Page 11 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

“He doesn’t exactly fit with the group,” Marcus says.

Dean arches a brow at me. “Maybe not, but he could.”

Abel shoots his friend a dark, albeit shocked look. “You’re not actually considering letting him join, are you?” he demands.

Dean shrugs. “It’s up to Coach,” he replies. “But at the end of the day, he plays by the rules and managed to get around your little blockade, didn’t he?”

Abel curses and turns away, stomping off. The group of us watch him go, but I don’t feel any particular way about his arguments. I get why he hates me—it’s been instilled within him for so long. At the very least, Dean doesn’t seem to let the old rivalry get in the way of his decision making. All eyes fall on the coach.

Coach scratches the beard growth on his cheek and nods. “No promises on any field time,” he finally says. “I’ll have to see how you act more on the field during training, but you can start coming and we’ll decide at the next game.”

“So, I’m second string?” I guess.

Marcus cuts past me with a growl. “It’s better than you deserve,” he mutters, checking my shoulder as he goes. I grit my teeth but let the insult slide.

“For now,” Coach says, adjusting his clipboard before turning and walking away.

Dean claps me on the back. “Good luck, man,” he says.

Brax merely shakes his head and walks away, leaving the two of us alone.

“I don’t want luck,” I say. “I just want a chance.”

“Now you’ve got it,” Dean replies, taking a step back. He crosses his arms and stares back at me almost expectantly. “What are you going to do with it?”

I frown. I’m going to prove to them that I’m not a fucking pushover. That I’m just as strong as they are. I’ve put up with their shit for years. Lived practically the same life—and I’ve done it all on my own. Instead of voicing that aloud, I merely bend down and pick up my helmet once more, brushing off the particles of grass from the surface.

“We still on for tonight?” I ask.

He nods and turns away. Together, we head back down the field. “Go ahead and get changed in the locker room. You know how to get to my place. We’ll meet you there.”

I nod and pick up the pace, jogging past him as he stops to address the rest of the team still milling around. I can already guess what he’s telling them. It’s not easy getting what you want, and God knows I’ve fought harder than most for it, but damn, it feels good.

By the time I’m out of the showers, the boys have already returned to the locker room. The group of them enter, all eyes avoiding me as I pass by on the way to my new station. I quickly dry off and jerk on my jeans. I finish dressing and heft my duffle bag with me as I exit the locker rooms, heading out of the mouth of the underground rooms beneath the football stadium towards the parking lots.

My Porsche sits at the very back of the lot, away from prying eyes and most of the other vehicles. I’m halfway there when I finally look up and spot the blond sitting on the hood. I come to a dead stop, damn near tripping over my own feet as she turns her head in my direction.

All at once, a flood of emotions slam into my chest, wrapping tentacle like arms around my throat and choking me.It can’t be… But it is. It’s her.After all these years, she’s sitting right in front of me like nothing has changed.

My gaze moves from her face and down the length of her body, the very body that’s stretched across the hood. She didn’t need to make her presence so obvious—as if I could ever miss her. Still, my eyes don’t hesitate to eat up every inch of her. From the baggy t-shirt she’s wearing to the cut-off jean shorts to the low-heeled ankle boots. Her legs are crossed, the stretch of her naturally tanned skin dark against the lighter blue of her shorts and the paint of my Porsche.

Jesus fucking Christ.I shake my head and blink, sure that what I’m seeing must be an illusion. A dream. A hallucination. After several rounds of blinking, however, I come to one conclusion.

It’s real.She’sreal. And my whole night just got fucked sideways.

As if she senses the direction of my thoughts, Micki reaches up and pulls the wide, blackout sunglasses she’s wearing off of her face, finally giving me a clear view of those soft brown eyes of hers. Except … they’re not soft anymore. They’re cold and dark.

She slips off of the hood and takes a step toward me. Still, I haven’t said a word. I can’t. There’s so much I want to say, so much I planned to say the next time I saw her—when I finally found her. Now, all of those plans escape me. Every word. Every sentence. Every goddamn thought in my head flies away in the face ofher.

Am I even breathing?I feel like I’m not. My chest aches like someone’s punched right through my ribcage and taken hold of my heart in their fist.

Then, the object of all of my wet dreams, all of my nightmares, opens her mouth and says the first thing I’ve heard from her in five years. Those perfect pink lips of hers open and she softens her expression.

“Hi, Luc.”

Two words and I’m so fucking lost. I inhale sharply. My chest stings, that ache digging deeper. Around a thick throat, I take a step towards her and let my duffle bag slide down my arm and hit the ground. I drop the strap and continue.

It isn’t until I’m standing right in front of her that I realize how fucking real she is. I reach up and touch a strand of hair hanging over the side of her shoulder. I lift it and feel the soft silkiness on the pads of my fingers. Only then do I respond. Only then do I say her name.

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