Follow the River

“C’mon guys, get your heads in this. We’re only down by ten. This game is far from fucking over,” I hiss to my offensive line in our huddle on our opponents forty yard line.

We’re starting the fourth quarter in the last game to clinch a spot in the playoffs.

And we’re losing.

Not by a lot, it’s completely conceivable that we could come back and win this game.

Well, maybe if a certain wide receiver got his head out of his ass and started playing the way I know he can play, because the number eighty-three on this field is not the Ciaráin Grady who was nominated for a Heisman two years in a row.

No, the guy playing right now would be picked dead fucking last to play badminton in gym class, that’s the level of trash he’s playing at right now.

Truth be told, he’s been off his game ever since that day in the locker room. We’d barely spoken three words to each other up until that day outside the gym when I forced him to come to Thanksgiving.

Fucking Thanksgiving.

Shit, after that disaster this past week—the most awkward Thanksgiving in the history of the holiday, by the way—it’s like he turned into a fumbling idiot.

Literally.

The idiot has fumbled the ball twice in the first half of this game. If he could have kept his shit together on either of those passes and not ended up turning the ball over to the other team, it would have resulted in some kind of score.

And for the life of me, I can’t understand why.

Yeah, it was awful by any meeting the parents standard, but this wasn’t even that. He was there as my guest because contrary to what he might think, I do my best to be a genuine, nice person. That’s how I was raised, and even if my father can’t accept who I am at my very core, I still hold onto those values he and Mom instilled in me as a kid.

And he decked my father, not the other way around.

Rain’s threatened to punch and even maim and kill me without batting a fucking eye, yet he gives my father what he has coming and now he’s, what? Embarrassed?

Nah, that shit doesn’t fly.

“Grady,” I growl at him, attempting to get his attention, but he won’t look up at me. He hasn’t looked at me once since the night he got out of my car and practically ran into his apartment.

After he told me I wasn’t disgusting.

I don’t even have it in me to unpack the meaning behind that one because I’m so fucking sick of having hope we’ll be anything but the bane of the other’s existence. Even when all I really wanted was friendship.

“Grady,” I snap again, grabbing the front of his facemask, yanking his head until it's directly in front of mine. And for the first time in almost a week, I’m met with the golden hazel eyes that haunt me.

And they look…exhausted. He looks exhausted.

“Are you good? Can you get your shit together enough to help win this game so we can get in the playoffs?”

He doesn’t answer, just narrows his eyes at me.

Whatever.

I release him and cast a glance at Drew, who is watching with amusement. Just like the other eight guys in this huddle. “Can I count on you if I need to go long?” I ask him, cocking my head.

“Always,” he nods, but not before his eyes flash between Grady and me.

I haven’t said much to E or Drew about the shit going on between Ciaráin and I. Fuck, I haven’t talked to anyone about it. Not even Taylor.

But how exactly do you call up your best friend and ask for advice in this situation? How the hell do you slide that into a conversation?

Hey, T. I know you’re busy with your own shit and getting ready for baseball season, but I blew my arch nemesis in the locker room during practice after your dad kicked us out for an altercation on the field. And then to top it off, I invited him to Thanksgiving where he proceeded to punch my father for insinuating he and I were fucking. But anyway, how have you been?

Yeah, not go

Breaking the huddle, I shake my head as I watch Rain jog over into position. Even the way he’s moving, it’s off. Slow and sluggish.

Has he not been sleeping or something?

Fuck, why do I even care?

I can sit here until I’m blue in the face, screaming to myself that it’s only because we have a damn game to win, but deep down I know I care just because I fucking care.

I wear my heart on my sleeve, caring about people who couldn’t give a damn about me, and unfortunately, it’s a fatal flaw. One I can’t seem to break free from.

Positioning myself behind my center, Aiden, I call out the play and the ball is in my hands not a moment later. Looking downfield, my eyes immediately catch on Drew, who is being double covered.

Of course.

The defense knows Rain has been off his game, otherwise he would be the one they have under double coverage.

My eyes find number eighty-three down the field as I dance around the pocket, looking for an opening. He’s got a bit of space between him and his defender, so trusting my gut, I launch the ball in his direction.

I watch as it sails through the air, a perfect spiral, and lands safely in his arms at the twenty yard line. But the moment he turns and starts making forward progress, he’s slammed into from behind by his defender.

And the goddamn ball is loose on the field.

For the third time today.

And all I can see is red the second the opposing team scoops up the ball and starts ru

Jogging over toward the sidelines, I spot Ciaráin with his helmet off, rubbing the back of his neck as he runs toward me to get to our bench. But like he can sense me, he looks up and fury instantly crosses his features.

“What the actual fuck, River!” he screams at me when he’s only ten yards away from me.

I go to grab him and pull him off the field when he rips my hand from its hold on his jersey.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he screams as our defense starts ru

I yank my helmet from my head and scowl. “That might have been the plan, but you have to be ready for anything. When you’re on this field, you are ready to have the ball thrown at you. He was in double coverage and you were open, so I made the choice to throw to you.”

“You could have run the damn ball!” He shouts the words, getting in my face.

I roll my eyes, feeling my temper rising to dangerous levels. “We needed yards I can’t fucking run, Grady. Use your head and think about what you’re saying.”

“Well, your decision just caused us to turn the ball over again!”

I scoff, getting up in his face, our noses brushing against each other as my hand grips his collar. “I made the decision to throw you the ball, yeah. But don’t sit here and try to pin your fuck ups on me because you’re the one who fumbled the ball again and that’s on you and you alone.”

“Yeah, well maybe if we didn’t have a fucking faggot for a QB whose only focus is staring at ass instead of making proper play calls we would actually win this goddamn game.”

Actually?

I laugh in disbelief at his audacity. Gripping his collar tighter in my fist, I move my lips to his ear, whispering directly into it. “Or maybe if your homophobic ass could stop thinking about how good it felt to have your dick down my throat then you could actually manage to hold onto the fucking ball.”