Never His Girl (Kings of Cypress Prep #2) - Rachel Jonas Page 0,18

I just practiced come Saturday, we can kiss the semifinals win goodbye.

In fact, each time a teammate passes by on their way out of the locker room, they shoot me a look that says they’re all thinking the same thing.

My judgment was way off. My footwork was shit.

All because of who’s taking up space in my head when I should be thinking about what’s happening on the field.

I can’t stop going over how I ruined everything. To the point that she hardly even looks at me now. Whatever was happening with us before, it’s officially dead in the water. But still, even seeing it in her eyes that she thoroughly hates me, I can’t wrap my mind around letting it end there.

“Fuck!”

I launch my helmet toward the wall with reckless abandon, then it clatters to the floor. The sound echoes as I pace between my locker and the bench, trying to walk off some of the tension, but it isn’t working. Because no matter what I do, I can’t fix what I’ve fucked up.

This isn’t me. None of it. I’ve never let anything come between me and football. I let the entire team down out there this afternoon. Frustrated and pissed at myself, a growl leaves my mouth, reverberating through the locker room as the last of my teammates clear out. It’s only me and my brothers left now, and I’m sure their silence is only temporary.

“This got something to do with whatever Coach wanted to see you about before practice?” Sterling asks flatly, dropping down onto the bench, still in uniform.

“Just fucking leave it alone,” I grumble, fighting the urge to slam my fist into a locker.

The conversation he’s just asked about is a whole other story altogether. Apparently, Dr. Pryor’s trying to dig for info about the video, which has Coach all up my ass about it. The moral of his lecture was for me to keep my dick in my pants and keep my nose clean. He doesn’t suspect Pryor will let up any time soon, which means I should expect she’ll be lying in wait for me to screw something else up.

With my luck, it’ll be a matter of days until she has whatever she’s looking for.

My heart’s racing, so I sit, trying in vain to calm down.

“Everything’s going to shit,” I admit, feeling bogged down by the weight of it all. But mostly, what I feel is guilt.

With worry and regret tied for second.

I sense both my brothers’ stares locked on me, but I don’t say more. Honestly, I can’t stomach talking about it. Joss only knows as much as she does because I was at my breaking point last night, bleeding with raw emotion I didn’t know how to channel. Not that much has changed since then, but now that I’ve laid eyes on Southside, now that I’ve seen for myself the damage that’s been done, that’s what consumes me—the image of her hating me from the bottom of her heart.

Made me feel like a pussy chasing after her, knowing she’d never listen to what I had to say. Still, I couldn’t stop myself. That’s what she does to me. Makes me fucking insane. Makes my head submit to my damn heart.

Fuck. Listen to me. Spouting weak-ass poetry to myself. This is a whole new low.

“You know you can talk to us about shit, right? Like … anything,” Dane reminds me.

“Could. Don’t want to.”

“Fine. Be a dick,” Sterling adds with a sigh. “You can go nuclear on your own if that’s what you want, but it won’t be because we’re not trying to help you, West.”

He stands, towering over me while I sit.

“Whatever this shit is you’ve been hiding from us? It ain’t bad enough that either of us would ever stop having your back.”

There’s commotion when they grab their bags from their lockers, and then I’m alone. Which seems fitting. As much as I’d like to blame all this on someone else, I’ve brought it on myself. All of it. One way or another.

If Coach finds me, he’ll start in on how I screwed things up today at practice, so I decide it’s time to leave. I stop at my locker only long enough to slip off my jersey and pads, then grab my duffle and leave in just uniform pants, a t-shirt, and cleats.

Cool air hits me as soon as I push open the doors to exit the fieldhouse, making my way down the sidewalk. It’s damn-near cold enough to snow, but