Page 2 of The Striker
A prank in retaliation for one of Julio’s fuck ups. I silently eye the fucker. Maybe I should remind him of how not so long ago he was dealing with a mess of his own, too. And what did he do when Felix and I suggested we hash it out?
He told us to back the fuck off.
And we did.
I’d love to give the asshole a reminder, but knowing Julio the way that I do, it would just make him dig deeper. He’s a stubborn bastard like that. Always wanting to peel back everyone’s fucking trauma, except for his own.
I sigh. The Deacon thing can’t be avoided. I made a bet with the guy after he helped Allie, Bibiana, and Kasey fork our field. If he scored a goal against me, we’d clean up their mess. If he missed, they were cleaning up after themselves.
Long story short, he scored. Talk about a blow to my fucking ego. But after seeing the guy’s kick, we recruited him onto our team. Who knew the cocky footballer would be a legitfútboler.
Convincing him to change sports and switch schools seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I’m not so sure. The timing is absolute shit if you ask me.
The idea of slapping on a polite smile as I make stilted small talk makes my insides twist up even more. I can’t handle this shit. Not today. Not when I have to see her in less than an hour.
Low voices drift down the hall as the front door opens. It’s Atticus—roommate number three—giving Deacon the grand tour. I should make an effort to welcome the guy. I know that. But the mere idea of exchanging pleasantries and pretending I’m not imploding on the inside feels fucking impossible right now.
Fuck.When did I become such a little bitch?
I’ve been through tough shit before. Carlos’s suicide. My parents divorce. Real shit.
So why the hell is it so goddamn hard to function now?
I stare out my bedroom window. The sun is shining. The autumn leaves have turned from green to a multitude of yellows, reds, and oranges.
By all accounts it’s a beautiful day.
And it’s a lie.
How can I act like everything’s fine when it fucking isn’t? When every word out of Cecilia’s mouth echoes endlessly inside of my head?
“And this is Gabe’s room,” Atticus tells him once they reach my door. “Hey, man,” Atticus greets me, hand raised in the air.
Breathe, I tell myself. Say hello. It’s not that hard. Only … it is.
My molars grind together, jaw locked tight.
Felix jumps to the rescue, playing the gracious host while I avoid eye contact and remain stubbornly silent.Fuck this shit.
“Hey! Atticus giving you the grand tour?” Felix asks. “Has he shown you the garage? No?”
Deacon responds, but I can’t make out his words over the ringing in my ears. I don’t want to do this. I’m not ready to see her again. I need more time.
“Bro, it’s perfection. We always kick it in there. Come on, I’ll—” Their voices fade as Felix steers Deacon and Atticus down the hallway and toward the back door, granting me a temporary reprieve.
A second later, the door clicks shut, leaving me alone with Julio’s scrutinizing stare once more. He stays propped just inside my doorway, the wooden door closed at his back and his tattooed arms crossed over his chest.
The weight of his gaze bores into me as the silence stretches tight.
I grit my teeth, resentment simmering beneath my skin. It’s not that much to ask to be left alone.
“Get your shit together, man,” Julio says, tone harsh with judgment.
I bristle, hands clenched into fists at my sides. “You don’t know what I’m dealing with, J,” I fire back.
Julio has no goddamn idea what it’s like to put yourself out there. To lay your feelings bare, only to have them stomped on and dismissed without a second thought. How could he? Theguy hasn’t been in a serious relationship in … well, ever. And whatever spark he did have with a certain someone—she who will not be named—he snuffed out.
It was his call. His choice.
