Chapter 3 We're Done

Three years later...

The locker room door slams so hard behind me that the metal rattles, and for half a second the entire room freezes like someone hit pause. Conversations die mid-laugh. A towel slips from someone’s shoulder and hits the floor. Then all at once, they remember I’m a girl and I shouldn’t be here:

“What the hell, Riley?!” someone yells.

“Are you insane?!”

“Yo, get her out of here.”

I don’t slow down. Jake is sitting by the middle benches with his shirt half on, laughing about something stupid with two of his teammates. He turns, sees my face, and the laugh dies on his lips.

“Riley–” he starts, but I don’t let him finish. I cross the room in a straight line and punch him right in the face.

The sight is immediately satisfying, the way his head snaps back, blood already starting to bloom under his nostrils. His hand flys to his face as he stumbles back into the benches.

Jake straightens, his eyes going wide with shock first, and then anger. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

I don’t answer him yet. I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone, unlock it with shaking fingers, and shove the screen right up in his face.

“Explain this,” I say.

A photo of Jake with Haley Brandt fills the screen. Her hands are on his chest with his mouth pressed against hers, both of them very clearly enjoying themselves outside a party I didn’t even know existed.

“The dance captain,” I continue, “Really? Could you be any more cliché?”

Jake’s eyes flick to the screen, then back to me with his jaw clenched.

“Where did you get that?” he asks.

I laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Riley, listen,” he says, lowering his voice like that’s going to help. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“That’s funny,” I reply. “Because it looks exactly like you kissing Haley Brandt. Or do my eyes somehow deceive me?”

“It was one stupid moment.”

“One,” I repeat. “Interesting choice of word.”

He runs a hand through his wet hair, trying to look remorseful. “I fucked up, okay? I’m sorry. But you’ve been so distant lately, always hanging with Lena or at practice or whatever. I felt like I was losing you.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?” I step right into his space, close enough that he has to tilt his head down to meet my eyes. “You cheated because I had a life outside of stroking your ego? That’s the line you’re going with?!"

“Come on, Ri. Don’t make this bigger than it is. We can fix this. I’ll cut Haley off. I'll–“

“We’re done.”

Jake’s face changes from one of regret to something mean. “You’re really gonna throw away everything over one stupid kiss? You’re acting like a jealous psycho again. Maybe that’s why I needed someone who doesn’t flip out every time–”

That does it. I punch him again.

This time it’s cleaner. My fist connects squarely with his nose, and there’s a wet crunch that makes a few of the guys wince. Jake yells and stumbles back, his hands flying to his face as blood pours between his fingers.

“Jesus, Riley!” one of the guys yells.

I don’t look at them. I look at Jake, my breath coming hard from sheer rage. “Say it again,” I tell him. “Call me a psycho one more time.”

“Are you out of your damn mind?!” he shouts.

I step closer. “You cheated on me.”

“We were on a break. I needed space.”

“So you found space in Haley Brandt’s mouth?!”

“You were being crazy!” he snaps. “You're being crazy right fucking now! Maybe if you weren’t so intense all the time, I wouldn’t have had to look elsewhere.”

Ah... there it is. The thing he thinks will hurt me the most. And it works for the most part – just not the way he expects.

I step back, shaking with rage, and for a split second I hear my therapist's voice in my head: “Whenever you begin to feel the rage climb, take a deep breath and count back from ten.”

I don’t count.

I punch him again.

This time Josh grabs my arm before I can go for a fourth. Jake is swearing and clutching his face while blood drips steadily from his nose and onto the floor.

“Get her out,” someone says. “Seriously.”

I wrench free from their hold and point at Jake. “Lose my fucking number.”

I turn on my heel and walk out, slamming the door behind me so loud that the sound echoes down the hallway.

Lena’s waiting right outside, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She doesn’t look surprised.

“Feel better now?” she asks.

“No,” I say flatly.

“Yeah... Thought so.”

I keep walking, forcing myself to breathe evenly. “Don’t.”

“Well, I did warn you he was trash,” she says, falling into step beside me.

“Fuck off.”

She grins anyway. “Did you at least make it hurt?”

“I damn well hope so.”

“Good.”

We reach the end of the hall and slow to a stop. Lena studies me for a second. “Did you count down from ten like Ms. Shaw told you to?”

I roll my eyes. “I got to three before my fist had other plans.”

Lena laughs softly. “You’re gonna have to tell her about this at your next session. She’s going to make you do that breathing exercise again... the one where you imagine your anger as a balloon floating away.”

“Urgh!” I shake my head, rubbing my temples. “I really don’t have time for this. I need to get to practice soon.”

She perks up at that. “Oh. Speaking of things that involve authority figures and terrible decisions.”

I glance at her. “Professor Mercer?”

Her smile turns sly. “My all time favourite topic.”

“Spill. Last time you mentioned him you said his office hours were ‘very educational.’”

She bites her lip, looking around to make sure no one’s close enough to overhear. “Well, the other day we were in his car, parked behind the old library, you know that spot nobody uses, and things were getting… intense. His hand was up my skirt, I’m literally about to come, and then his phone starts ringing. It’s his wife. She’s on her way home early from some conference because she forgot her laptop or whatever. We had maybe ninety seconds to get our clothes back on and pretend we were discussing my midterm paper.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Jesus, Lena. That’s next-level reckless.”

“I know... I know...” She sounds half thrilled and half terrified. “But God, Riley, the way he looks at me… like I’m the only thing in the world that matters right then. His wife’s always traveling for work, and he says their marriage has been dead for years, but still. I know it’s wrong. I just… can’t stop.”

I study her face. “You’re falling for him.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “Or maybe I just like the danger. Either way, don’t judge.”

“Who am I to judge?” I say dryly. “I just punched my ex in front of half the football team.”

“Fair.” She grins. “But seriously, I’ve been meaning to tell you something important you should probably know about.”

My stomach tightens a fraction. “Okay. Hit me.”

She opens her mouth, then the bell rings, cutting through the quad like a siren.

“Shit,” I say. “Soccer practice starts in five. I can’t be late. Last time I had to run an extra mile.”

She reaches for my hand. “But what I need to tell you can’t wait. It’s about–“

“I'll hit you up as soon as I’m out, I promise,” I say, already backing away. “Love you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Go destroy balls or whatever it is you guys do.”

My legs feel heavy, but I jog anyway, ignoring the ache in my hand. Practice is the only place I can turn my brain off, lose myself in footwork and drills and the clean satisfaction of sending a ball exactly where I want it to go. I need that right now.

By the time I reach the field, the team is already lining up. I drop my bag and jog over, sliding into place beside Sarah, who gives me a quick once-over.

“You’re late,” she mutters.

“Bite me,” I mutter back.

Mr. Hargrove, the athletic director steps forward, his expression unusually serious.

“Alright, listen up,” he says, voice carrying across the field. “I need everyone’s attention.”

The chatter dies immediately.

“I have really bad news,” he continues. “Earlier this morning, Coach Wells was involved in a serious accident.”

A murmur ripples through the group.

“He’s stable now,” Hargrove adds quickly. “But he’ll be out for a while. But with the tournament only weeks away, we couldn’t afford to pause training. So we brought in a temporary replacement.”

Footsteps approach from behind him, and he steps aside.

“I trust you’ll give him the same respect you gave Coach Wells,” the director finishes.

I look up just as Cole Fletcher walks onto the field.