Page 38 of Off the Rim
"It doesn't matter. I won't allow it to happen to you."
There's a chill in the air as my father turns and walks away. My stomach churns. This isn't over.
If there's one thing I know about my father, it's that he always gets his way.
CHAPTER 21
MARCUS
My back hits the wall as I slip around the corner, and I hold my breath, grateful Mr. James felt the need to get the last word in. Otherwise, he might have seen me escaping down the hallway, so I didn't get caught lurking outside Coach's door.
As I listen to footsteps disappear down the hallway, I allow myself to breathe and try to calm my heart rate.
Almost walking in on Ashton getting berated by his dad for volunteering was not on my bingo card for today. Overhearing the way his dad expects him to schmooze some underaged girl instead of acknowledging his truth made me feel awful for him, which also wasn't part of my plans. I've spent all week trying to deny that Ashton James might be a decent human being under the layers of pomp and privilege. As much as I've tried to fight it, it's been nice spending time with him, and I feel like I've gotten to know who he is as a person. Witnessing the interaction with his father put a lot of his ideals and behavior in perspective, too.
But the conversation I just overheard in Coach's office is the real mind-fuck.
He stood up for me.
Ashton put his own success, his own future, on the line to protect my well-being. He could have so easily said nothing, which is his go-to. He could have put his own self interests ahead of my own to boost his visibility and popularity.
Like he did before.
Except now I'm thinking he might not have done any of it on purpose. He didn't defend me, or stand up for me, or do the right thing in any way, shape, or form. He certainly benefited from my downfall, but maybe he didn't mean for it to happen.
Maybe he was just a scared kid, the same as I was. Too scared to stand up for himself, much less someone he barely knew, who could turn on him at any time if his father is to be believed. Too scared to fight back.
Sigh.
I really hate that maybe I don't hate Ashton James as much as I want to.
Me: Is everything okay? I saw your dad at the complex, and then you didn't show up to practice like we planned.
Me: I'm grabbing pizza from the SU. Want any?
Ever since he got my number, Ashton has texted me several times every day. Sometimes it's just a funny meme or TikTok video, sometimes it's sports articles that mention us. Sometimes it's just a hello. I've never had to wait more than a few minutes for him to return any of my texts, of which there are far fewer.But I get nothing from him. Finally, the messages show as read, but there's no response.
It's none of my business, it's really not. I know I shouldn't get involved with Ashton any more than I already am, but I'm actually worried about him.
With a pizza box in one hand, and a six-pack of beer in the other, I head up to the third floor. It might be my imagination, but I swear the smell of him is stronger than the scent of garlic and tomato wafting off the stupidly expensive gourmet pizza I bought from the student union.
I stand in the hallway in front of his door for a stupidly long time before I finally gather the balls to knock. For a minute, I don't think he's going to answer. Maybe he's not here. He could have left with his father to go get dinner or argue somewhere more private. Or maybe they're sitting down somewhere, negotiating how much of my future they're going to ruin in exchange for Ashton getting something he wants.
I don't want to have these kinds of intrusive thoughts, but at some point you just start to expect the worst from these kinds of people. People who find people like me expendable. And yeah, it's a personal bias of mine, but it's not like I don't have experiences to back it up.
You know what, this is for the best. I'm glad he's not here. This was stupid. I'm going to take my fancy pizza and cheap beer and put myself into a small coma so I can stop overthinking everything.
Turning away, I go back to the elevator bank and push the call button. The doors open almost immediately, but the elevator isn't empty.
"Marcus?"
Ashton steps out of the elevator, red faced and sweaty, dressed in a fitted, long sleeve white t-shirt and purple shorts that would be normal on an average height man, but are almost indecent on him. I quickly glance away in case I accidentally see something too interesting.
"I, uh, um… Have you had dinner yet? You bought lunch yesterday, so I got us a pizza," I say, holding it up like it isn't obvious. "And beer. You probably don't drink this stuff, but this has been hanging out in my mini fridge for a while, and I figured tonight was a good night for a cheat meal."
He smiles gratefully. "That sounds great, actually. I just got back from a run and I'm starving. Mind if I shower real quick first?"
"No, of course not. Want to meet me down in the common room?"
