The Boy Next Door Page 9

  You know what?

  She’s probably right. I’ve got nothing to worry about.

  And if Colton has any brains whatsoever, he’ll avoid me like his life depends on it.

  Because guess what?

  It does.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Colton

  “Montgomery, get your ass off the field!” Coach barks when I fumble yet another pass. “Kwiatkowski, take his place!”

  Fuck.

  I need to get my shit together before I get pulled permanently from the line-up. Instead of making eye contact with Beck, I stare at the turf and jog off the field. I already know what I’ll find in his eyes, and that’s a—what the hell is going on with you look. I can’t blame him for it either.

  The last couple of practices have turned out to be a shitshow. Passes I should be catching with ease are getting dropped, missed, or slipping right through my fingers. On one of the last plays, I actually tripped over my own damn feet. If you didn’t know better, you’d think I had never seen a football, much less held one in my hands.

  Ever since I stepped foot on the field when I was a kid, my game has been consistent. I don’t have high-highs or low-lows. I’m a solid player. Dependable. Coaches know this. My teammates know it. Beck knows it as well. I’m always in position, ready to catch whatever my QB throws my way.

  Except today.

  And yesterday.

  Not to mention the day before that.

  Now that I think about it, my game has been off for the last week—specifically since my run-in with Alyssa. I can’t stop thinking about her or searching for her. I’m like a stalker, hanging around the building, trying to catch sight of her.

  Most people, the ones who know jack about football, think the game is all brute strength and physicality, but that’s not true. There’s a mental component. And that’s where I’m falling short. My head is no longer in the game. It’s wrapped up in my ex. Unless I can turn things around on the field, I’ll be riding the pine for the foreseeable future. And that’s never happened before.

  Coach ignores me for the remainder of practice while Kwiatkowski, our second-string wide receiver, runs through a handful of plays with Beck. And wouldn’t you know it, the junior receiver catches every damn pass thrown to him. It only compounds the feelings of powerlessness already wreaking havoc on me. I’ve been first-string since I stepped foot on campus freshman year. My spot has never been in question.

  Now it feels like I could lose everything I’ve worked for in an instant. By the time Coach blows his whistle at the end of a two-hour practice, my head is a mess. I need to get out of here and figure out how I’m going to fix this problem.

  Once in the locker room, I keep to myself. I’m not in the mood to joke around with these guys. Even though I remain silent, Beck doesn’t take the hint. Instead of giving me a wide berth, he drops onto the bench and peels off his jersey before tossing it in the locker.

  I feel the heaviness of his gaze burning a hole through me. He might not give voice to all the questions swirling through his brain, but I hear them loud and clear. Beck and I have been playing ball together since we were kids. We recognize each other’s tells and quirks. Half the time, I know what play he’ll run before he does. The guy never has to seek me out on the field. I instinctively know where I need to be and get into position. As far as football is concerned, we have some kind of weird mental connection going on. It’s what makes us so good together.

  It’s just another reason the last couple of practices are screwing with my head even more than Alyssa. Sure, everybody is entitled to an off day. It goes with the territory. But this has turned into more of a slump, and that scares the fuck out of me.

  Especially with the season looming right around the corner.

  What if I can’t turn it around in time?

  This is my last year at Wesley. The goal has always been to go out on a high note with a winning season. I want to bring home a conference championship before taking my rightful place alongside my father in the personal finance company he founded. These are my glory days, the ones I’ll look back at with longing and fondness when I’m stuck sitting behind a desk for twelve hours a day, trading stocks and shoring up client portfolios. At this rate, I’ll be relieved they’re over.

  I keep my gaze focused straight ahead. The last thing I want to do is field any questions or talk about the obvious elephant in the room. Everyone knows that once you do that, it becomes real. There’s no shoving the genie back in the lamp. With rough fingers, I rip off my jersey and toss it on the bench. Agitation wafts off me in heavy, suffocating waves. I’m all but choking on it.

  The rowdy locker room turns quiet as Coach stalks through with his Wesley Warriors ball cap pulled low over his eyes and a clipboard clenched in his hand. Air gets wedged in my lungs as I wait for what’s coming down the pike.

  As if I don’t know...

  “Montgomery,” he barks, “get your ass in my office as soon as you’re dressed.”

  I jerk my head into a tight nod but keep my lips pressed together.

  Well, shit. This isn’t good.

  Coach Taylor glares at the group of half-naked guys and barks out a few more victims. When he’s done, he slams the door to his office with so much force that it rattles on its hinges.

  Devon Baker, a three-hundred-pound lineman, laughs, “Better bring some lube with you, Montgomery. Doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to give it to you gently.”

  Like I don’t know that?

  I glare at Baker before giving him the finger.

  Our first game against Tennessee is in two weeks. If I can’t pull my crap together, there’s no way Coach will allow me to step foot on the field. They’re a tough team with a powerhouse of an offensive line. The thought of cooling my ass on the bench while Kwiatkowski takes my place makes me gut sick.

  Beck clears his throat, drawing my attention to him. “So—”

  “Don’t even say it, man.” I fall silent and rip off the remaining pads. It’s like they’re choking the life out of me. I’ve never felt that way before. I don’t understand why I’m failing at something I’ve always excelled at.

  “Say what?” he asks nonchalantly, continuing to strip off his sweat-soaked apparel.

  Even though it’s uncomfortable, I admit through stiff lips, “That my game is off.” Acknowledging the truth is like a punch to the gut. Expected, but still a surprise.

  For the first time since we’ve entered the locker room, I give Beck a bit of side-eye to get a read on his expression. It’s just as I suspected. Concern mingled with confusion. Exactly what I don’t want to deal with. I’ve always found it easier to suppress my feelings and shove them deep down inside where they can’t see the light of day.

  Keep it moving.

  That’s my motto.

  I do my best not to dwell on the reason this is happening. My hope is that if I ignore the problem long enough, it’ll work itself out. That’s what I’ve done all my life—ignored the bad shit and focused on the future, and I’ve been just fine. So why isn’t it working now? Why are the wheels falling off when I need them to stay put? This can’t be how I go out.

  It just can’t be.

  I need to get this situation figured out and fast before it becomes any more of an issue.

  Beck shrugs, downplaying my plunging spiral. “Wasn’t going to mention it.”

  I almost snort.

  Yeah, right.

  “Good,” I say with a grunt. Unable to help myself, I shoot an anxious glance toward Coach’s office. My voice drops before I reluctantly admit, “For once in his life, Baker is right. I’d better grab some lube. Coach is going to ream my ass.”

  Beck flicks his gaze toward the inner sanctum.

  Nik Taylor is one of the toughest coaches you’ll find in Division I football. He runs his program like a tight ship. If he’s willing to give one hundred percent to his team, he expects his players to do the same in return. If you’re not willing to bleed for t
he guys standing shoulder to shoulder with you on the field, there’s no place for you on this roster. Even though I have no intention of entering the NFL draft, I wanted to play for the best. With the best. Against the best.

  Now I don’t feel worthy of playing alongside these men. It’s the worst fucking feeling in the world.

  “Please,” Beck snorts. “Baker is a bonehead. Don’t listen to a word that comes out of his yap.”

  That might be true, but I have a hunch that he’s spot-on about the lube. Coach isn’t going to put up with stupid mistakes on his field. I’m scared shitless that he’ll pull me. If Coach doesn’t believe in me—a man I’ve played for my entire college career—how can I believe in myself?

  “Look, man,” Beck continues, interrupting those depressing thoughts, “we all have off days. Don’t stress about it.”

  I think that by now, we both realize this is more than just an off day. It’s a string of unfortunate events.

  “Easier said than done,” I mumble.

  With nothing else to say, we silently strip off the rest of our gear before hitting the showers. Now that Coach has cloistered himself in his office, the locker room once again turns rowdy. Everyone has caught their second wind. Guys are talking about all the parties happening off-campus this weekend. The team has been at Wesley, practicing twice a day since the beginning of July. We’ve spent hundreds of hours running through plays on the field, lifting in the gym, scrimmaging, and watching game film. With the start of school next week, this is the final hoorah. Everyone wants to cut loose and party their asses off before we have to buckle down for the season.

  Once Beck hits the showers, I slump onto the bench with a huff and stare pensively at my hands. I want to get this ass-chewing over with and move on with my life. Best case scenario, this will be a pep talk. Worst case, Kwiatkowski is moving up in the world. A cold sweat breaks out across my brow at the possibility. A couple of guys have already come and gone from the enclosed space and yet, I remain paralyzed on the bench.

  “Get a move on it, bro,” Beck prods, returning with a towel slung around his waist. “I got shit to take care of.”

  “Go on without me,” I mutter. “I have a feeling this is gonna take a while.”

  Beck pulls on a pair of boxers and athletic shorts before shoving his feet into slides. “Does this have anything to do with Alyssa?”

  “Fuck if I know.” I drag a hand over my face, not wanting to admit my suspicions.

  There’s a long pause before he says, “You could always try talking to her.”

  Ha!

  The only problem with that bit of advice is that I actually value my life and am not looking to end it prematurely.

  “Yeah, I don’t know about that. It didn’t go so well the first time.” For fuck’s sake, he was there. He witnessed the shitshow that ensued when I tried to make nice. At one point, I’d actually thought she might inflict bodily harm. “That girl could give Coach a run for his money in the ass reaming department.”

  One side of Beck’s mouth quirks with humor.

  “You heard Alyssa,” I add, just in case he’s a little slow on the uptake. “She wants nothing to do with me. In fact, she’d rather I not breathe the same air as her.” I shake my head, chuckling grimly under my breath. “If Lys had her way, she’d rather I didn’t breathe at all.”

  It’s funny, I can’t remember a time when Alyssa wasn’t chasing after me. Throughout high school and then college. I’m sure I sound like a giant dick, but there was something comforting about the knowledge that she would always be there, waiting in the wings.

  And now?

  Now she wants nothing to do with me. If it were possible for her to smote me on the spot, she’d do it in a heartbeat, without a single thought or care. Then she’d step over my cold dead body on her way out the door.

  Beck interrupts the whirl of those thoughts. “Can you blame the girl?”

  He knows how everything went down between us sophomore year.

  Maybe sending a text message to break up with her wasn’t the smartest idea. Actually, there’s no maybe about it. Alyssa had confessed her love, and I freaked out and cut her loose. At the very least, I should have sat her down and had an adult conversation. Instead, I’d taken the easy way out, and it backfired in my face.

  I focus on my clasped hands instead of meeting his curious stare. “Not at all.” Only now, as the uncomfortable silence settles around us, do I realize the locker room has thinned out. Most of these guys are ready to get their weekend started. This is the last place they want to hang out.

  Even though I don’t want to give voice to the words, I’m powerless to stop them from escaping. “You going to Alyssa’s party?”

  Beck shrugs as guilt flickers across his expression before his gaze skitters away.

  Why did I even bother to ask? Of course, he’s going.

  “You could always crash the party,” he says with a chuckle.

  I snort out a laugh.

  Can you even imagine?

  “Somehow, I don’t think that would go over well.” The only thing my presence would accomplish is to piss Alyssa off even more than she already is. Just like football, I need a little time to figure out the best course of action.

  “Have you considered giving her a gift she really wants?” When I raise a brow in question, Beck smirks. “Like your balls on a silver platter?”

  I grab my sweaty practice jersey and throw it at Beck’s face. He bats it away before it can make contact.

  “You’re a dick,” I laugh, my muscles loosening.

  He grins, and the thick tension holding me captive finally dissipates. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alyssa

  “Welcome home, bitch,” Mia shouts, attempting to be heard over the pulsing beat of techno as we clink our shots of Fireball and toss them back. The smooth liquor slides down my throat, warming me from the inside out.

  “Holy shit, that’s terrible!” my bestie sputters, coughing as tears gather in her dark eyes. “No more shots. I’m tapping out.”

  Undeterred by the declaration, I laugh and order another round. I’m nowhere near done. Everywhere I look, there are friends who have shown up to help celebrate my return to Wesley. I’ll admit that while packing up my bags and preparing to leave London, part of me was tempted to extend my student visa for another year, but in the end, I decided the best course of action was to come home, finish out my degree, and graduate on time. Maybe, if I still feel the same way in the spring, I’ll return.

  And then there’s Jack. Even though I’d taken everything at a glacial pace where he was concerned, it had only begun to heat up between us. I’m not sure what will happen with that situation. Probably nothing. We’re an ocean apart. It’s difficult enough to maintain a relationship when I’m on the same continent with a guy, let alone a six-hour international flight away.

  I glance at my best friend, the girl who planned this amazing night, and realize that coming home was the right decision. Even though I met some amazing new people—ones I hope will be in my life forever—I’d missed my bestie something fierce. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember. There’s a history between us that can’t be denied or erased. I was there when her sister died and the subsequent challenges her family faced. She was the shoulder I leaned on when I broke my ankle freshman year of high school and questioned if dancing would ever be the same.

  We have one last year together before we head in different directions. I’m both excited and scared by the prospect. Above all, I’m glad Mia is by my side. I have no idea what I would do without her. Luckily, I’ll never have to find out.

  My gaze runs over the length of her. She looks smoking hot in a black dress that hugs every single curve. Unlike me, the girl has an hourglass figure. And tonight is all about showcasing it.

  The drinks have already gone to my head, and I’m in my element. When the music changes and the bass starts to thump, reverberatin
g off the walls, I squeal and grab Mia’s hand, dragging her to the dance floor. “I freaking love this song!”

  This night is all about having fun. I want to let go and enjoy the drinks, music, and good friends who have come out to celebrate my return. I shove my way through the press of writhing bodies before carving out a tiny space for us. My hands go in the air as I lose myself in the beat. It’s not difficult. The DJ has some serious skills. Each song bleeds into the next as we shake our asses, singing along with the lyrics. Mia grabs my hand and twirls me around. A smile stretches across my face as I laugh, enjoying myself like I haven’t in a long time. Friends come and go as the music plays on. I have no idea how long we stay out on the dance floor. The only way I realize time has passed is by how parched my mouth becomes.

  I close the distance between us and shout, “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Her cheeks are pink from all our exertion, but I can tell she’s having a blast. Sometimes Mia has a difficult time cutting loose. She wants to be the perfect kid and student, forever walking the straight and narrow. It’s good for her to let go and have fun. If anyone needs it, it’s her.

  “Want me to come with you?” she asks.

  “Nah.” With a shake of my head, I wave her off. “I’ll be back in a sec, stay here so I can find you again.”

  A strobe light of color bounces off the walls as I push my way through the thick crowd. I catch flashes of people I know and wave as I continue on my way. It turns out to be a five-minute wait for the restroom. I chat with a few friends in line and catch up on their lives. Once inside, I do my business and touch up my lip gloss before fluffing my hair. It’s long and loose, floating around my shoulders. I probably should have put it up with all the ass shaking I’m doing, but I’m having way too much fun to care.

  On the way back to the dance floor, I detour to the long stretch of bar for another drink. I’m dying of thirst. If I were thinking clearly, I’d get an icy cold bottle of water and hydrate. But tonight, I’m not going to be smart. I’m going to suck down as many drinks as I want and keep the party going until the wee hours of the morning.