Page 46 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

Questions pile on top of themselves, distracting me. The rumble of the announcer’s words call out across the field. A whistle is blown, and the ball goes flying back and then forward. A body slams into mine, and I growl as I dig my heels into the grass. Dirt flies up beneath me. I don’t even hesitate as the player tries to lock onto me and throw me to the side.

With a curse, I lock my arms around him, lifting him clear off the ground and slamming him back down.

“Motherfucker!” he shouts. A split second later, the buzzer goes off and the crowd roars. I turn towards the end zone and spot half of my team there, arms in the air as they swarm.

We won.

I used to get a thrill from a win, but now … now my eyes direct themselves to the stands and I scan. Looking for a familiar head of blonde hair. I spot Rylie, high up in the stands—her lavender hair a beacon. Next to her is Avalon, but there’s no Micki in sight. I grit my teeth. I knew it would be this way, but I wasn’t prepared for the way I’d feel about it.

My chest clenches tight. I don’t even bother heading to the end zone as I start towards the sidelines. Yanking at the strap beneath my chin, I rip the damn thing free as I reach the benches and toss it to the ground.

Coach steps up to my side and nods at me. “Good game, Kincaid,” he says.

I blink and frown at him. “I’m surprised you even let me on the field,” I admit. It’s a diversion, I know. Something to keep me from searching the stands again, knowing what—or rather,who—I won’t find.

Coach arches a brow and shakes his head. “I’m here to win games, Kincaid,” he says, “and that means using every means available. Whatever goes on outside of this field ain’t none of my business.” He steps past me and claps me on the back. “Every tool in my shed is useful for something and you’re a pretty damn good player. Remember that.”

Something about his words lingers in my mind enough that I turn and watch him jog onto the field, meeting up with the teammates coming back for their celebration. A familiar shadow appears at my side. “Got a text from Avalon,” Dean says. “Your girl’s already on the move.”

“I know.”

“There’s something else you should know too,” he continues. I pause in the process of lifting a water bottle from the collection beneath the benches to my mouth. My eyes catch his and I slowly lower it.

The misting of rain continues to wet my face, soaking into my hair. “Tell me.”

Dean sighs and shakes his head. “Not here.” Which can only mean one thing. Whatever it is he’s got to tell me—it’s fucking bad. If it’s not bad, then it’ll piss me off and if he thinks it’ll piss me off enough to make a scene then it probably will. My stomach drops. It was a fucking mistake to let Micki do this alone.

There’s no point in pressuring Dean to tell me what I want to know now that he’s decided it won’t be done here. So, I hurry through the after-game process. I follow the team back to the locker rooms and while Coach goes over his good game speech and tips, I slip away and hurry to gather my shit. When I expect Coach to say something about my inattentiveness, he merely bypasses me and heads for his office once he’s done.

Braxton snaps his locker shut next to mine, tossing his duffle bag over his shoulder. He catches me watching the coach, and turns toward me. “We talked to him. He won’t ask any questions, and if you need to take a few days off this week, we’ll cover for you,” he answers my unspoken question.

Fuck. How bad is it?

“Thanks.” The word sounds foreign coming out of my mouth, especially considering who they’re directed at. As if he knows, Brax smirks at me and motions for Abel, Dean, and Marcus. None of us shower. I don’t know what’s on their minds, but there’s a force of nature pushing me to hurry. To get to a place where I can get the information I need.

The five of us are far ahead of the rest of the team—most of which choose to stay back and shower and change. Heading down the underground tunnel and out of the side of the stadium, we meet up with Avalon and Rylie at the edge of the parking lot.

“Just tell me she’s alright,” I demand as I step up next to Dean.

He grits his teeth and gives me a stiff nod. “She made it to the target without issue,” he replies. That’s it, and for some reason, I don’t find his words at all comforting.

Students pack the parking lot as they spill out of the stadium, laughing and stumbling as half of them have already drunk themselves stupid through the game and likely won’t even make it to the after parties. I know I won’t.

“Dean!”

My head turns as a familiar voice calls out from behind us.

Dash Bennington jogs up—freshly showered if the way his clothes cling to his still wet frame is any indication. He must’ve flown under the water if he caught us this quickly. When he reaches our little group, he pauses and bends over, panting as he tries to catch his breath.

“What happened to the girl?” he asks. “I didn’t see my dad in the box after the game.”

Dean doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns to me and arches a brow. My girl. My problem. I get it.

I step in front of Dash and shake my head. “Don’t ask anything else,” I say. “If you truly want to remain separate from what’s going on, no more questions. We’ll take care of it. Take my advice, Dash. Walk away tonight and don’t even mention inviting him to the game. As far as you’re concerned, he showed up on his own. You know nothing. It’s better that way.”

Dash’s eyes widen and he stands up, straightening until we’re the same height. I expect pushback, but he just continues to stare at me, letting me see the whole host of emotions that cross his face. Irritation. Curiosity. Then, ultimately, defeat and acceptance. His shoulders slowly lower and he gives me one single nod.

He doesn’t say anything more, and instead, just turns around and heads back to the locker room. I release a breath and turn to face Dean. “Now, tell me what the hell is going on. What do you know about Micki?”

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