Page 90 of First Puck

Alex

The bus journey home was so awkward.

Brad was pissed off I’d left him to go and see Lance just as he got the offer.

I was pissed off that we’d basically had sex and he friend-zoned me.

And we were both pretending everything was completely normal.

I was torn between Brad and Lance. Lance kept himself in his room with Porter after he got the call that his mom had slipped into a coma. He still came out for games, but he looked dead. TheCoach banned him from the rest of the semi-final games and told him to leave, but he refused.

He and Porter had secluded themselves at the back of the bus.

Brad very deliberately sat next to Taylor, close enough to shoot daggers at me and Chase near the center, but far enough away that we couldn’t talk.

I’d tell Brad as soon as we got back. Lance kept saying he didn’t want anyone to know about his mom because of the publicity and other reasons, but I couldn’t stand the silent fight we were having.

The whole time we were laughing and joking with the guys, but the air of tension hanging around me and Brad was suffocating. Every day the struggle not to kiss him and tell him I loved him grew harder. If I could just rub myself all over him, maybe that would soothe the horniness which had taken me over. It was insatiable, and I was aware of Brad every single second of the day and night. By the time we boarded the bus to return to Redhill in the morning, I was close to just sitting on his lap and smothering him with my lips.

It had never been so bad. But then again, Brad had never come in my mouth before.

But from the way he glared at me, it was obvious he just wanted to punch me.

In my head, I knew it was impossible for Brad to stay angry for long, but that didn’t stop the nerves swimming through me, convinced we’d broken everything, and that was it.

When we finally got back to the house, everyone dumped their bags in their rooms, showered, and ran out for even more partying. We had the entire week to practice for the finals, so there was time.

But Brad didn’t even go upstairs. He casually went to the kitchen, not looking at me even once, and he’d been in there for nearly an hour.

Now we were alone, it was my chance to talk.

But did I really need to apologize when he was the one who demanded I give him a blow job after we argued? Or friend-zoned me after he made me come like that?

Maybe I just imagined the tension—I’d made it all up because I wanted some kind of drama to show me Brad cared.

I’d been sitting on the couch, waiting for him to come out, but it had gone on for too long. I forced myself up, glancing to the kitchen door, pressing my lips together, preparing for whatever. It felt like I’d been building to this conversation for so many years it didn’t seem real.

I told myself ‘today’s the day’ so often it had become my easiest lie.

“Brad?” I called out as I peeked around the kitchen door.

He was standing over a pot of boiling water, just staring at it as the steam billowed up into his face

I shot forward, my chest bumping into his as I pushed the pan away from him. “What are you doing, you idiot?” I snapped, quickly checking him for steam burns, though his face was paler than red.

“Ah, sorry,” he said blandly, blinking at me like he was dead on his feet. “I didn’t see you there.”

I stopped for a second, trying to figure out what was going on.

Past hurts, new hurts, jealousy, rage, frustration swirled in me as I met his blank stare. And it was all topped by the sheer relief that Brad had had an offer from the East City Wranglers. But there would be no point going if we were like this for the rest of our lives.

“You look exhausted.” I sighed, reaching out to wrap my fingers around his hand like he usually did with me. “Come on.”

I was doing it again, trying to take care of him when I was the one hurting. Making sure he was okay, even though I just wanted him to hold me and tell me he loved me.

Even once.

Even if it was a lie.

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