The footage is shaky and within seconds I recognize Rider’s front lawn. It’s a party. Everyone’s in bathing suits.
Someone walks by carrying furniture. He’s so out of place, it’s almost funny. And I realize it’s Rider.
That’s the party they had in late August. When I interviewed Sienna.
He’s shirtless and glowing in the bright sun like a god. Smiling and too handsome for words.
For a brief moment, I think, He’s mine. This beautiful man who’s turned out to be an incredible father, he comes home to me at night.
But then the ultimate record scratch halts that line of thought when Miranda, who’s wearing the smallest bikini known to man, leaps into his arms.
Even though I know this happened months ago, even though I tell myself I shouldn’t let this bother me, I’m not prepared for how much it hurts to see him laugh and grab her ass and casually toss her over his shoulder.
Or watch her slide down his body and seal their mouths together.
My heart is in my throat as they paw at each other. His hands are in her hair and on her rear.
They look like they’re two seconds from fucking on his front lawn.
Onlookers freaking cheer them on.
Bile pushes up the back of my throat, and Zoe finally shuts it off. Her sickly-sweet voice purrs, “Since you’ve been busy playing Suzy Homemaker, I thought you might need a reminder of what Rider is really like.” Zoe lowers her voice as she waves the phone in my face. “Just ask Mira—she and Rider fucked all night long after this party.”
My eyes dart to Miranda, whose expression of pity makes me want to punch her in the throat.
Zoe hooks her arm in her friend’s. “She and Rider have been an item on and off for years. Whose bed do you think he was in right after he dumped your ass freshman year? Miranda’s. Listen, he’s going to get tired of you like he did then, so don’t get too comfortable in her territory. She and Rider are only taking a little breather. It’s what they do. Ask him.”
And then the two saunter away as though they didn’t just torpedo my heart.
57
RIDER
I park my ass down in a front-row seat while I wait to talk with the professor. After a quick glance to the clock, I pull out my phone to text Gabby that I won’t be able to meet her for lunch, but when I turn it on, a dozen messages fill the screen so fast, I know something’s wrong.
My first thought is Poppy, and my stomach knots itself as I scroll through the messages, but no one mentions her. The grim tone in every single text doesn’t make me feel any better, though.
Get yo ass to Coach’s office. He’s pissed. —Tank
Bro, shit’s goin’ down. Get to practice. —Olly
911, motherfucker. —Noxious
Dude. WTF RU? —B-Rod
I know it’s bad when Ben messages me. He’s been mostly radio silent since Gabby and I got together. He’s polite, but keeps shit as brief as possible. After our last game this weekend, I’ll make more of an effort to dig into that, but since he might also want to kick my ass, I’ve decided a respectful distance for now works for the team. No sense in dredging up drama.
But judging by the messages flooding my phone, drama has found me anyway.
Was in class. Headed there now. What’s going on? —Rider
I’ll have to catch my professor tomorrow. Ten minutes later, I pull up to the sports center and grab my phone, even more worried that none of my roommates responded to my text.
When I reach the weight room, I see why. Knox and Olly are in Coach’s office, and my other roommates are stationed outside like they’re waiting to see the principal.
Winston pauses mid-deadlift to bark, “You’re in such deep shit. Weren’t you the fool telling me I needed to respect women? Kettle black, meet the pot.”
“It’s ‘the pot calling the kettle black,’ dumbass,” Trevor yells from the hallway. “And you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
I don’t get a chance to ask what the hell is going on because Coach sticks his head out of the office and bellows, “Kingston. In here. Now!”
Oh, fuck me.
In four years, Coach has never spoken to me like that.
When I reach the hallway, Tank juts out his lower lip and whispers, “Coach took our phones.”