Balling my hands into fists, I step towards Alex. “Watch your fucking mouth. Lila doesn't have anything to do with this.”
“Then what does?” the quarterback glares. “Because you could have caught that in your sleep and you didn't.”
“I don't know.” It's a shitty answer, but it's still the only one I have. And nothing that I can think of is going to change the outcome.
Coach Stephen’s comes waltzing into the locker room, leaving us all in a state of disappointment and frustration. We know we should have won, and now it’s all been shot to shit because of me.
Coach clears his throat. “I’m sure we’re all still reeling,” he says in a tired voice. “As much as I would like to think that this team is invincible, we’re not. We’re not infallible, just like everyone else.”
“Yes, Coach,” a few people respond in unity.
“This failure is on me,” Coach continues. “Not one person in here should take it upon themselves to shoulder that blame that’s solely mine. How is it mine, you might ask? I’ll tell you.” He folds his arms across his massive chest and shakes his head slightly. “I treat you like you’re golden, being shaped to be what the NFL wants you to be, a basic analogy of a college farm team ripe for the picking. But that’s not why you’re here at college, is it?”
“No, Coach,” I mumble along with several others.
“You’re here, paying money or riding the gravy train, I don’t care. But you’re here for school first. And I treat you like football comes first. Finals are coming up, you’re all ready to get to this championship and get the hell out of here. But you’re straining and I should have seen this coming.”
“What about the championship?” Alex demands while shooting me a dirty look.
“The championship will still be there,” Coach deadpans. “It’s one game. It’s not your life. I know better than anybody how fast football can be taken away and that’s not something that any of you should have to deal with. It’s an honor to play, it’s not an honor to be entitled to play.”
“Yes, Coach,” Alex nods his head, but he still looks pissed off. Not that I can blame him for being angry.
Another few minutes go past as Coach discusses the ins and outs for our workout tomorrow to be better than we were today. A few of the players disappear to the shower area and before I can collect myself enough to hunker down and hide, Coach steps up next to me, effectively making everyone else in the vicinity scram.
“What’s up?” I ask lamely.
“You didn’t catch the ball,” Coach answers calmly.
Dear God, is that all anyone wants to fucking tell me right now? I think I’m pretty well aware of the fact that I didn’t catch the damn ball. But I don’t say any of that out loud. Not if I want to not be drilled into the ground by Coach, that is. “No, sir, I didn’t.”
“Feeling off?”
“No.”
“Got your head out of the game?”
“No, sir.”
Coach Stephen sighs. “Honest to God miss then?”
I jerk my head in a stiff nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Killian,” Coach lays a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay to miss. It’s bound to happen in life. It’ll probably happen again. The best thing you can do is not let it phase you to the point you think it’ll always happen, got it?”
“Don’t let it get to me,” I repeat.
“And don’t let Alex give you too much hell over it, either,” Coach adds. “The boy isn’t made of gold himself, don’t let anyone here fool you into thinking that.”
“Yes, sir,” I nod my head again.
“I’ll see you at next practice then,” Coach says before turning around to walk out of the locker room. Even after he’s gone, no one makes a peep. A piece of hay could hit this ugly cement floor and you’d hear the whisper of it touching down.
I don’t bother to shower, I feel too beat up and raw to deal with standing in the locker room any longer than I need to. So I grab my bag and duck out, hoping for at least a reprieve from the usual journalists and groupies that hang around outside the door.
But no such luck.
And on a day like today, it shouldn’t surprise me that my luck seems to have run out.
A few journalists from the Hanson Pawrint Shop, and yeah, that’s the actual name of the newspaper on campus, scrounge up enough courage to fire questions at me that I simply ignore.
Does is look like I’m in the mood to talk right now after that shit hole of a game?
No, I don’t think so.
The journalists at least have the decency to lay off when I don’t respond, but the girls push forward like it’s their God-given mission to make me feel better. Which it’s not. But the girls do make me pause, not for them, but to see if Lila is waiting somewhere in their depths just waiting for me.
It shouldn’t surprise me that she’s not here. She doesn’t usually come to games. Except for my freshman year, right before the whole campus knew my name, she used to sit in the stands and cheer me on.
After jostling around people to get out of the harem of girls, I’m finally able to break free and make my way towards my apartment. Lila’s door is shut, not a peep coming from the other side as I lean against the door to hear like some creeper. Guess she’s not home.
My key doesn’t even make it fully out of my pocket before my own door is wrenched open. Lila gives me an apologetic look while holding up two different cups of milkshakes and suddenly all the tension deflates from my body.
This girl, right here, is the reason that I know I’ll be okay.
“Sorry to break in,” Lila says as I move into the foyer. “Well, it’s not really breaking in because I’ve had the key since we first got here. But still.” She waves the drinks around. “I got you ice cream.”
“I didn’t win the game,” I say quietly.
She shrugs her shoulders, keeping an indifferent look on her face. “Then it’s just your luck that ice cream happens to be a great celebratory and angry form of food.”
“Angry?” I arch an eyebrow at her and pluck one out of her hand.
“You buy me milkshakes when I get dumped. And I’m certainly not happy when that happens,” she shrugs again. “Same difference.”
“Uh-huh,” I snort and flop down onto the couch. “Thanks for this.”
“What else would I be good for?” she teases.
I look at her, actually look at her, now that she’s sitting besides me. Her skin in a little red and she has on my old practice jersey from high school. My mouth falls open as I continue to stare at her.
“What?” she asks after releasing her straw. “Did I get milkshake on my face somewhere?”
“You were at the game.”
Lila rolls her eyes. “Okay, and?”
“You never go to my games.”
“Not true. I went up until middle school. High school was iffy because no one likes going on dates to football games unless you have a crush on a player. And here, well, you’ve got such a big fan base you really don’t need me.”
“I do not have that big of a fan base,” I scoff.
Lila rolls her gunmetal eyes again. “Sure you don’t.” She pats my thigh next to her on the couch. “You just keep on telling yourself that, sweetie.”
“I’m just kind of shocked you were there,” I admit.
“I wanted to cheer you on,” she says. “And then I decided to cheer you up, you grumpy grump.”
“Grumpy grump seems a little redundant.”
She flicks me in the arm. “Not if you’re going to act like one, it doesn’t.”
“Goodness,” I rub the spot on my arm where she flicked me at. “For someone so tiny, you sure can be vicious.”
“Like you didn’t know that already,” Lila laughs. “Now drink your milkshake before I get done with mine and demand to have yours.”
“Demand?” I scoff.
“If you didn’t eat like such a girl then you wouldn’t have to share,” Lila says before stic
king out her tongue at me.
“Have you ever thought that maybe it’s because you eat like a dude that forces me to have to share my food with you?” I ask her. She’s making me feel better by bickering with me; who knew that would work?
Lila pauses in sipping and stares at me with her brows pulled together. “I eat like a guy?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is it unattractive?” she winces.
She’s kidding me right? I’ve seen her try and eat a worm before on a dare when we were eight. She didn’t do it, but she sure as shit acted like she was going to. “No, it’s not unattractive to me,” I answer her slowly. “I rather like the fact that you don’t try and act like an airhead who only knows what salad tastes like.”
She tilts her milkshake in my direction and wrinkles her nose. “Salads are disgusting.”
“Damn straight,” I agree. We clink our plastic milkshake cups together in solidarity.
“We’re probably the most unhealthy couple to ever walk the planet,” Lila snorts as she looks at her milkshake cup that’s half gone. “Next thing you know, we’ll be ordering tacos and binge watching television until an ungodly hour.”
Tacos did sound amazing, actually. But I’m stuck on the fact she admitted that we were a couple. Couples called each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Couples were seen in public together being obnoxiously attentive to solely one person. Their favorite person.
“What?” Lila looks at me and reels backwards. “You’re staring at me again. I swear to God, if there’s ice cream in my hair or on my face in an embarrassing place like below my nose, I’m going to murder you and shave your legs.”
Laughter spills out of me from the horrified look on her face and the words she’s spewing. “You can’t humiliate me if you murder me.”
“Oh yes, I can.” Lila sits up straighter and points her finger at me as she balances the cast to hold up the milkshake. “Because I’ll take pictures and post them on flyers everywhere around campus.”
“Baby doll,” I play along in an exasperated voice, “everyone can see my shins when I’m on the field. So that’s not going to work.”
“Watch me.”
I eyeball her, but the corner of her mouth is twitching, giving away the fact that she’s not being serious at all. Thank God for that, too. She’d drive me insane if she could. “Thank you,” I say and sit my cup down on the coffee table.
“For what? What did I do?”
“Everything,” I smile and tug her towards me. I kiss the side of her head and breathe in that addicting vanilla scent. “You did everything.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lila
Killian comes back out of his room after showering. He’s changed from basketball shorts and a sweaty t-shirt into grey sweatpants and a thermal long-sleeve with the sleeves rolled up. Looking at him now, my brain tends to short circuit like it’s being rewired to remember thoughts of liking him can stay.
“You doing good over here?” he asks, flopping back down onto the couch next to me. Our milkshakes have been emptied now for twenty minutes.
“Yeah,” I shrug. “How about you?”
“Can’t complain.” He bends over the side of the couch and picks up a textbook. “I take it back, I can complain. I have a stupid test on Monday that I need to study for.”
Indecision wars within me. “Do I need to go?”
Killian glances up from the textbook to my face. “Hell no. You’re perfectly fine right where you are.” He pauses and clears his throat. “Unless you have somewhere else you need to be, that is.”
“No,” I answer slowly. “I don’t have anywhere else to be. You just seemed like you were going to study.” Then it’s my turn to pause. “I can run to my place and change into pajamas and grab my book bag with my textbooks in them.”
“Study date on a Saturday night,” Killian smirks. “We’re officially old people.”
I stick out my tongue as I stand up. “I’ve always been old, you’re just catching up.”
He whacks at the back of my legs with his textbook as I shuffle by him to get out the door. Once I cross the four feet into my own apartment, I come face to face with Nina laying on the couch sleeping.
Clearly, it’s been a rough day for everybody.
“Psst,” I whisper and poke her in the side. “Are you alright?”
“Hmm?” Nina asks and looks up at me. “I’m fine,” she yawns. “Jackson’s going to be so pissed tonight so I decided to skip out on watching him drink himself into being an asshole and came home to nap.” She twirls a finger in the air. “Oh, to be a football player’s girlfriend and designated driver.”
“But you love him,” I point out.
Nina blows out a breath and unsticks her face from the couch. “Yeah, but not when he’s an asshole.”
Well, alrighty then.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m going to change and grab my books to study.”
Nina wrinkles her nose. “God, that’s so lame to do on a Saturday night.”
“Uh, you’re napping on the couch. You don’t have much room to talk.”
“I’m waiting on my shit-faced boyfriend to crawl out of the bottle I’m sure your boyfriend-not-boyfriend is going to hand him.”
“My boyfriend-not-boyfriend is studying in his apartment because he has a test on Monday and I’m going to keep him company,” I stick out my tongue at her. “So your boyfriend is getting shit-faced all by himself.”
She makes a noncommittal noise at me and lays her head back down on the couch.
I slip off into my room and change into a pair of yoga pants while keeping the jersey on and ditching my tennis shoes for a pair of flip-flops even those it’s starting to get cold. Four feet really wasn’t going to make a difference. After grabbing my book bag off the floor, I slip back inside Killian’s apartment.
He’s still sitting on the couch with his textbook in his lap. But instead of looking at the textbook, his head is resting on the back cushion of the couch with his eyes closed. I poke him in the stomach as I move to sit next to him.
“Unf,” he grunts. “You have sharp, little pointy fingers.”
“Purposely made by God to annoy the hell out of you,” I chime in retort.
“Whatever you say, baby doll.”
“So, we’re going to study?” I ask. “Because Nina says that Jackson is out drinking.”
“Okay. What does your question have to do with what Nina told you Jackson is doing?”
“Maybe I should just rephrase my whole question,” I clarify. “How come you want to study and not go out and drink?”
“Drinking while in a shitty mood just leads to a shittier mood,” Killian shrugs. “A lot of people tend to forget alcohol is a depressant. Whatever mood you go into drinking with, is the mood that’s going to stick around. Not saying enough alcohol won’t change that, but it’s not going to help me any.”
“So you’re not drinking because then you’d be in a crappy mood?”
“That and I need to study. And you’re a lot nicer to look at than an empty library room.”
“Charmer,” I snort.
“And damn proud of it.”
Of course he is.
“So how was your day?” Killian asks and flips open his textbook to a seemingly random page.
I squint at him. “Did you just flip your book open with no idea where to start reading?”
“You didn’t answer my question and I have a sticky note at the bottom.” He lifts up the textbook so I can see the tiny sticky note sticking out of the bottom of his book.
“Your question,” I repeat, drawing a blank for a moment. “Right, on how my day was. It was fine. I hung out and did a few art pieces from my desk so I didn’t have to go to Fine Arts. Then, I heated up some macaroni and dumped way too much red pepper flakes in it. Pretty sure I had a three-alarm fire going on in my mouth. Drank some milk to stop the burning, brushed my teeth, then went to your game.”
“It’s not that funny,” I grunt and cross my arms over my chest. “It was super hot.”
“I get that,” he chuckles. “Do you just realize you told me about your whole day?”
I make a face at him. “Uh, wasn’t that the point of your question?”
“Yes, it was. It’s just that no one I’ve ever asked that to, besides you, would sum up their whole day like that. Usually it’s just fine and that’s the end of it.” He grins over at me. “But you actually tell me.”
“That’s because you asked, you goof,” I roll my eyes. “How would answering with fine tell you anything about my day?”
Killian continues to grin at me. “That was my whole point.”
“Wait, do people seriously just give you a one worded response?” I gape. “Why?”
“Because everyone wants to ask me questions. Which is fine, but it’s usually about football or wondering if I’ll be at some party that night. But you don’t care about any of that, so you have an actual conversation with me.”
I clear my throat. “Well, first of all, I do care about football for you because you worked hard to get where you are. That’s something to be proud of. I don’t do parties, so you’ve got me there. Your life is just one strange world to people who don’t know you, I guess.”
“People who don’t try to get to know me,” he shrugs. “They see the surface and that’s about as far as they’re willing to go.”
“Which is dumb,” I shake my head. “You’re a great person.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I wouldn’t be with you if I thought you weren’t a great person,” I say.
Killian stops to stare at me for a moment.
He did that earlier too, but I don’t know why. He leans forward, propelling the textbook onto the floor until he’s reached over to cup my cheek in his hand. My breath stalls in the back of my throat.
“Do you have any idea how much torture it is to be with you and not be with you at the same time?” he murmurs.
“You mean, like, romantically?” I gulp.
The Wrong Way: Hanson University: One Page 16