Page 3 of Worthy

These guys don’t know him like I do. Everything he said—while aimed at Corbin—was meant for me.

Corbin’s face is slightly red as he fumbles with the ball between his hands. I step up to him, smacking it away. It bounces and echoes. His brow arcs. “Don’t fuckin’ say shit about him again.” My voice is low—angry.

He stares at me with wide eyes, lips falling open. My molars grind together, nails biting into my palms, gut hot and uncomfortable just thinking about Corbin’s dick in Abel’s mouth.

Fuck, I want to rip my hair out.

A hand clasps my shoulder, pulling me back. I fumble, and Gabe laughs. “Alrighty. Let’s just go home. Eat.Sleep,” he enunciates the word pointedly. I can feel all their eyes on me,observing me,making my skin crawl.

“Fuck off,” I snap, shaking Gabe’s hand off. He holds them up in front of his face, brows high, lips quirked like he knows something he shouldn’t.

I grab my duffle and shove my way through the double doors, heading for the locker room. Most of us just shower at home after practice—I usually do too since I live less than ten minutes away, but tonight, I just need a little extra time before I’m stuck under the same roof as Abel and those lips.Full and glistening with spit as he cops an attitude.

It’s disgusting.

I readjust my dick as I step into the locker room. It smells like body odor, dirty socks, and stagnant water. So refreshinganda complete boner killer.

Dropping my bag on the bench, I strip my sweat-soaked clothes off, dropping them to the concrete floor where they fall with a loud plop. Wrinkling my nose, I grab my soap and step under the lukewarm water, making quick work of cleaning myself.

The spray is sharp as it hammers down across my flesh, but I relish in the sting. I close my eyes, listening to the rush and fall of the water, trying to clear my mind.

But I can’t. I keep thinking back to that fucking look he gave me. LikeIdisgusthim.

It makes me want to choke him, to make him see howwronghe is. But I think even he knows the moment I put my hands on him again, every fucking wall I’ve tried to build around myself, around Abel, will cease to exist.

From the moment Abel showed up at school, he’s been all everyone can talk about. The bruises and odd-looking scars he wears like a badge of honor. The way his eyes rake over everyone—of any gender—with heavy perusal. Not necessarily out of interest, but almost like he’s picking them apart, piece by piece, to see what’s at their centers.

It didn’t take long for the rumors to start. Of course, they always circled back to him, but he didn’t care—at least, he never showed he did. In fact, I think the worse they get, the bigger his wretched-looking smile stretches.

The dude is fucked up. Wires crossed kind of chaos.

I shiver while stroking my cock, thinking back to the moment that started this visceral abhorrence between us.

***

Practice ended an hour ago, but I stayed late to work on shooting threes. I’m good—one of the best on the team—but the only way to stay the best is to put the work in. And if I want to go to college, I need a fucking scholarship.

Mom’s a nurse, and after all the years she’s been doing it, it pays well enough, but I know college would put the kind of stress on her that I don’t want her to feel.

Besides, having a scholarship, regardless, is best. I just have to make them want me.

I bounce my personal basketball against the sleek floors of the hall, one earbud in, the other dangling from the cord around my neck, “Hail Mary” by Makaveli echoing in my ear.

The lights are off, only one illuminating from the front office down a separate, connecting hall. It feels eerie in a way, being one of the only people here. Oddly peaceful when this place is only ever loud and full.

The office comes into view as I round the corner, passing by the choir room. The scrape of metal has my feet pulling to a stop. I yank my earbud out of my ear, my heart galloping as I strain to listen.

For a minute, I don’t hear anything other than the sound of my lungs expanding and contracting, the whoosh of oxygen in and carbon dioxide out. Just as I lift the music back to my ear, a slurping noise has my whole body turning ninety-degrees, the ball falling from my grip.

I step up to the pale wooden doors of the music room and peer through the small, rectangular glass window. The room is dark, so all I see are shadows of chairs stacked high along the wall.

Is that shadow moving?

I press closer, blocking out the dull light behind me so my eyes can adjust to the absence, the ball long forgotten as it rolls around somewhere behind me.

The door creaks as it’s pushed open from my weight. I lose my footing and tumble a bit from the sudden loss of support. I right myself, just inside the room. The door catches on the tip of my sneaker as it retracts, but I barely notice over the low, pulsing noises cascading over me.

With light no longer behind me, the room comes into dim focus. My heart hammers away in my throat.

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