“Jordan.” Jaxon leans across, resting a forearm on Brody’s now vacant desk. “What the fuck was that about?”

I have an idea and I’m praying hard I’m wrong. Standing, I shoulder my bag and shove my shake across to Jaxon. “Here, have this.”

When I reach the parking lot, his space is empty. After trying his phone and getting voicemail, I climb in the beat up car I’m too stubborn to get rid of, shove it in gear, and head straight for his apartment. Jogging quickly up the stairwell, I bang hard on his front door.

No answer.

“Brody, it’s me,” I shout. “Open up!”

I bang again, pounding my fist hard on the closed door.

It’s quiet inside.

Where are you?

I rest my forehead against the white painted timber, breathing hard from fear more than exertion.

“Out there on the field, the game is everything. It builds you up, breaks you down, and it bleeds you dry. But I fucking love it. It’s the only place I’m free.”

I rush down the stairwell and back to my car. My hasty fingers fumble with the seatbelt. “Dammit,” I growl with frustration. Eventually it clicks in place, and I back out and jam my foot down on the accelerator.

Brody’s car sits in the near empty parking lot of the stadium. My tires burn what little rubber they have left as I pull to a screeching halt beside it. Switching off the ignition, I sit for a moment, collecting my breath, my heart hammering. I don’t know his state of mind right now and it scares me. All I know is that I can’t let him push me away.

The car door creaks loud across the lot when I get out. I slam it closed, pocket the keys, and jog over to the fence. The metal chain link around the latch is loose. I slip through and make my way out onto the field. The sun is bright and the grass lush, and so perfect it’s almost not real. Brody is sitting on it by the twenty-yard line.

My pace falters and I come to a halt. Unseen, I watch him. His elbows rest on his knees and his head hangs low between his shoulders. In both hands rests a football. It’s pressed to his forehead like it’s the only thing that matters.

Brody doesn’t need to tell me he failed the test. The defeat in him makes my heart ache, and it makes me furious. He’s had a lifetime of hurdles. A lifetime of those he loves telling him his dream is worth nothing. That he’ll fail because he’s not smart enough. Being Brody’s tutor was his hail-mary pass.

And he dropped the ball.

Starting toward him, I call out his name. “Brody?”

Brody’s head snaps up. His lips are pinched, eyes red. Seeing me, he looks away. “You should be in class, Jordan.”

“Screw class.” I kneel down beside him, tucking my legs underneath me. “Talk to me.”

Taking one hand off the football, he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, takes out a folded piece of paper, and holds it out.

I take it, unfolding it to reveal an F sitting in the top right hand corner. My mouth opens and closes, not knowing what to say. From his earlier reaction it was what I expected, but it doesn’t mean I understand it.

Brody worked so hard. He knew the material back to front. “It’s just a midterm. I’m sure you can re-take it. We can go see the professor right now and we can get it—”

“It’s not the fuckin’ test!” Brody shouts and I flinch. “It’s not— Fuck!” His curse is a rusty sound as if ripped from his throat. He snatches the page from my hand and crumples it in his fist. “It’s not this! I don’t care about some goddamn fucking ethics test.”

Brody gets to his feet and tosses it off to the side as he stalks away. I snatch it up, folding it quickly and jamming it in my back pocket.

I start after him. “Brody!”

He turns his head to the side but keeps walking. “Get lost, Jordan,” he says coldly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “I actually came here to get away from you, yet here you are, chasing after me like every other damn bitch on campus.”

I suck in breath, hurt welling up. “You arrogant bastard!”

He doesn’t stop.

“Is that it, then? You just give up?”

Brody’s head lowers a little, the only sign he heard me. Yet he doesn’t stop and I want to scream and stamp my foot like a damn child.

“This isn’t you, Brody!”

He comes to an abrupt halt, pausing for what feels like long, endless minutes. When he turns, his eyes are hard and unfeeling. I brace, now knowing that when Brody said he’d ruin us, he believed it with all his heart.

“This is all me, baby.” He spreads his arms wide and chuckles like it’s all a big joke. Like he’s a big joke. Hot tears prick my eyes. “What you see is what you get. A big, dumb jock. It doesn’t matter what you do, Jordan, or how hard you try at making me someone I’m not, or even how much you make me work. Up here…” he taps a finger to his temple “…is all broken. You ain’t ever going to fix it, so maybe you should just stop trying and leave me the fuck alone for a change.” Brody swallows and stares somewhere over my shoulder, not even able to look me in the eye. “I just can’t fight anymore. I can’t.”

A pained whimper escapes my throat. I know the hurt is clear on my face. I hate that his eyes harden further when he sees it.

This time when he turns and walks away, I let him go.

“Well, Nate, I don’t know what’s going on with Madden out there on the field, but he’s off tonight. The one thing about this well-rounded receiver is that he always plays with his heart. I’m just not seeing that magic tonight.”

“True, John. This is a well-loved player who goes out and gives one hundred and ten percent every single game. He’s consistent, he’s strategic, but he’s also the heart and soul of the team. There is no doubt this kid is headed for the NFL. He’s the kind of player that every team needs. He’s passionate about the game, and tough, and the players really respond to that, but his lack of fire tonight is sending discouragement through the entire team. Let’s hope he can dig deep for the next half hour.”

I curse.

Snatching up the remote, I switch off ESPN and toss the remote on the coffee table. The back casing flies off when it skitters across and smashes to the floor. Its two little batteries pop out and roll underneath the small entertainment unit.

Hayden glares balefully from the opposite end of the sofa. I throw my hands up. “I can hear you thinking it so just bloody well say it.”

The words break free like a dam bursting. “What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he mutters under his breath.

I push up off the sofa and head for the kitchen. Comfort food is the only answer. Stretching high, I open the cupboard above the fridge. I feel around for my stash of Cadbury Caramello: a family block of chocolate filled with sticky, oozing caramel. It’s the last one from a food care pack that Nicky sent me, and I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Apparently it doesn’t get any more special than this.

My hand encounters empty shelf. It’s not there. My anger rises like a lit match on kindling.

“Leah!” I screech. She’s in the shower, hot steam misting out from beneath the closed door. “Where the freaking hell is my chocolate?”

The door flies open and she pokes her head out. Her hair is wrapped up in a towel, turban-style. She peels it away from one ear. “What?”

“My chocolate.” I fold my arms, ready to rip the whole thing from her head if I find out she’s eaten it. “Where is it?”

Her eyes cut to Hayden. His widen and he shakes his head. “Hayden ate it.”

“I did not!” He points his finger at Leah and looks at me. “It was all her.”

My phone rings, saving them both. “This is not over.” With that ominous warning, Leah locks herself in her bedroom, and Hayden gets down on the floor by the television, digging for the runaway batteries from the remote.