#Rev (GearShark #2)(73)

I knew better.

I took off in a sprint toward my person and Conner. T’s eyes locked on me and widened. Then he saw Conner, and his expression changed.

I increased my speed and ran full on, full throttle right into Con. I ran like I drove.

Balls to the wall.

We slammed together and fell in a heap. Both of us laid there stunned for a minute and then I started to pull back. Conner grabbed the front of my jersey and pulled me back.

“What the f*ck is your problem, fag?”

Like oil and water, I let the slur roll off my back. “I think you know,” I snarled.

I stood up and stepped back. Con leapt to his feet and lunged at me. Our arms locked together, and we started to struggle. He tried to kick me, but I twisted away.

Trent yelled and ran forward.

I ripped off my helmet and threw it on the turf. “Come on!” I challenged Con.

Con whipped off his helmet, too, and took a step. Frat members grabbed him by the waist and restrained him.

No one restrained me, but they all gathered at my back.

“All right!” Con yelled. “All right, I’m good.”

Everyone holding him let go.

“Play!” one of the Wolves yelled, and players started to fall into position.

I took one step, a single step away, and Con rushed me. I was expecting it, though. He was a little bitch and wanted to get in at least one hit. I plated my feet and swung around, using my momentum to propel my fist.

It caught him right in the face. He went down hard.

Blood covered his nose, and he lay there, dazed.

“You’re gonna pay for that you faggot,” he slurred.

I lunged at him again, but Trent appeared and wrapped one arm around my waist to restrain me. “Down, Forrester,” he whispered beside my ear.

I pulled back, but my muscles quivered with readiness.

I wanted to punch him again so bad.

Braeden appeared and picked up Con off the ground by the front of his shirt. “The f*ck you just call my brother?” he asked, holding Con up so his feet dangled.

“I called him a dirty faggot,” Con spat.

Trent tensed, and I gave him a warning look.

Braeden glanced at the nearby ref. “You gonna eject this *, or should I make it so he can’t play no more?”

Con started to struggle, and B batted away his attempts.

“Ejected,” the ref called, “for use of derogatory comments. Unsportsmanlike conduct.”

The crowd cheered.

“What about him? He punched me!” Conner yelled.

“You deserved it.” Braeden let go of Con, and he fell on his ass.

“Back to the game!” the ref demanded, and everyone started moving around.

A couple guys hauled Con off the field and sat him on the bench.

Before walking back to the sidelines, I gave Trent a look.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know.”

I wanted badly in that moment to reach out and touch him. Just to give something tangible to what always seemed to be between us. We couldn’t, not just then.

It actually kind of hurt.

It hurt way more than anything Conner’s mouth could spew.

We parted ways. As we walked, I felt the invisible tether between us stretching, but it didn’t break.

Romeo clapped me on the back. “Nice save, Drew.”

“Thanks,” I said, watching Con dabbing at his nose with a towel. Though in that moment, it didn’t feel like a save.

Sure, I kept Trent from taking a hard hit to the midsection, a totally illegal hit considering he already got rid of the ball.

But…

Maybe I kind of understood why Trent wanted me to just stay away. I had this tingly feeling on the back of my neck now.

Like maybe I’d just made everything worse.





Trent

Before the game…

All the Omega members were gathered, changing before the game, laughing and giving each other shit just like always. It was a good time, but I sort of felt like I was viewing it all through a window, like an outsider looking in.

But I wasn’t an outsider. I was the president. I was the leader of these men.

I didn’t want to be.

Not anymore.

In fact, I was sort of embarrassed I had to be here—with them.

I’d changed in the past few years here at Alpha U. Most of my changes happening within the past year. It was a natural progression of life, growing from a youth into an adult.

For me, it felt like more.

I guess I always used to feel like I was renting the space inside my skin. Like I was borrowing it or it wasn’t really mine. I was the football player, the jock. I was the frat boy, the playboy, the college student who knew what he wanted.

I was who everyone saw when they looked at me. I met their expectations—no, I exceeded them.

I’d always been a good friend, the kind who listened and faded into the background. The wingman. The sidekick.

Things started to change. There was a gradual shift inside me. I fought that shift for a long time. But eventually, a crack in a foundation spreads and then everything sitting on it is in danger of sinking.

My foundation didn’t just crack. It shook. It experienced an earthquake…

And it was that earthquake that rebirthed someone new.

The real me.