Page 76 of Home Game

I wait for Tasha and Lexi to finish changing, and the three of us walk out together. I hug my friends good-bye near Tasha’s car, then shuffle my way toward the stadium, the lights humming as the sun sets and they warm up. My backpack slung around to my front, I’m digging inside, attempting to fish out my headphones so I can wrap up some homework during the final hour of practice, when Bryce stops me behind the concession building on his way to the field.

“You know I didn’t do that to your tires, right?”

He isn’t dressed in pads. Only the guys taking the field wear pads for Thursday practice, and my dad benched him. I never influenced my dad either way, and I’m still not sure that all of this—the elevated rivalry, the fire, my tires—is totally on his shoulders and his alone. But my dad has a point. Leaders should lead. And Bryce isn’t exactly trying to stop any of it.

“I never thought you did,” I say, sighing as he has me stopped in my tracks. He’s not blocking my way completely, but his stance is dominating. And it makes me uneasy, the way his body is just a little too close.

“You did. You blame me. Your dad does, too.”

“Whatever my dad’s issue is with you is between coach and player. I have homework to do, so if you don’t mind,” I say, taking a wide berth to walk around him.

He trails just behind my left shoulder, and I consider throwing a fist back to catch him in the nuts.

“Your dad have the same kind of talk with your new boyfriend? Because this is as much his fault as mine.”

I don’t stop, but my eyes flutter as I walk and chuckle to myself.

“Wyatt is nothing like you, Bryce. Nothing.”

His footsteps mirror mine, and by the time I reach the bleachers, we’re shoulder to shoulder. I’m thankful that I’m ineveryone’s view. I don’tthinkBryce would be physical with me, but his actions lately have been so erratic. And when I look back at his pattern of behavior from the moment we met, he’s never actually been nice. He’s been calculated. And selfish. A good time.

I climb up a few rows and plop my bag in front of me so I can pull my laptop out to finish working on a paper I need to write. When I open the screen, though, Bryce gently shuts it.

“Okay, Bryce. You have my attention. What else do you have to say? Say it so we can be done with this and I can get back to what I need to do.”

I flatten my palms on top of my computer and breathe in deeply, trying to keep myself calm. I catch my dad’s gaze from the field, and he takes a few steps in our direction. I shake my head, alerting him that I don’t need rescuing, and Bryce follows my sightline.

“See, that’s what I mean, Peyton. Your dad thinks he needs to rescue you from me. What the hell? Why would he think I’m that kind of person? Wyatt poisoned him against me. And he has you thinking I’m some sort of?—”

“Selfish prick?” I finish for him. I can’t take it anymore, and my words stun him.

“What? Peyt, I have always put you first; you are literally the girl of my dreams. I?—”

I laugh out hard, breaking up his string of lies. God, I used to think he was so smooth.

“I know what you do when you go to camp, Bryce. And no, Whiskey never had to tell on you. You were bad at hiding things. And honestly? By the end, I didn’t even care. I think I was just looking for a reason to let myself fall out of love with you. And it turns out, I never really was. I was infatuated. I was a freshman when we met. And I grew up. You? You’re still picking fights atbonfires and whining that some other quarterback is better than you.”

“Wyatt Stone is not better than me. He got lucky. He’s played shit teams for most of his high school career. When we get to college and he’s fighting not to get cut, I’m going to have people talking Heisman. That’s not whining, Peyton. That’s fact.”

He stands and steps down two rows before turning to face me. I shake my head, the corners of my mouth pinched into a pity grin.

“He’s the one with the record, Bryce. You’re chasinghim.”

“Not for long,” he says.

I breathe in and will myself to just let him have those last words. They’re meaningless anyway. But Bryce, he can’t stop himself. He leans forward, sliding my bag out of his way so he can rest one foot in front of me to break into my personal space.

“When we lose tomorrow night, that’s on you, Peyton.”

He hovers a few inches from my face, and I swear I get a whiff of alcohol. He puckers his lips and blows an air kiss at me that turns my stomach, but he steps back and turns to head back to the sidelines. I wait until his feet hit the track.

“You’re wrong, Bryce!” I make sure he can hear me, and though he keeps walking, I know he can. “If we lose, that’s on you. Because you’re the one who got yourself benched. Guess that means Wyatt will be one more game up on you, too. Good luck chasing.”

His stride slows for a few steps, and his left hand draws into a tight fist at his side, but he keeps going. And he never looks my way again.

Chapter Twenty-Four

It’s nice being back on our home field. For the first few weeks of practice and the first couple of games, this place still felt impersonal. It’s new, so the personality of Vista isn’t really baked in yet.

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