Page 26 of Their Greatest Strength

“Youarea kid, Nathan. And you will be a kid to me forever,” I snap, my voice cracking on the last word as I toss the crumbled paper onto the floor.

The hall is shrinking around me, the walls brushing up against my arms as a sharp sensation of failure stabs me deep in the belly. Suddenly, the dark spot is more like a pit of tar dragging me deeper and deeper until I’m breathing and seeing black.

“Hey, it’s okay, Lake,” Nate murmurs, touching my arm. “We’ll figure it out.”

I don’t have it in me to tell him he’s wrong. “We better go.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to go. Maybe we should stay and talk about this instead.”

“No. Your practice is important. I’ll figure this out afterward.”

“How much does the landlord need? How far behind are we? I told you that I have money saved. Let me help.”

We’re only one of six apartments on this floor, and with how paper-thin the walls are, I know everyone who’s home can hear every word we’re saying. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, considering where we live, but after what happened with the shoes last week on top of this, my give-no-shit attitude is starting to crumble. I don’t know how much more I can take right now.

Facing my baby brother, I keep my expression stern, hoping it’ll drive home my words. “I’ll take care of it. I know you want to help, but it’s not your place. You were just telling me about the truck you want. Let’s go back to that, okay?”

“I’m not going to pretend everything is fine, Blakely. That worked when I was twelve, but it won’t work now. I’ll leave it until after practice, but that’s it,” he says, as stubborn as me.

“Fine,” I relent, ruffling his hair. “Now, can we please go?”

“Do you promise that we’ll talk about it? If not tonight, then tomorrow?”

My throat is sticky when I say, “Yes.”

And fifteen minutes later, when we’re sitting on the dirty bus, his clunky football bag bumping against my knees in the small area between our seats, I send a text that I’ve been avoiding for a week.

Me: Hi. It’s Blakely. Can we meet to talk?

9

JAMIE

I’ve been tryingto get Jaxon out of my house for thirty-five minutes. For a guy who claims to hate personal contact outside of football, he’s certainly hanging out with me a lot. Sprawled out on my couch with his legs spread wide, he looks like he’s planning on camping out there for another few hours at least.

It’s not happening. Not today of all days.

After waiting a week, my beautiful bandit finally reached out to me yesterday. It was only a request to meet up, but a win is a win in my mind. I’ve got the confidence to know that I’ll be able to convince her to agree to my proposal by the end of our conversation.

“I have plans, Jax. You can leave any minute now,” I say.

“What plans?”

Walking up behind the couch, I grab a chunk of his hair and reef on it. When he tosses his head back to glare at me, I point toward the door.

“The kind that don’t involve your snoopy ass.”

“I thought we were best friends.”

I brace my hand on the back of the couch and jump over it before bouncing onto the cushion beside him. With a kick of myfoot, I have his leg pushed away from where he had it spread-eagle.

“You are, and that means when I tell you to leave because I have plans, you should listen.”

“I want to know what you were talking to Graham and Coach about in the exec office first. You’ve been oddly zip-lipped all week.”

“What do you mean oddly? As if I’m such a blabbermouth.”

He rolls the back of his head along the couch, brow lifted in question. “Fuck off. Just tell me what happened, and then I’ll leave you to yourplans.”

---