Accepting the drink, I took a long sip. “How did you know my name?”

She chuckled as her large earrings swatted against her neck. “Oh, honey, Gray’s told me all about you. He’s over the moon about you. Doesn’t usually talk to his momma about girls, so I figured you’re something special.”

I handed her the bottle and she took a sip. “Been using the same water bottle for five years. Bet you couldn’t tell.” She winked. Glancing over the aisle, she let out a line of profanities. “Oh, here he comes.”

A tall, rotund man wearing a Pittsburgh Steelers jacket approached us at the rail. “Della, you look lovely today, as always.” His voice had a rustling slither to it. Like a snake weaving through tall grass. And Della and I both shifted uncomfortably in our seats.

“Talked to your boy this morning.” He continued, passing Della a business card. “He’s interested in early draft, and we’re interested in him. His stats are loo—”

“What’s early draft?” I interrupted. My stomach suddenly tensed and my eyes watered (must be allergies). “I mean, I’ve never heard of that term.”

The man gave me an annoyed look but answered. “It’s when a player forgoes his remaining college years and enters into the NFL draft, sweetie.” He turned to face Della. “And Gray’s as good as in… He’s got my number, Della, and this time he’s eager.” Tipping his black baseball cap, he turned and walked down the aisle.

“Despicable man,” Della mumbled under her breath. “That scout’s been on Gray’s heels since freshman year.”

My broken heart had somehow glued back together just to tease me before an anvil dropped on it again. The pieces were everywhere, and I looked up at the stadium lights, blinking away stray tears. Gray is leaving?

“Honey, don’t be upset,” Della’s soft voice whispered into my ear, and she gave me a motherly side hug. “That man’s all talk. We’ll straighten this out.”

I shook my head. “Nothing to straighten out. Gray can do whatever he wants.”

Chapter Forty-Two

I wasn’t there today. My body wore the gear, but my mind wasn’t in the game.

That is until I looked up into the stands and saw Mom chatting it up with Sydney. I prayed Mom would sneak a crystal rub on her when she wasn’t looking, and maybe I’d have a text by the time the game ended.

Nothing.

I had nothing but a chasm in my chest where my heart used to reside.

When Sydney rushed out of my room last night, all I could do was lie on my bed and bury my head into the pillow she’d used as a snot rag. I thought about texting, but what could I say? I saw the look in her eyes last night. I’d broken her trust. She’d told me she loved me, and I pissed all over it.

“Take it easy, Peters,” Chance scolded, cracking open a beer. “You’ve been pounding booze like there’s no tomorrow.” He scrolled through his text messages, laughing under his breath. “Party at Echols’s house tomorrow. His mom’s sleeping on his bed or he’d have it tonight. Should be good since there’s no school Monday.”

I nodded, staring off into the television, preoccupied with an infomercial selling electric bath towels. “We need those,” I muttered, and Chance flashed his eyes to the screen. “I hate a cold towel.”

Grabbing the remote, Chance flipped off the TV. “Feeeerrrrnnnnaaannnddooo,” he bellowed down the hall. “Take a shower. We’re going out. Peters needs to get laid.”

“Move the hell over,” I growled at Fernando. All three of us were shoved tight in the front of Chance’s truck. “And did you take a shower? Christ, you stink.”

“I showered. I just don’t use soap,” Fernando replied, raising an eyebrow at me. “My natural odor is a part of my defense tactic on the field. One whiff and they’re falling at my feet.”

“It’s a part of your defense against chicks, too, idiot.” Chance rolled his eyes as we pulled away from the house. “No wonder you’re a virgin.”

“At least I’m not the Brown-eyed Virgin,” Fernando countered on a laugh, and Chance shot me a dirty look.

I’d asked Chance to claim he was the Brown-eyed Virgin so Jack wouldn’t find out. Jack would never forgive Sydney if he knew she was talking about him. For once, Chance manned up. I owed him big time—which meant I had to drop whatever I was doing to play Call of Duty whenever he beckoned.

“Shut up,” Chance growled. “Peters, where we going? Your pick tonight. The quickest way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?” He wagged his eyebrows, and I slumped against the window.

“SpaceRoom?” Fernando teased, and I elbowed him in the gut.

“Anywhere but the SpaceRoom. I don’t need to see Sydney and Nick flirting all night.”

Just the thought had my stomach reeling. His hands on her. His disgusting mouth over hers. I’d probably lose it if I had to witness that.

“We’re never going there again,” I announced with conviction.

“Sharbus and Sydney, huh,” Fernando said thoughtfully. “Makes sense, I guess. They did seal the deal freshman year.”

I gave him a stern glare. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Fernando ignored the threat in my tone and continued. “Yeah, I thought you knew. It was in your room, stupid. Remember? It was Potato Pancake Day with Applewood smoked bacon?”

One of Fernando’s many useless talents—linking cafeteria food to important should-have-mentioned-this-years-ago moments. I tried to keep my cool, but I felt my throat tighten and forced myself to swallow down my mounting rage. “Go on.”

Chance noticed my clenched fists, but Fernando leaned back his head and pulled his eyes up to the truck roof, oblivious. “Well, it was the night after that dorm party. The one Sydney was at… two years ago?”

He waited for my response.

“Yes, Fernando,” I said through gritted teeth. If he wasn’t responsible for my life on the field I would’ve killed him right here.

“I woke up and was super excited. I love Applewood smoked bacon because it’s so sweet, and when it’s cooked just right it’s a little soggy with some fat marbling around its edge. The potato panca—”

“Get to the point,” Chanced interrupted, knowing he’d have to do all the talking. My throat had reached another level of pain, dry and thick, too strangled to form words.

“I left the dorm room and saw Gray. He was running down the hallway toward me and I’d said, what’s up man? Potato Pancake Day and he’d said, just worked out… I’m grabbing some water… I’ll be down in a little while. You had this stupid shit-eating grin on your face, shirt off wearing just your running shoes and boxers, but you took a left into the alcove to the snack machines which I thought was strange. The water fountain was across the hallway. Well, maybe you just wanted a bott—”

I faced him. “So help me God, Fernando. If you don’t get to the fucking point I will call your Grandma Louisa and tell her what you really do on Sundays instead of church.” He spends Sundays in his boxers watching Doctor Who reruns.

“No need for threats, Peters.” Fernando twisted deeper in his seat and wrung his hands. “I stopped at Chance’s room for a minute and he blew me off too, and once I got to the elevator I saw your dorm door open. I ran over, thinking you were back, and Nick was standing over some sleeping girl in your bed—Sydney, I guess, because she had that guitar stick thingy tattoo on her neck—then I’d whispered to Nick, what are you doing in here? I barely had the words out before he’d pushed me outside the room and slammed the door.” Fernando stopped, cautiously shooting me a glance.

“That’s it?” Chance questioned, as the truck stopped at a red light.