Page 47 of Wicked Spite
“We ain’t done yet,” I shoot back, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.
“Not by a long shot,” he replies, his voice low and serious.
“Next play,” I say, turning my focus back to the game. “Double reverse. Let’s fuck ‘em up.”
“On three,” Lincoln adds, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“One, two, three—Spartans!”
We break, and the game resumes, each second a blur of motion and noise. I lose myself in it, letting the adrenaline surge through me, making me faster, stronger. The world narrows down to the field, the ball, the next move.
“Penn!” Lincoln shouts, and I pivot as he launches the ball toward me. Another perfect pass, another touchdown. The crowd goes wild, and I soak it in, every cheer, every scream adding to the fire inside me.
“You’re on fire tonight,” Coach says, clapping me on the shoulder as I come off the field for a quick breather.
I don’t say shit to Coach as I wipe the sweat from my brow. My eyes scan the stands, falling on Reagan. Even from here, I can see her wearing my jersey, a smirk playing on her lips. She catches my eye and flips me off, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Where the fuck is Graham?” Lincoln’s voice cuts through the noise of the crowd. I glance around, the absence of our brother gnawing at my gut, a warning that something is wrong. I just don’t know what it is.
“Fuck if I know,” I mutter, scanning the sidelines. He just got cleared to be back on the field for this fucking game.
Jeremiah sidles up beside us, eyes narrowed. “He should have been here by now. Something’s off.”
“Yeah, no shit,” I snap, my mind racing.
The whistle blows for half-time, and we jog off the field. Lincoln and Jeremiah waste no time making a beeline for their girls. I watch them, a pang of something bitter twisting in my chest. Jealousy? Nah, I don’t get jealous unless someoneis doing a little murdering and doesn’t fucking invite me along.
“Hey angel,” Lincoln says, swooping Iris into a kiss. Jeremiah’s already got Oakley wrapped up in his arms, whispering something that makes her giggle.
“Get a room,” I call out, trying to keep my tone light, but it’s strained. My eyes drift back to the stands, searching for Reagan. She catches my eye, and for a second, the world narrows down to just us. Her lips curl into an actual smile, and damn if it doesn’t make me want to drag her somewhere private and?—
“Penn!” Coach’s voice snaps me back to reality. “We need you focused.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” I turn back toward the field, shoving the thoughts of Graham and Reagan deep down where they can’t distract me. Not now.
“Where the fuck is my brother, anyway?” I mutter under my breath, taking my position. The second half is about to start, and we’ve got a game to win. But that nagging anxiety about my brother won’t let go.
“Let’s finish this,” Lincoln says, clapping me on the back. His eyes are sharp, determined.
“Yeah,” I agree, feeling the familiar fire ignite within me.
The whistle blows, and we’re back in the game. Every play, every move, is like heroin to me. The crowd roars, but all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart.
Jeremiah yells, but I can’t make out what it is, and I barrel through the opposing team’s line, the ball snug in my grip. The crowd roars, but all I hear is my heartbeat pounding in my ears like a war drum.
“Pass to Anderson!” someone shouts. I glance up, spotting my teammate open on the left. With a flick of my wrist, theball sails through the air, landing perfectly in his hands. He sprints toward the end zone, and the crowd erupts.
“Fuck yes!” I shout, adrenaline pumping through my veins. But there’s no time to celebrate. We regroup, ready for the next play.
Worry gnaws at the edges of my focus. But I shove it down. Not now. There’s a game to win.
The ball snaps, and we’re off again. I dodge, weave, my body a finely tuned machine.
“Fucking goooooo!” someone screams, and I break free, sprinting down the field. The world narrows to the rush of wind in my ears, the ground pounding beneath my feet. I can almost taste victory.
“Touchdown!” the announcer’s voice booms, and the stadium erupts. But there’s no time to bask in the glory. We’re on a roll, and I can’t let up.
“Keep it up, wildcard!” Coach yells, and I nod, wiping sweat from my brow. The Spartans are gaining the upper hand, and we can’t afford to lose momentum.
