May it please the court.’” I stand up and demonstrate. “May it please the court.”

Randall nods smugly from his position on the makeshift bench.

Heather rolls her eyes. “May it please the court,” she repeats.

“You may proceed, Ms. Bell,” Randall intones. He’s enjoying this far too much. I flick a glance to Heather, who’s rolling her eyes. That’s better than her itching to hit Randall, so I lean back.

“May it please the court, may I approach the witness?” Heather says.

I wince at the awkward phrasing.

“No,” Randall interrupts loudly. “Say ‘May I approach the witness, your honor.’”

Heather slams her hand on the side of the table. “You just told me to say ‘May it please the court’ every time,” she hisses through clenched teeth.

“No, we told you to ask for permission,” Randall glares back. “It’s redundant when you say ‘May it please the court, may I approach.’”

“This is f*cking stupid as hell!” Heather yells and storms out.

I drop my head to the desk and wonder if I can go to sleep now and wake up sometime after I’ve graduated.

“Can we take a break?” Emily asks.

“Yes. Take a break,” I mumble against the table.

“We shouldn’t even go to Regionals,” Randall remarks as he slides into the seat next to me. It’s a week away. I don’t bother to lift my head, which Randall takes as permission to keep complaining. “I don’t know why you asked her to join us,” he snipes.

I finally do raise my head to glare at him. “You were there. Don’t try to pretend you weren’t. She had the best closing of everyone who tried out. She was f*cking moving. I think you were near tears.”

He averts his face. “I was not.”

“Liar.”

He sighs and swivels back to face me. “You could have done it. You could do the closing just as well as anyone.”

“Not really.” This time it’s my turn to look away. I stack my already neat pile of papers and tap them so their edges are all perfect.

“You know what your problem is?”

“Gosh, Randall, that question is such a fun one to hear and to answer. I’ve got so many faults, though, we’d be here all night listing them all.” I curl up the edges of the papers and fantasize about smacking Randall in the face with them.

“Your problem is you don’t take enough chances.”

My stomach clenches at his accusation. “I took a chance on Heather.”

He scoffs. “That’s not taking a chance. That’s you hiding again.”

The team files in before I can respond, but his criticism burns as hot as if he held a flame under my chair. As I watch everyone take their places—Emily on the witness stand, Randall back behind the two desks we set up to be the judge’s bench, Heather at the table opposite me—I wonder if Randall’s right.

Is that what I’m doing? Hiding behind Heather? Behind Ace? Do I use all these excuses so I don’t get hurt? So I won’t fail? Do I take the easiest path? And pretend that makes me happy?