We jog to the sidelines, everyone on the field stretching and warming up.
“You’re late!” Coach yells at Krisjen, panicked. “I’d bench you right now if I didn’t need you.”
We stop in front of Coomer, and I see Clay, in uniform, on the bench off to the left as Coomer’s eyes flash to me.
“She’s still a student,” Krisjen tells her. “I can’t keep up with this team. Please.”
Coach studies me, probably wondering about the change in heart after I’d stalked into her office Monday morning, told her I was out, and promptly left without a conversation. I hop on the balls of my feet, stretching my arms over my head, because we have no time for warm-ups before play starts.
“I’m not going to force you, Jaeger,” Coach tells me. “Do you want to be here?”
“No.”
Krisjen levels a glare at me.
“I want you to pay for victory pizza,” I say instead.
Coach smiles despite herself and turns back to the field. “Get your gear on.”
Coomer always takes us out to dinner when we win, but I never go. I go home.
But I’m going tonight, and I don’t give a shit who doesn’t want me there. We’re going to win, because of me.
Getting my shit on, I dart onto the field, Krisjen joining and taking up her position, protecting our goal. I look left and right, between the other two midfielders. “Stay sharp,” I tell them. “Watch for me!”
They nod, sticks up, and I press mine to the grass, eye to eye with the other team.
“Oh, yay,” Elle Costa from the other team snickers. “I was almost disappointed this was going to be too easy.”
“I couldn’t let you down, baby.”
“No Clay today?” she cracks, her eyes flashing to the bench.
“Don’t worry.” I smile. “You’ll still have your hands full.”
The ref drops the ball, and I slam into her, my legs charged with some kind of juice, and I don’t know where it comes from, but I have to admit I’ve missed this.
Completing school work at home is lonely, and the last thing I needed this week is more quality time with Macon, but I’ve kept busy even though Macon was right. In some ways, my decision to withdraw and retreat had made perfect sense, but I also felt like I’d missed an opportunity.
Marymount isn’t the only challenge I’ll have in life. What happens next time? Most people, he’d once told me, don’t do great things, because great things don’t feel great when you’re doing them. I shouldn’t have run from them. I should’ve learned from them.
I snap the ball to Rodriguez who passes it to Sinclair, and I race ahead, covering her as she passes it to Amy. Amy leaps, catches the ball and swings, hitting the post, and the ball bounces out.
“It’s okay!” I shout, taking the lead, since our captain is busy warming her ass.
Play continues, Clay’s presence heavy on my right, but I refuse to look. I’m surprised she even showed up, but I suppose she had to in case someone gets injured. What the hell got her benched?
Dinah Leister from Gibbon’s Cross catches the ball and races toward our goal, but I dive in and snatch it, firing it over to Amy, running ahead just in time for her to shoot it back, and I snap it, holding my breath and watching as it rolls right into their goal.
“Yeah!” Krisjen shouts, our team celebrating.
Amy flips her stick around like a baton, all smiles, and I spare two seconds to feel the glow before I run back to get in play again.
Time moves fast, Gibbon’s Cross scoring one, and us scoring two more in the second.
I bang my stick on the ground. “Amy!” I shout.
She flashes her eyes to me, hits the ball just as someone knocks her to the ground, elbowing her head. I grab the ball, shooting it into the net, and more boos erupt from the stands.
I smile, but I don’t celebrate, running over and not thinking. I slam Costa in the shoulder while everyone is distracted, watching her land on the ground next to Amy and getting her comeuppance. This is the third time she’s done that to one of us, and the refs aren’t seeing it. Or pretending they’re not seeing it.
I pull Amy back to her feet. “Thanks,” she says.
I jog back down the field, throwing out my hands at the ref. “You gonna call something at some point?” I yell.
“Jaeger!” Coach yells, because I’m getting smart with the ref.
Fuck it. They’re throwing cheap shots. We win nothing taking the high road.
I look over, seeing Clay standing now, her arms folded over her chest, concern or tension etched across her brow.
I get back in the game, Ruby passing the ball to Krisjen and Krisjen passing it back quickly. “Liv!” she shouts, shooting it to me.
Second and third period passes, and I wipe the sweat off my forehead, hair loose from my ponytail tickling my neck. We’re up two goals, but everyone is exhausted and Gibbon’s Cross doesn’t always play their best players first. They’re about to get a second wind.
I debate for a moment and then walk over to Coach. “Bring Clay in,” I tell her. “Ruby’s exhausted.”
But Coach shakes her head. “I’ll make the decisions. Get back in the game.”
I hesitate, ready to argue, but they’re teeing off.
Running backward onto the field again, I growl at Clay, “So you just gonna sit there the whole night?”
Make her put you in the game. You can make anyone do anything, right?
But Clay just sits, her elbows on her knees, watching me. Making no move, like she’s given up.
Cross scores again, and we’re almost tied, all of us digging in our heels. I breathe hard, wanting this win so badly. I don’t want them to say I came back and they still lost. I’d have swallowed my pride for nothing.
Ang shoots the ball. I catch it, a Cross player on my hide, and I let out a yell, shooting the ball and watching it get past the goalie and into the net.
“Yeah!”
“Woohoo!”
Someone grabs onto my shoulder and about five people hug me. We’re back up two goals, and I glance at the clock, nine minutes left.
I run back to position, looking over at Clay. “That’s okay,” I taunt. “We’re doing fine. Never needed you.”
I smile, turning my eyes away, and resume play, but a minute later, I hear the whistle blow. Coach calls Ruby off the field, and I see Clay putting on her gear.
She heads right for me, brushing my shoulder as she passes. “Teammates doesn’t mean team.”
“Friendly ain’t friends,” I say.
“Just so we’re clear.”
Fuck yeah. We’re clear. Help me score, and you’re useful. Otherwise, you’re not.
We play, the ebb and flow of our game settling back into familiar territory as I look over and see Clay always there when I need her. She anticipates me, and I guess it’s from playing together so long, but I don’t have that dynamic with all the girls. I pass, she catches, she runs, and I cover her.
“Here!” I call.
She doesn’t hesitate. She passes me the ball, and I shoot it to Amy, Clay running ahead, taking the ball back and scoring.
Everyone cheers while the people in the stands boo, and Clay smiles, her friends jumping on her.
I pass her.
“Good job,” she tells me.
I blow spit out, it landing an inch from her shoe.
She looks down and then at me, her smile gone.
“You trashed my house,” I say as everyone moves into position around us. “You desecrated our flag.”
She doesn’t try to defend herself, and I don’t want her to. I’m just reminding her that we’re not a team.
“Liv!” someone yells.
Clay and I turn our heads, seeing Megan next to the coach, her blonde hair spilling out of her baseball cap and a look in her eyes that warns me not to get myself in trouble.
Clay waves at someone, and I follow her gaze, seeing Callum and his friends sitting on the hood of his car on t
he other side of the chain-link fence in the parking lot. He watches us with that look in his eyes that reminds me of what my lactose intolerance feels like when it kicks in.
“You didn’t feel like he does,” Clay whispers, moving in close as play starts around us. “You didn’t feel powerful.”
He felt powerful? He’s had her? I pause, staring at her. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s fucked him already. I don’t why I thought she hadn’t gone that far. Maybe because Clay Collins is such a priss, she wouldn’t want to get dirty.
She looks at me. “You can’t do to me what he can do.”
“I can do anything he can do,” I grit out. “You want me inside of you?”
I watch her eyes fall to my mouth, a hint of my tongue showing itself.
“You want to ride me?” I offer. “I can do anything you want.”
I can do anything to her a man can do.
“But I will never touch you,” I tell her, casting a glance to the sidelines and Megan. “I like her. She’s so ready.”
Clay’s eyes narrow, a fire lighting inside.
“You’re bland and repressed, boring and bitchy.” I grin. “Good thing is, rich or not, those things can be fixed.”
Her own words thrown back at her from when she wrote on me in Sharpie and the knowledge that I’ll have a good-fucking-time with anyone but her makes her eyes turn red. She growls, shoving me in the chest, and I laugh, fisting her shirt and dragging her down to the grass with me.
We roll, whistles sound, and the crowd goes wild, the showdown they expected by two rival teams taking a twist they didn’t expect.
“Oh, you wanna be on top, huh?” I tease, Clay straddling me.
She screams, more pissed off, and I just laugh, barely noticing all the arms trying to pull us apart.
I YANK MY rubber band out, letting my hair loose as I rub my scalp where she tried to pull my hair.
“Krisjen?” Coach yells. “Amy?”
Both of my friends stand in the hotel room, muddy cleats in hand and their ponytails hanging by a prayer.
I glare at Liv, watching her stand there all calm, relaxed, and bored across the room, like this is all just a waste of her time. Like she barely knows I exist. Bitch.
I fold my arms over my chest, the tension like an electrical current. I’m going to kill her. Thank God my parents decided to not come tonight.
Coomer’s eyes dart between Liv and me as she speaks to Amy and Krisjen. “Shower in Audrey’s room and take everything you need,” she orders them. “You won’t be back for a while.”
Amy hesitates for a moment, pressed into a quick decision at a moment’s notice about what outfit to grab, or all the makeup she’ll need tonight, but then she sees Krisjen just grab her whole overnight bag and backpack, and she does the same. Taking all their gear, hands full, they leave the room, their shit banging against the door as they go.
This is bullshit. I glare at Jaeger. She did this on purpose. Must’ve been a hoot when she’d found out the coach benched me. She just had to come back to see that, didn’t she? And what did it get us? A forfeited game for unsportsmanlike conduct. She fucked us and got the last laugh.
But just as the door closes behind Krisjen and Amy, and I brace myself for some useless lecture, Coach turns and immediately follows the girls, leaving Liv and me.
“Wait!” I step toward her. “What are you doing?”
Liv stays rooted by the window.
Coomer turns her head over her shoulder, pulling open the door. “Sort it out,” she tells us. “I don’t care how you do it or if it takes all night, but you’re roomies now, so take all the time you need.”
“Are you kidding?” I burst out.
No fucking way. I can’t…
Not all night. The team is supposed to go out.
My stomach drops, and I barely hear the coach tell us, “You’re both eighteen now. Don’t test me on how much worse the consequences get from here on out regarding assault. Do not leave this room.” And then she points to Liv. “You’re still a student.”
Which means, she can still tell Liv what to do, considering this is a school-sanctioned trip, and her family would assume she was in a teacher’s care. Legal adult or not, Coomer’s responsible for us.
Coach slams the door, and I watch Liv swipe her cell phone from the bed. She dials, holding the phone to her ear as she digs in a bag Krisjen left, taking out a change of clothes.
I hear someone talk in Liv’s ear, and then she says. “Come to Cross and get me.” She snatches jeans, a bra, and a tank top from the bag. “I’m at the Marriott.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, by all means,” I tell her. “Get expelled and solve all our problems.”
I mean, technically, a whole stadium saw me attack her, so no one would fault her for refusing to stay locked in this room with me. She has every right to leave.
She almost looks at me, but casts her eyes back to her task. “Trace?” she says, trying to get her brother’s attention.
“She’s not joking, Liv!” I yell. “She’ll expel us for that stunt on the field just now! We can’t leave!”
Her eyes finally flash to mine, but only for a second. Her brother says something.
“You just want to see me suffer,” she tells him.
“No, I want you to get our fucking flag back!” he shouts.
And she pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it for a second before tossing it on the bed. He hung up on her.
I almost smile. In her rush to leave Marymount and prove something to us, she’d forgotten about that.
“I doubt you can hide an expulsion from Dartmouth,” I remind her, content that no one is coming to pick her up.
She brushes past me, carrying her clothes. “What do you care?”
“I don’t,” I fire back. “I care about the team, and as much as it pisses me off, you’re the only one who can seem to perform up to a standard, so let’s get each other past this so you can come back to school, back to the team, and we can finish the year out amicably before we never have to see each other again.”
“I’m not going back to that school.”
And then she disappears into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door.
I stand there, still in my uniform, cold and covered in dirt and grass from the fight.
I reach out, putting my palm on the door. “And the play?” I ask, knowing that graduating from a top-notch prep school wasn’t the only thing keeping her at Marymount. We have the funds for the arts, unlike a lot of the public schools. “I hear you’re Callum’s understudy. The possibility of a major role? What you’ve been waiting for? Is she really more important than all the things you used to want?”
She’s silent for a moment, and then I hear, “Who?”
I pull my head up, staring through the door. “Don’t waste my time. I’m smarter than you think.”
It takes a few seconds, but the door swings open and Liv stands there in some faded black skinny jeans, white top, and her hair loose and looking like it hasn’t been combed in days.
“Martelle?” she asks, looking almost amused.
I back up a little, thankful for her calm tone for once. “It makes it easier, not being at school, doesn’t it?” I point out. “You both won’t be tempted to meet. You can keep your hookups secret. She can keep her job.”
Liv blinks, and then something crosses her eyes.
Laughter.
“Um, yeah.” She nods. “You nailed it.” She steps into the room, walking to the bed and putting her dirty clothes in the duffel bag. “She thought it would be best. It was just too hard, not wanting each other all the time, you know?”
I lean against the door to the room, watching her. “You’re still a student.”
“As everyone likes to remind me.”
“And I can still have her fired.”
She laughs under her breath, still tending to her bag and not sparing me eye contact. “Well, that would be one way to ensure I never return
to Marymount, Clay.”
Son of a bitch. I shoot out and kick the lamp on the little table next to the couch. It crashes to the ground, the shade popping off, the bulb shattering, and the room dims. “Well, go, then!” I growl, blinking through the tears in my eyes. “Just go! I didn’t ask you to come back for this game!”
“Yeah, benched.” She moves toward me like a snake. “Doing so well on your own, weren’t you?”
“Of course, I was,” I grit out. “I’m me. Oh, the arrogance to believe this has anything to do with you.”
“Oh, I think something does.” She advances on me until I hit the wall, pressing her palms on either side of my head. “There’s a reason you hate me so much. Why? Let’s finally fucking have it out. Why have you always hated me?”
“Because you’re nasty!” I blurt out, smelling the shampoo in her hair. “It’s simple. The most basic human function is to reproduce, and you don’t do that with another girl. You’re fucked in the head. It’s not what we’re built for.”
“Wanna see what I was built for?”
And she moves in, but I push her back. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re miserable.” She slams her hand against the wall near my head again. “You’re a miserable human being, Clay.”
“At least I don’t fuck anything that comes along.” I glare into her eyes, two inches from her nose. “You really think you’re happy? Throwing yourself at anyone just to pass the time? You hate me, too. You know why? Because I don’t need anyone. I may be pissy and spoiled and mean, but I don’t need anyone!”
“You need this,” she retorts.
This? The fighting or…? “No, I don’t.”
“Oh, yes you do,” she whispers, but her tone is hard. “You need this so fucking bad you fell apart when I left school, didn’t you? Nothing to play with anymore, which is exactly why I did it!”
I shake my head. No, I…
“I didn’t let you win,” she tells me. “I simply removed myself from an environment that I hated. That didn’t deserve me. That offered me nothing.”
Tears well in my eyes, and I see her chin tremble.
Tryst Six Venom Page 18