by Ella Maise
Our eyes met, and I watched her lips form my name. When she made a move to get down from the bed, I stopped trying to get to Kyle and stopped fighting my friends, who finally let me shrug them off. I strode out of the room and the house without a second glance.
“Coach, I know what you’re gonna say, and it isn’t necessary. I’m doing fine.”
“Get inside and sit your ass down.”
I did as he asked.
“Cut the crap. From what I’m seeing on the field, you’re nowhere near fine, let alone your usual self. I gave you one week and nothing changed. You’re out of time. Now, you’ll do what I tell you to do and stop acting like her pussy was the last one on earth. Look around for God’s sake—you’ve got plenty of replacements waiting on the sidelines if that’s what you’re after.”
My hands clenched into fists as I surged up from my seat.
“You think this is about her? You think that’s why I’m having trouble focusing? She is not the one who’s affecting my game. I don’t care about that, but how can you expect me to give my all to the game when I don’t trust my teammates? They’re supposed to have my back, both on the field and off. How would—”
Coach got up from his chair, silencing me with one simple but deadly look, and came to stand in front of me.
“Okay, Dylan, let’s play this your way. Tell me what you want me to do. I already talked to the whole team. You were there—you know I don’t approve. I tell you boys all the time that if you want to make it into the big leagues, you can’t let distractions into your life. You got into it with Kyle right in the middle of the weight room and punched him in the face—again—and I gave that to you without repercussions. I can’t have my boys brawling for everyone to see. What else would you like me to do? You want me to cut them from the team just because they slept with your willing girlfriend?”
I tried to cover up my flinch, but it was no use. Tired of everything, I sat back down and rested my forearms on my knees. At the end of the day, as much as his words were hitting a raw spot, he was right—there was nothing more I could do. Neither Kyle nor Maxwell seemed to be having a hard time on the field. Yeah, they avoided me, but it didn’t seem like it was affecting their game. Maybe I was the one who wasn’t open-minded enough. Either way, not one of them—Victoria included—was worth giving up the end game. I wanted to hear my name announced on draft day. It felt like I’d been working toward that goal my whole life. At night, in bed, after a long day of workouts, practice, and meetings on top of classes, when I closed my eyes, I could see it, could feel it in my bones. I knew I was good enough, knew if I made it to the big leagues, I’d work my ass off even harder. I’d put in the time, the sweat, the work. It was time to move on. I heard Coach let out a long sigh and focused on him.
“You’re aggressive on the field, you’re working yourself too hard, and you’re not in sync with Chris like you usually are. You don’t even want to know how many incomplete passes I’ve counted today. You’re a mess, Dylan. You know it, I know it, the whole team knows it. Do you think you can afford to be reckless this season? This is your future you’re playing with, kid, and for what? A girl you won’t even remember a month from now, much less a year from now?”
With every word out of his mouth, I could feel my shoulders tense further and further. Football was my life. I was a damn good player, the best wide receiver out there. I worked hard to earn that.
“Do you think it’s all fun and games in the NFL? You think they’ll give a shit about you throwing a temper tantrum about your teammates? The NFL is a whole new level. If you can’t settle your differences with a few of your teammates, forget about your differences and play as a team on that field in college, you should forget about the NFL. You’re good. We both know you’ll get there, but not everyone has what it takes to stay there. It won’t matter who you play for if all you do is sit on a bench because you can’t get along with your teammates for whatever reason. Unless you’re out on that field, giving it all you got—”
“Sir, with all due—”
“Shut up, Dylan. Shut up and listen to me. This is it. This is your last year. Do you understand that? You either make it or you don’t. You have eyes on you. You know it’s not just the media either. You’ve had eyes on you since your second year here, and don’t forget that you were the one who chose to finish school before moving on to the big-boy league. The season starts next week. You have a shot, but you know every game counts. Don’t screw everything up, not for something stupid like this.”
“Sir, I have no intention of screwing anything up. I’m working on it. I promise the next time you see me on the field you will—”
He straightened from the desk and walked back to his seat behind it. “The next time I see you on the field, you better have your shit together. If you don’t, I’ll assume you’re itching to get benched.” Pulling out a small key from the back pocket of his jeans, he unlocked the top drawer, took out another key, and tossed it to me.
My hand shot out, and I caught it in my palm before it could connect with my face.
“I know you take part-time jobs here and there whenever you can find the time, especially during the off-season. I’m assuming you send whatever is left after your expenses to your family and you’ll do the same this year, too?” I held the key tighter in my hand, felt the edges biting into my skin, and gave him a silent nod before he continued. “Then you can’t afford your own place. It’s too late to apply for campus housing, and I can’t have one of my top players sleeping on the floor at one of his teammates’ houses.” Leaning back in his seat, he gave me a long look. “I have an apartment just off campus. I had a—it’s empty now. You’ll be staying there. I need you to get your head back in the game. We need you this season.”
And I needed to have football in my life. I wouldn’t cope well if he decided benching me was a better idea.
“I’ll have my shit together for the game.”
“That’s what I want to hear. We’re done. Now get up and get the hell out of my office. I’ll text you the address by the end of the day.”
I opened my palm and looked down at the key. I wasn’t looking for a free handout—hell, I hated the fact that I was even considering it, but I was out of options since everyone I knew had gotten their housing figured out months ago. I still could bunk up with a teammate or classmate, but I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t affect my game or my classes. I needed a party-free, girlfriend-free last year of college if I was going to make my and my family’s dreams come true. My decision already made, I got up to leave.
“Thanks, Coach,” I mumbled, just loud enough that he could hear me.
“Dylan.”
With my hand on the door handle, I stopped and looked back at him over my shoulder.
“I don’t want Chris knowing about this apartment or my involvement in you getting it. Sometimes when it’s too late to head back, I stay over, and his mom doesn’t know about the apartment. I want it to stay that way. Do you get me? I’ll be staying there from time to time so make sure I don’t see any of your teammates around either. I already see enough of your ugly faces to last a lifetime.”
So my coach would be my roommate for my last year, not a big deal. Truth be told, the longer I thought about it as I walked out of the building to head to my two-thirty class, the more I liked the idea. It would be just one more reason to focus on what was important and steer clear of everything else.
Chapter Four
Zoe
Since I was stupid enough to leave my towel back in my room, I had to step out of the bathroom with nothing but my dead phone clutched in my hand, and that’s when I heard the telltale creak of the apartment door opening. The unexpectedness of it caught me off guard, and I froze mid-step. It could have been Mark, I supposed, so I entertained that idea for about a second or two, but then again, it also couldn’t be. If I hadn’t magically skipped a few days while I was in the shower singing my ass off, it was still Monday, which meant it wasn’t Thursday, t
he usual night he’d come around or call. Plus, he had no idea I was still living there and not in another apartment with Kayla. That being said, as far as I knew, only Mark and I had keys to this apartment. So, it shouldn’t—couldn’t have been anyone else either. It wasn’t like he would go around and give out the keys to the apartment he rented for me. I was his dirty secret, after all.
As I stood there holding my breath, completely naked and utterly still for at least five seconds—waiting for God knows what—my heartbeat steadily got heavier. My mouth was as dry as sandpaper, and when I finished my internal countdown from ten, I started panicking at full tilt. If it had been Mark, he would have called out by then. I thought of calling out a greeting myself, but all the horror movies I used to force myself to sit through with my dad came to mind, and I decided I didn’t want to get killed by a clown that day.
It was not my time, not my day, and for sure not my first choice of a killer.
I especially didn’t want to get killed by a clown while I was stark naked with water dripping down from my wet hair and body. I heard footsteps and only then realized that whoever had broken in hadn’t moved for those first few seconds. When he finally started to walk, his footsteps were the slow kind…you know those steps, right? Again, in the horror movies I’d watched, I’d learned an important lesson: if someone is moving in slow and deliberate steps, you turn around and run. Run, my friend, run as if you have hellhounds nipping at your heels, because you know what? Those slow-walking creepy bastards always kill the shrieking girls.
It was too bad for me because I didn’t have anywhere to run. The two-bedroom apartment was L shaped, and I was standing just around the corner from my soon-to-be killer.
Did I mention I never watch horror movies anymore? Or any kind of movies that keep me up at night?
As I started to silently back away, I looked down at my phone and cursed myself for listening to Spotify and draining the battery. Then I realized how badly my hands were shaking and started panicking even more. Grabbing the wall for some much-needed support, I managed to back into the bathroom quietly, grab a big hand towel, and wrap it around me, which only managed to cover me to a certain degree. Half my ass and other parts were just…there, but that little towel felt like an extra level of protection.
I heard some more footsteps coming from the open living room area then a loud crash followed by a hissed curse. Having trouble swallowing, and generally functioning, I cupped both my hands over my mouth to hold back a gasp and just crouched behind the door. If I could make myself as small as possible, I would be invisible and safe, and in a few minutes, it would all be over, because why would a thief come into the bathroom where there was nothing to steal? Unless he came to check why the lights were on…then I was screwed anyway.
Another crash sounded loudly, and this time I squeaked. My breathing was irregular and louder than I would’ve liked. Since my knees were about to give out on me, I put my palm on the wall and gently pulled myself up, only to feel my legs go to jelly.
Spotting a rolling pin leaning against the wall underneath the sink—don’t even ask what it was doing in the bathroom—I grabbed hold of it and closed my eyes, just in case I needed it.
I was probably going to die in a bathroom in Los Angeles—actually, there was no probably about it because it would either be from a heart attack or at the hands of a stranger, whichever happened first. Unfortunately, neither one sounded all that appealing to me.
I had no idea if mere minutes passed or an hour, but I couldn’t hear a single sound anymore. When I was sure there was nothing, I started to weigh my options—not that I had many.
Even so, I was either going to suck it up and get out of the bathroom, or I was gonna stay in there indefinitely. Then I remembered that all my camera equipment was out in the open in the living room: lenses I’d borrowed from my professor, the beloved Sony camera my dad had gifted me, my laptop, and even more expensive equipment I had no way of buying again anytime soon. Still shaking and shivering, I decided to step out and at least take a look around the corner. Surely, if someone was still in the house—though I was hoping really hard that someone wasn’t in the house—I’d either try to make a run for it, or I’d just drop dead on the spot, because I had a feeling my heart wasn’t going to be able to hang in there much longer.
I was so scared, I forgot how to breathe. Forcing my body to move forward, I swallowed and opened the door so I could slowly peek around the wall.
Someone was definitely in the house. It wasn’t exactly pitch black thanks to the street lights softly illuminating the living room, but other than that, none of the lights in the apartment were turned on. There weren’t many pieces of furniture in the living room, just a big comfy couch, an armchair big enough to comfortably seat two people, and a coffee table. Seeing this awful stranger kneeling down right behind the couch and going through something in a big bag on the floor made my blood turn to ice.
He was stealing my equipment.
The rolling pin still securely held in my hands, I pulled myself back from the edge, then leaned against the wall. The apartment door was closed. I was trapped. Even if I ran for it, he’d hear me and catch me before I could make it out. With the size of him, I didn’t want that to happen. My only chance—my only option, really—was to hit him in the head with the rolling pin while he still had his back to me, grab the key I was eighty percent sure I had left on the kitchen island, and then make a run for it—after grabbing the bag that held my camera equipment, of course. Considering my lack of clothing, getting to Ms. Hilda, who lived at the end of the hall, was my best shot. She was always home, so I wasn’t worried about not finding anyone, but was it possible to even make it out there?
When I realized there were cold tears running down my cheeks from the fear and anxiety of the whole thing, I took a choppy, deep, but quiet breath and told myself I could do this. I repeated it over and over again in my mind.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped out into the open, the rolling pin held high in my hand.
Here goes nothing.
I sucked in air and started tiptoeing on my weak, trembling legs toward the dark figure who still had his back to me.
When I was only a few steps away, I started shaking in the worst way, so I chose to run the last few steps and lifted the baking tool even higher to inflict maximum pain. I released what sounded like a war cry to my ears but was more likely a high-pitched shriek as I hit him right in the back. I was aiming for his head, so…maybe that didn’t work out all that great for me. Probably not a Viking warrior in one of my past lives.
“What the hell—” my killer grunted.
In the amount of time it took me to lift the damn thing again, he’d already spun around and grabbed my wrists in a tight, painful grip that caused the rolling pin to slip out of my fingers as I started screaming.
My breath hitched and I whimpered because I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. I couldn’t exactly wrap my mind around what was happening, but I fought his hold on me like the Viking warrior I was not until my legs gave out.
“Shit,” the man barked, tightening his fingers around my wrists as I started to slide out of his grip and down to my knees. I was trying my best to rip myself out of his grasp.
Nothing worked.
My vision blurred. No air.
He was talking, and I thought what I was hearing was his voice, but it was so damn hard to hear anything through the building pounding pressure in my head, not to mention my poor, wild heart, which was in overdrive.
“Hey! Breathe. Please breathe. Breathe, goddamn it!” my angry killer shouted, and I flinched.
Warm hands cupped my cheeks, and he basically taught me how to breathe again as I sat crumpled on the floor.
Eyes closed.
Heart beating out of control.
“You’re doing great. Just breathe. Yes, just like that. Easy. In, now out. In and out. Good. You’re doing great.”
“Who the hell are you?” I
wheezed out when I could, but then I remembered that if he told me who he was, he’d have to kill me. First rule of the dark world of criminals: you see my face, you die. “No, no, don’t tell me. I take that back.” I didn’t really think a thief would just drop everything to help me breathe and calm down…but I wasn’t taking any chances. “You can take anything you want, please don’t hurt me.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I’m gonna ask you the same thing—who the hell are you?” he asked impatiently. “Hold on.” His hands left my face and I felt him move away from me. I wiped the tears from my eyes just in time to see the lights turn on.
When he came to stand in front of me again, I just about lost it. I was both terrified and shocked, and also very much naked under my tiny towel. Unsure if I was hallucinating due to the lack of air, I just kept staring up at him from my spot on the floor.
“You…but…what in the actual freaking hell?” I stuttered, maybe a tad bit louder than a whisper.
The star of the football team, the wide receiver, Dylan Reed himself, looked down at me with a deep frown forming on his face as he offered me his right hand.
Dumbfounded, I looked at it for a few long seconds before I looked back up at his face again. “What in the actual freaking hell?” I repeated in the same tone, because I couldn’t seem to remember any other words that would be useful for the situation. That was the only vocabulary I could muster up.
Using one hand to hold onto my towel and the other to push myself off the floor, I tried to scramble up on my own. He must’ve taken pity on my weak attempt because he grabbed my arm and pulled me up.
“Do I know…” he murmured when I was finally standing on my own two feet like a normal person, albeit a little shakily, but I was still up on my feet.