I Hate You - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,87

ruin your ankle for a scout, son. Get off the field,” he says, his tone more insistent.

I’m not leaving this spot until I beat Archer.

“Sir—”

“I’m sorry. I know this is big. Get that goddamn ankle looked at.” He crosses his arms, taking no arguments.

I let out a groan. “Please, Coach. Just let me try.”

“No.” He points to the sidelines.

“Where you going, pussy? We’re just getting warmed up,” Archer calls as I stalk off the field. He laughs, but I ignore him and fight not to limp with each step. I can’t even look at Cedrick.

A trainer kneels at my feet in the locker room, checking out my swollen right foot. He helps me walk to the training room and I sit on the table while he applies ice packs. He tells me to alternate with hot and cold then dashes off to check with the doctor on getting the X-ray.

“Blaze? You okay?” Charm says as she comes in the door, her eyes too big.

She shouldn’t be back here, but Dillon’s next to her.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, tearing my eyes off her and looking at my propped-up foot.

She leans in and kisses me. “You looked good out there.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You did.” Her gaze goes back to my ankle.

I take her hand and thread our fingers together. Being with her these past few weeks has meant everything to me, and that frown on her face is bugging me. “I’ll shake it off and be fine tomorrow. Don’t worry, ’kay?”

“He’s bounced back from worse hits than that,” says Dillon.

I glance at him and give him a head twitch toward the door. I don’t want her to see me like this.

Dillon touches her arm. “He’s just waiting. Wanna walk with me to Dr. Cartwright’s class? Might up your street cred to be seen with me.”

She frowns. “I’m not going to class until I know what’s going on.”

I exhale. Please, get her out, my eyes tell Dillon. He just lifts his hands.

“I need you to take notes,” I say. “Besides, I might be here for hours.”

“I’m staying.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

My jaw tightens and I snap. “I need to do this alone.”

“Why?” she asks, hands on her hips.

Because I always have. I’ve never had parents or my aunt and uncle rushing to me when I was injured on the field. It was just me. Besides, I can’t have her seeing me weak and scared. What if I fall apart? Because…I might.

My teeth grind in pain. “Just go, okay?”

She lets out a sigh, brown eyes are back on me. “Fine. Will you text me when you know what’s going on?”

Fear slides over me at what kind of news I might get. “Yeah.”

I watch them leave, and nervousness ratchets up, riding me hard. I want to call her back, but I don’t. Out in the hall, I hear Archer and some of the other players walking into the locker room down the hall. “Farm boy is probably crying.” I hear him say.

My fists clench.

Ryker comes in the room and takes me in. His lips flatten. “That was a dirty fucking play by Archer, man.”

Yeah, it was. I nod. “Cedrick…did he say anything?”

“Don’t worry about him. Everyone saw the way you went down and kept pushing through. I think he knew what was really up.”

But…did he?

I drop his gaze and stare at a point over his shoulder. “Thank you for trying to help me. I don’t know if you had anything to do with Cedrick coming back, but I figure you did, and I appreciate it.”

“He came on his own, bro. You’re a natural—he’ll see it.”

I clear my throat. “You should get going. Charisma mentioned you’re getting fitted for a suit for the draft today.”

He’s quiet for a few moments. “Yeah, it’s kickass, serious dark gray on the outside with a paisley lining in school colors. Sharp. Penelope helped me pick it out.”

I try to laugh but wince when a bolt of pain ricochets across my foot. “Go get it.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“Just…go.”

“I’m not leaving, so shut the fuck up.”

I meet his eyes and see the careful, apprehensive expression he’s wearing.

“We’ve known each other for four years, man. You’ve been my go-to on the field and my roommate. That shit runs deep. We’re family,” he says.

I close my eyes, my throat tightening as I fight back emotion. Family. I like that, I do, but right now I’m barely keeping shit together. I want to stand up and beat on the wall. I want to slam my fist into

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