“The difference between you and me is that I’ll have to fight likebloody hell to keep my position on this team, Thorne. My daddy can’t pay for my spot because he sits on the board of directors.”
His pale blue eyes darken, and I know I’ve hit a sore spot. Funny the shit you can find out on the internet. He might be talented, but it sure as fuck doesn’t hurt that his daddy bought a whole bloody wing for Prescott.
Money speaks louder, regardless of how talented you are.
“Go fuck yourself.” He surges forward, crowding me against the locker again, but this time Ezra steps in between us, roughly shoving Brooks backward until he stumbles into the other guys standing behind him.
Ezra stares down at him, his jaw set in a hard line, eyes almost black. “Enough, Brooks. What do you think is going to happen when Coach hears about this, huh? We’re going to get our asses handed to us.”
Brooks shakes his head as he peers around the locker room at the rest of the team, who’re watching the exchange between us. “Coach’s not going to find out about this because no one is going to say a goddamn word. That right? This shit stays between us. No one talks, no one says shit. Got it?”
A few of the guys nod, while the others murmur in agreement.
As shitty of a captain as I’ve seen him be, he has influence with these guys because they trust him. In their eyes, they’ve been a solid team, that is, until I arrived and fucked it right up.
Part of me doesn’t blame him for hating me. But the other part wishes he’d grow the fuck up and act like a captain should. Which means you do whatever it takes for your team. You sacrifice and show up no matter what the cost is. A good captain recognizes a valuable player when he sees one.
Not be threatened by it. A real captain wants what’s best for your team, even if someone threatens your ego.
I’d know because I used to be one until my entire life went to shit.
And now I’m stuck here in this fucking hell.
“Would you hold still for the love of Christ?” Aisling mutters, softly placing the plastic bag of frozen peas over my eye. “Bloody hell, you look like shit, Kill.”
Her eyes, the color of pale jade, are wide with concern as she peeks beneath the bag and winces.
“Thanks, Ais, appreciate that,” I retort as I sink back into the couch cushions and close my eyes. “You don’t need to take care of me, I’m good.”
My eye is not nearly as bad as it looks and nothing in the grand scheme of injuries I’ve gotten over the years. I play one of the most brutal sports in the world, so getting hurt is second nature, and Ais has been there for most of them. But I think she just wants to fuss over me for a change because I’m generally the one taking care of her.
She was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes last year, and it’s been something she’s struggled with since. It’s a little better now that she’s got an insulin pump, but she still has to watch it constantly. Checking her sugar level, making sure she’s eating properly. It’s part of the reason I’m so protective of her.
“Shut up. I’m just saying it looks painful.”
I nod. The movement makes the pea bag slide down, so I reachup to put it back, but she slaps my hand away, beating me to it, holding it firmly against my bruised skin. “Plus, someone has to worry about you, you know. You can’t be the only one that worries, Cillian.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my job as your big brother to worry about you,” I murmur. And trust me, all I do is worry about her.
Now that… that Mum’s gone, it’s just us.
And I feel so goddamn much guilt for uprooting her entire life and dragging her across the world all because I couldn’t get my shit together. Because I was too broken to care about anything other than numbing the pain that was eating me alive.
The pain that still remains. A dull, constant throb in the back of my chest, reminding me that it’ll never fully go away. I’ll live with it for eternity. The guilt. The grief. The heartache. All of it.
But I’ll do what I’ve always done. Push it down, pretend it doesn’t exist because it’s the only way I can survive.
“I know, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t worry about you too,” she says. I feel her adjust the bag of vegetables on my face, making sure it’s fully covering my eye. My skin is tingling and numb because it’s so cold, but still I let her keep it there.
If there’s one soft spot I have in the world, it’s Aisling.
She’s the only good part of me that’s left. Thebestpart of me.
“I’m really proud of you, Kill. Not just because you didn’t hit him back—and I know how hard that must have been—but because I know this whole thing hasn’t been easy for you. Even though you make it all look so easy,” she says softly.
Reaching up, I pull the bag away so I can look at her.
She pushes her thin, purple glasses up on her nose, peering at me through the thick lenses. My little sister has always beenfragile in a way. Soft and delicate. Smart, emotional, empathetic in a way I would never be.
