He leaves and when the door clicks shut behind him I turn to my father. “How?” I ask. “How did you clear it up?”

“We had to pay people off.” His voice rises. “Including Kyle Davis, who blamed the whole incident on you.” He bridges the distance between us, getting in my face. “And he wasn’t cheap, so you owe me for this.”

My eyes narrow. “I owe you? I would’ve taken the charges. I didn’t ask you to fix it. You fixed it for yourself and your goddamn political career so don’t even try pretending otherwise.”

Dad jabs a finger at me. “You watch your mouth. My political career pays for the clothes on your back.”

Tugging my tee shirt over my head, I shove it against his chest. “Here.” He grabs it, his expression pissed. “Have it back. You can have them all back. That’s how much I care about what you do for me.”

I start for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Training,” I say without looking back.

“Like hell you are,” Dad growls.

My bicep is grabbed and I come to a grinding halt. I half turn, the fury emanating from my father palpable. “You can’t just—”

His palm cracks hard across my face, cutting off my comment. My head snaps sideways and pain blooms across my cheekbone. “Don’t you dare leave when I haven’t finished speaking to you.”

“So finish,” I say to my dad as I shove him backward, hiding the pain from his slap. Violence is the only form of communication we’ve ever had. Why change things now?

Brody

When I get home Jax is spread out on the sofa wearing last night’s clothes. He looks a little rough around the edges, though I’m sure I look worse.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“My father,” I say, my voice flat.

Jax pulls himself to a sitting position, his jaw ticking. I get in first before he can ask questions. “How was the chain gang?”

“Oh, it was the best.” He shifts sideways and stares hard at my face. “I almost became Big John’s bitch¸ and I made friends with the local roaches. The mattress smelled like a rotting corpse and the tap water tasted like piss. And because of your father, I have no criminal record to show for any of it.”

“Ripped off,” I joke and chuckle, which causes my ribs to throb like a bass drum. With a groan, I sink to the sofa and meet Jaxon’s eyes. “You know, when you said you’d take care of everything, I didn’t mean for you to throw yourself down and sacrifice your butt virginity to Big John.”

Jax huffs a short laugh and shakes his head. “Well after all that he didn’t ask me out, so I guess I’m feeling a little let down.” He looks at me with an expression of mock hope. “Maybe he’ll call later.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That he didn’t call?”

“Yeah. Maybe he has a brother.”

“Little John?”

I laugh and it sends a stabbing pain down my left side. I suck in a sharp breath. My father had followed up his slap to my face with a sharp jab to my ribs after I’d shoved him away.

“Hell.” Jaxon reaches across and yanks my arm away, revealing my swollen torso. All the previous amusement slides from his face. “Bud, that looks painful. You need a hospital?”

“No hospital.”

“You should go anyway,” he argues, already up and heading for my room. I follow behind. He opens my dresser drawer, pulling out a tee shirt and sweatpants. “We can go in the back entrance. No one will even know you’re there.” Jax dumps the clothes on my bed and reaches for my arm. “At the least they can give you some strong drugs for the pain.”

Drugs for the pain. Why didn’t I think of that? I tug the clothes on, slow as an old man.

“Shit, Brody. You can’t play like this. Can you play like this?”

“Sure I can. It happens all the time. Tony Romo played through a broken rib and punctured lung.”

“Jesus you guys are fucking crazy. You want me to call Jordan?”

My stomach clenches into a tight, hot ball of misery. “No.”

His brows rise. “No?”

“She’s gone, Jax.”

“Gone?”

Giving him my back, I pick up my phone. It’s been on silent and a pile of missed calls and messages from my coach glare back at me from the screen. I’m not sure what excuse to give him for missing training today, but whatever it is, I know it has to be damn good. Tucking it in my pocket, I swallow the huge lump in my throat and answer Jax. “Yeah. You know, the soccer finals in Florida. She’ll be gone a week.”

“Oh right. For a minute I thought you guys were off again.”

I don’t answer because I can’t. I don’t know what the hell we are right now. I keep fucking it up, and I don’t know how to stop.

“You want to tell me what your father was pissed about this time?” Jaxon asks when we’re in the car and speeding toward the hospital.

“Me breathing,” I mutter under my breath.

“Davis, right?” Jax shakes his head, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “That dick needs to drop off the face of the earth.”

The next day in training my rib is strapped tight as a damn corset, and I’m flying high on Percocet. Two pills instead of one takes me to cloud nine. It’s nothing like Adderall. The pain meds dull my senses, but man is it beautiful coasting up there in the sky. Nothing hurts. Nothing matters. Even my battered heart stops bleeding. It’s just me, the ball, and an endless field of green. Beautiful.

I don’t even have to come up with an excuse for my absence yesterday. Coach Carson spoke to my dad, who told him I was involved in a minor car accident. Coach had the hospital records faxed to the team doctor, who checked me over himself. His face was all skepticism, but he kept silent. They want these championships as much as the team does. On the day of our game, I’m injected with a high dose painkiller and sent out on the field with a slap on the back. I play high as a kite. I play rough. I play like a man with nothing left to lose.

We win but for the first time ever I can’t summon any joy. The slaps on the back, the celebratory hugs, and the wide grins are all forced. I limp off the field a broken man. It’s the highest point of my football career, and the lowest I’ve ever felt. It scares me when I start questioning why I’m doing this at all. But what would I do without it?

Later that night we celebrate at the bar. It’s loud and rowdy, and girls cover every single surface. Their makeup is bright, their dresses short and body-hugging. They keep grabbing my hands and trying to shove them up their skirts. I used to think it was hot to be wanted this way, but now it just makes me sad. I don’t want anything to do with any of them. I just want to drink. I want oblivion for a while.

I’m four beers in when Jordan rings. I get up quickly, pushing through people to get outside. The air is ice cold, and my breath puffs out in white clouds when I answer. “Jordan?”

“Brody.”

All it takes is her speaking my name and a rush of calm washes over me. A smile forms on my face. Hugging my body, I lean up against the outside wall of the building, keeping my head down low to avoid unwanted attention. “Hey you.”

When she replies, her voice is soft and low and brings goose bumps to my skin. “Hey yourself. I just …” She pauses for a moment and then exhales a shaky breath. She’s nervous, like she doesn’t know what to say. “Congratulations on your win today.”

My smile widens. “You watched the game.”

“How could I not watch it?”

“It wasn’t my best play,” I admit.

“Your average play is better than everyone else, but you played like you were injured.”

Avoiding the question, I check my watch. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“No? Why not?”

Jordan pauses for a long moment, almost to the point I think she’s either fallen asleep or hung up and I’m too out of it to realize. “Because you’re not here.”