Kilpatrick sniggers, which does nothing to help me feel better. Instead of punching him in the fucking mouth like I’d pay actual money to do right now, I focus my glare on Coach. I should keep my mouth shut. I know it. But I’m feeling way too riled up at this point to do that. “I didn’t hear you bitching about my accuracy last year.”
Coach Miles moves his toothpick around his mouth, entirely unbothered by my griping. He shrugs, his beefy arms still crossed over his torso. “You weren’t on a Division I team last year. You didn’t have anyone to compete against forcing you to want to be better. Me bitching doesn’t take you very far, and you and I both know it. Now. Get your head out of your ass or I’ll have Kilpatrick show you how it’s done again.”
Kilpatrick snorts again, and I block out whatever he’s saying, focusing on Martinez. I envision the route he’s going to be running, then give him the signal, planting my feet, cocking my arm, and sending the ball in a perfect spiral … right into Martinez’s waiting hands.
He jumps as he turns, cheering. “Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about McAdam! That’s how you throw me a ball!”
Another snort from Kilpatrick. “I thought the cheer squad practiced later,” he grumbles.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I snarl.
“Boys,” Coach Miles says, but Kilpatrick ignores the warning, stepping up until his chest brushes mine.
“You gonna make me?” he asks, his breath hot in my face.
I stand my ground, though, not backing down. This asshole wants to come at me? Fine. Please do.
Puffing up, I push back, forcing him to step back instead. He might be taller, but he gets sacked way too fucking easy. I sneer at him. “Ohhh, you don’t like it when I push back? What? You worried that if I increase my accuracy, Coach will let me start at the bowl? Awww, poor little Kilpatrick. It’d suck to have someone steal your starting spot, wouldn’t it?”
“Fuck you, McAdam,” he seethes. “You think this is about a fucking starting spot? It’s mine. I earned it. I’m the better player, and we all know it. Which is whyyou’rethe one constantly working on your accuracy and getting told off for being a crybaby. But I dealt with your shit, ignoring you and letting you whine to whoever was willing to listen. I never said a word to you. Never rubbed it in. Never did anything. And then you go after mysister?” His dark eyes flare with unmitigated anger. “I mostly came back here for her. To help her. To protect her from fucking assholes like you. And now she won’t even talk to me.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Oh yeah? Pretty sucky, huh? Join the fucking club, man.”
He takes a step back, confusion replacing the anger on his face. “What? What are you talking about?”
I throw my hands wide. “What does it sound like? She’s not talking to me either. And I have you—well, you and Foster—to thank for that.”
He snorts. “How d’you figure I have anything to do with her deciding to drop your sorry ass?”
“Well, she dropped yours too, and I’d say you have a lot more time invested in that relationship than I do, so maybe look in the mirror before you go around calling me shitty, huh?” I turn back to the coach, holding out my hands for a ball, which he supplies, something of a bemused expression on his face as he watches Kilpatrick and I go at it.
Martinez stares at me with his hands on his hips, his eyebrows high on his forehead.
“We gonna keep practicing, or what?” I yell to him. “We have an important game coming up, don’t we?”
Coach Miles gives Martinez the signal to go, and with one last funny look in my direction, he starts his route. Focusing all my frustration and anger into my arm, I fire off the ball, staring at the spot where it should intersect with Martinez. It lands perfectly in his hands. He barely has to reach for it before pulling it tight to his side, weaving like he’s dodging defensive players before turning and jogging back to his starting position.
Another throw. Another catch. Rinse and repeat, no more talking except barked instructions from the coach and the minimal encouragement he provides when you do something right until my shoulder burns from throwing so many passes and Martinez’s chest is heaving from running so many routes.
Coach signals to me when he notices me rubbing my shoulder. “You’re done for today, McAdam. Good work. You too, Martinez. Send Sanders over. Kilpatrick will finish practice with him.”
Martinez falls in step beside me, bumping me with his shoulder. “You were on fire out there, man. Do we need you and Kilpatrick to get in a fight over a chick every day?” He sucks his breath through his teeth. “Hmm. Somehow I think we’ll run out of chicks for you to fight over. Might need to find some other way to tap into that.”
I shove him in the shoulder. “Shut up,” I grumble, but there’s no heat in it. Maybe earlier I would’ve been pissed. But now I’m just tired. And Martinez gives everyone shit. It’s his way of showing affection. He cackles, jogging ahead of me to the locker room.
“McAdam.” I turn to find Kilpatrick behind me.
Stopping, I wait placidly for whatever he has to say. I’m not interested in fighting with him anymore. I hold up my hands. “Look, man. Can we just bury this? You won, alright? Your sister wants nothing to do with me, and while part of me wants to be mad at you about that, I know it’s my own fault. You got it all. You’re the starter. You’re untouchable. Let’s just stay out of each other’s way for the remainder of our time here, alright?”
“I don’t get it,” he says, almost like he didn’t hear a word I just said.
“Don’t get what?”
He shakes his head. “If she realized you were using her and broke up with you, why won’t she talk to me?”
He sounds so lost and bewildered, I have to drop my head to hide my grin. Usually he’s all confident and put together, and now his little sister won’t take his calls and he’s reduced to asking me why. That must grate. Once upon a time I would’ve rubbed his face in it or smugly withheld any information I might have.
But knowing how it feels to realize your sister—the sister you’ve done your best to look out for and protect, and if I’m being totally honest, it seems like he’s done a better job of that than I ever did—thinks you’re a piece of shit, I feel kinda bad for the guy. Of course, Iwasa piece of shit to Ellie. For a long time. I said I was trying to protect her, and to some degree I was, but I also just saw her as my annoying kid sister who followed me around. That hasn’t been true in a long time, though, even if I was still acting like it was.
