Page 17 of This Is War: All's Fair Duet
“Yes. She’s fine. I’m gonna go watch a movie with her.”
His brow arches, but he maintains his focus, the ApplePencil in his hand moving in sure, swift strokes over the screen. “You’re not, though.”
“I’m not what?” I pause with a frown before tugging a T-shirt down over my torso.
“Fine. You’re not fine, man. You’re all tense and in a shit mood because of your stepbro showing up. You told me you don’t get along with him. I assume that hasn’t changed.” He blows out a breath. “Seems like it’s probably about to get a whole lot worse. I was at the meeting earlier. Fucker was needling you.”
My lips part as I stare at my intuitive friend.
“Maybe not everyone could see it, but I sure as fuck could tell. He’s got it in for you. Watch yourself.” He shrugs, his blue eyes glittering intensely at me before refocusing on his drawing.
With my jaw twitching because he’s seen things so clearly, I turn on my heel, then yank the door open.
“See ya,” Levi calls out to me. “Have fun hanging out with that sweet thing. I applaud you, man. Must take a helluva lot of restraint keeping your hands to yourself with that one.”
“Fuck off,” I growl, irritated. Not because he’s being a dick but because he’s right.
10
JAXON
Sweat pours down my back.It’s too fucking cold outside today—well below freezing—so Coach has had us in the gym for the last three hours. Our first practice has consisted of warm-ups, lots of stretching, running, and various drills. It’s pretty standard at the beginning of a season that we’d do a lot of conditioning before actually being allowed to play ball. Some of the guys are huffing and puffing through it, too. Suckers.
After learning the hard way last year, I made sure to do plenty of preparation on a regular basis during the offseason. I allowed myself some time for my body to recuperate from my first collegiate season, but then I’d begun preparation for this year. If I want to be the best, I have to work like it.
My eyes flick to Logan. The asshole appears to havefollowed the same plan. And of course, Coach Kimball has all the pitchers training together right now. There are sixteen of us in total, starters and relievers combined—a strong number to have on the roster. We need enough manpower on the mound to ensure the team doesn’t suffer if one of us has a bad night… or if there’s an injury. But in this situation, there’s nowhere to get away from Logan. My stepbrother and I have had more face time in the last three hours than we’ve had the last year and a half since I left for Evermore.
Considering our parents—my father and his mother—have been married two years, one would think we’d have figured out how to deal with each other. Instead, when we’re in the same space, whether that’s at home, school, or on the field, it’s the same old story. We compete for every little fucking thing. Asshole wants what I have. And the shitty part for me is sometimes he gets it. It’d been for the best when I left for college and spent vacations from Evermore with my mom. She needed me home, anyway. But then the dickweed decided to apply here; so now I’ll make him pay for that decision.
Stuck in a training situation like this where we’re in close quarters? The issue is worse. Amplified. It’s got my temper flaring, especially since the fucker won’t stop giving me the evil eye. I study him from my peripheralvision, noting with grim satisfaction that he looks like he’s edging toward exhaustion, the same way I am.
And the best part is the poor guy doesn’t even know what’s coming for him. Hell, I didn’t have to do anything yesterday. Does he realize how much his girlfriend seems to like me? I can’t decide whether to use that knowledge as a hot iron to poke him with or let him find out on his own.Surprise! Sometimes the good guy doesn’t get the girl.
“All right!” Coach Kimball shouts. “Cool the fuck down. Take your time to stretch those muscles. Ice baths do wonders for recovery. Fucking use them. Don’t care that it’s cold outside and you feel your balls jump up inside your body and your dick shrivel.”
A rumble of tired laughter rolls through the entire team, but I’m not paying much attention because Coach has his gaze narrowed on me. And Logan.
Fuck.
His jaw twitches. While the rest of our team collects their gear in an awkward attempt to get the fuck out of Dodge, Logan and I remain unmoving. He jabs a finger at me, then Logan. “You two. Come with me.” Separating us from the rest of the team, he beckons us to follow. Everyone else scatters, not wanting to incur Coach’s wrath. We trail behind him all the way to his office before he pivots on his heel, facing us, and crosses his arms over his broad chest, peering from under his ball cap. “Did youdipshits get your animosity toward each other out yesterday? Or do we need to go over my expectations of you again?” His irritated gaze lingers on Logan before it shifts to me, just as aggravated. Well, fuck.
I grimace, glancing at Logan and shooting him a tight smile that has my bruised cheek aching. I mutter, “I’m fine if he is.”
“You know, I thought it might be interesting to have brothers on the team.” He gives a swift shake of his head. “I was right on that score. One hundred percent. All I can say is I hope you get your heads out of your asses. The competitive streak you both have is obviously ingrained in you, even if it’s not genetic.”
I pinch my lips together to keep myself from shouting that we are not brothers. Stepbrothers. What a fucking joke. This guy couldn’t be any less my sibling if he tried.
Logan wets his lips. “I’m really sorry for yesterday, Coach. I hope you’ll give me a chance to prove myself.”
Ass kisser.
With a curt nod, Coach Kimball grunts out, “You sure had fucking better. And if there’s any more bullshit from either of you, there will be consequences. I watched your interaction today—or lack thereof. This is a team. You’re going to have to figure shit the fuck out. Period. Now, get the fuck outta my office before I regret not kicking both of your asses to the curb.” He punctuates it with an angrysnarl before he sits at his desk and fires up his computer, pointedly ignoring us.
I know better than to argue with Coach when he gets like this. I’ve seen it once or twice before when he’s been particularly displeased with one of my teammates. Turning on my heel, I stride quickly toward the locker room, needing to get the fuck out of here. Halfway down the hall, the equipment closet beckons to me. With a perfunctory glance around to make sure no one else is watching, I throw open the door, then grab Logan by the bicep and yank him inside with me.
“The fuck,” he shouts, leveling me with a fierce scowl as I shut us into the small room.
Anger boils inside me, and I don’t think, I simply act. Whirling on him, I hiss, “Shut up,” then slam him against the door. He gasps, and my jaw clenches. Even his breathing sets me off. I itch to wrap my hand around the wide column of his throat, so I do, smacking the back of his head against the wood for good measure. It feeds the wrath creeping beneath my skin. Logan’s pissed-off blue eyes are just visible in the dark. The offended way he stares at me makes me laugh somewhat maniacally. “You’re dead set on fucking up this season for me, aren’t you,little brother?”
