SPIKED (A Sports Romance) (18 page)

“It sounds like he tried to play on that shoulder injury too soon, though, because he’s currently at the hospital with his coaches and family, having that injury assessed. There’s a real possibility he’ll need surgery, and if that’s the case, he might never quite have the arm he used to have,” one of the men said.

“And that’s the risk here, with these young guys— they’re taught that they’ve got to play, that they’ve got to be superheroes, but they’re just as human as the rest of us. Coaches have
got
to start teaching players to respect their injuries and their bodies,” the other said, looking sad.

“I can tell you though, as a former college player myself, that’s easier said than done,” a third anchor said, leaning over the desk. “You’re a cog in the machine, and the machine fails without you. It’s hard to just say that you’re not feeling great, it’s hard to let the machine down like that. Some people would rather risk permanent injury. Jacob Everett has always been an amazing leader, so I’m not surprised he’s one of those people.”

The other anchors nodded. “Some actually say the pressure came from an outside source— we’ve got a clip that up and coming quarterback, Adams, posted to his social media accounts. It’s no secret there’s an intense rivalry between Adams and Everett, and it’ll be interesting to hear what the coaches have to say about this.”

The screen flipped to a clip filmed on a phone, clearly shot in the Manhattan. Music was pumping, there was a shuffle of bodies and eyes eerily lit by the phone’s glowing screen before it focused on Adams’ face.

“Hey hey, Rams,” Adams said. “In here, celebrating our win, celebrating the future. You guys want a leader, someone who’ll be there for the team, not someone who’s gonna peace out on you when his arm gets a little sore. That’s why I’m here, yeah? I’ve got the arm, I’ve got the focus, I’ve got the power, and I’m here, baby.”

Piper suddenly appeared beside Adams. She was sweaty and leaning heavily on him; I knew she was likely drunk, but Piper held herself together well enough to pass for sober. Adams wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his biceps as large as Piper’s head, and the girl’s eyes went serious.

“Horton, trust me— Jacob Everett’s girl toy is my roommate. He’s
way
too distracted by her to play to win right now. She hates football and has been trying to convince him to quit. This guy here is where it’s
at
,” she said, pointing enthusiastically to Adams. She opened her mouth, but the clip went back to the sports anchors, who looked both horrified and curious.

“And then she goes on to discuss some things we have to censor here on ESPN, but folks, let’s just say I hope her mama gives her a call tonight,” one of the anchors laughed. “Anyhow, I’m curious to see what the coaches say about this on two fronts: One, about one teammate trash-talking the other like that in a public way. Two, if they have anything to say about Jacob Everett and this girl. Was he distracted, not doing the proper work to get himself back in shape?”

Another anchor nodded. “If Jacob tried to carve out some time for a relationship rather than working on healing…makes you wonder if maybe that’s why he’s re-injured his arm.”

“And yes,
that’s
the thing I’m curious about here. If there’s truth to this girlfriend thing, does that have anything to do with his playing and his re-injury? Doesn’t sound like she’s very supportive of the game, so maybe she convinced him to skip a PT session or two, that sort of thing—“

I turned the television off.

I
t all happened relatively quickly
. News spread of ESPN’s report, of Adams’ video, of Piper’s claim. Piper had no problem outing our exact address, which meant a handful of reporters from the local and school papers parked themselves outside, waiting to pelt me with questions. “Do you really hate football?” “Did you ask him to skip PT?” “Do you want him to give up the sport entirely?”. It was enough to drive me back into the house for the entirely of the day Sunday; come Monday morning, I ducked my head low and ran to class as quickly as I could, which only resulted in a handful of unflattering, twisted-face photos of me on social media.

“I just told the truth,” Piper said, chin lifted, on Monday afternoon, when I saw her again for the first time back at our suite. “I didn’t know so many people were going to see it, but it’s not like I said anything false.”

“We’re supposed to be friends,” I snapped back, throwing my hands to my sides. Piper hadn’t come home at all on Sunday, which meant my anger had a chance to morph in to general dismay…but Piper was still pretty lucky that I didn’t know how to throw a punch.

“You know we’re not friends,” Piper said, rolling her eyes as she poured herself some wine from a box in the fridge. “We never got along. And I’m just being honest. It’s just who I am—“

“That’s an excuse you use to act like a bitch,” I snapped back.

Her eyes lit up. “If you’re this mad about it, maybe it’s because you feel guilty,” Piper said, shrugging. It was clear she was loving this— that it was the final, ultimate revenge on me for snatching Jacob out of her hands months ago. It was also clear that Kiersten found the entire confrontation entertaining, like she was watching a soap opera scene rather than real life.

“Guilty for what?” I asked, hating the fact that I even cared a little bit what she had to say about anything.

“You had to chance to just hook up with him and let it go. You’re the one that tricked him into an actual relationship. I’m not saying that’s the only reason he’s hurt again and that Adams is the new star, but I’m saying that there were
no
problems before you showed up here and started meddling with him.”

I closed my eyes to keep from screaming, then walked to my room and slammed the door. I couldn’t stay here with Piper— I had to leave. I had to go somewhere, anywhere. But who could I even call? The idea of calling Jacob was way too stressful; between their breakup and his injury and Adams’ video, even a string of text messages would be overwhelming. The truth was, other than a handful of people I knew from group projects, I only knew one person at Harton other than her roommates. I grabbed my phone and called.

“Hey. Things are just so crazy here— is there anyway you could come pick me up?” I said quietly into the phone.

* * *

T
here was
a sharp knock on the door about an hour later. I had just finished packing a bag of clothes and my school stuff into the largest bag I had on hand. I slung it over my shoulder and left my bedroom to find Piper and Kiersten standing in the kitchen, staring at the person in the living room.

“Oh! Sasha,” Jenna said, smiling cheerfully. She looked tiny and compact and fierce, and her face was hard. “I was just telling Piper that she and Adams are going to shut the fuck up, or they’re going to be public enemy number one and two here at Harton.”

“What? How?” I asked, confused.

“Well, you see, there’s an ethics clause that all the athletes sign,” Jenna said, explaining this slowly, so there was no possibility Piper could fail to understand. “It’s pretty vague, but one part is clear— that
nothing
scandalous can happen in the McMillan Alumni Hall. The guy who donated the place, McMillan, was a Southern Baptist. Anything goes on there, the entire house goes back to his estate.”

“What’s McMillan Alumni Hall?” Kiersten asked.

“Football House,” Piper said, scowling. “But everyone drinks there, and besides, Sasha’s the one who’s underage. She’s the one breaking the actual law.”

“Ah, yes, that is true,” Jenna said, giving me a serious look. Then she turned back to Jenna and smiled, so artificially sweet that it could cut you. “But I’m not talking about the drinking. I’m talking about you and Adams fucking in the room upstairs. I saw it. Sasha saw it. Kiersten saw it. And moreover, the cameras in that house saw it.”

Piper laughed. “Well then guess what, Jenna? Jacob is in trouble too, because he’s forever fucking girls in that house.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Jacob goes to the garden. Or to the alumni building. Or his apartment. Not technically in Football House, which means the contract doesn’t apply.”

Piper’s face paled, and mine felt a swell of amazement. Was Jenna telling the truth?

“So you’re going to call the papers— whatever papers are posting this shit about Sasha— and tell them you lied. That you’re a stupid girl in need of attention, bitter that she didn’t get to fuck Jacob Everett, and that you made all that bullshit up. That Sasha is the best thing to ever happen to Jacob.”

“You’re over-reaching,” Piper said, regaining her composure. “Harton isn’t going to throw their only real quarterback off the team because he has consensual sex in some dead guy’s house.”

Jenna shrugged. “Probably not. You’re totally right. But Harton also isn’t going to let the football team continue to use Football House if there’s a risk of athletes getting themselves in trouble. So, do you want to tell everyone that you and Adams ruined everyone’s fun? Or should I? I mean, I feel like people will want to know that you’re the one who got the whole place shut down. They’ll probably turn it into a cocktail hall for alumni before or after games. You know, for fundraising stuff.”

Kiersten gasped and gave Piper a horrified look. Piper’s face contorted into something twisted and angry and, frankly, terrifying. Jenna smiled sweetly at her, then looked at me. “Ready to go?”

“More than ready,” I said, and followed Jenna toward the door.

“Oh!” Jenna said, glancing back. “By the way, Piper— I slept with Adams too, and eleven inches isn’t all that great when he clearly has no idea how to use it.”

***

J
acob’s injury was
, to my relief, not as serious as it could have been. The Clemson game had definitely stressed it, but a couple of weeks later he was back in action and better than ever.

Jacob the conquering hero had finally returned.

The fact that he’d bounced back so resoundingly from his injury actually seemed to work in his favor, even, and rumors of him being a top draft pick filtered across the internet, the newspapers, the school. It made me smile each time I saw a new report, even though my heart continued to ache for Jacob.

A few times I caught myself thinking I might be starting to pull myself out of the hopeless pain I was feeling at being apart from him, only to be tossed back into sorrow when I saw someone that looked rather like him downtown, or even when I simply passed the alumni resort, or ate feta fries.

“Just text him. Don’t even call. Text. Send an emoji, for gods-sake,” Jenna groaned as she and I walked toward the sciences building one day. I’d continued to stay with her the past couple of weeks and it was a relief not to have to deal with my suitemates.

I shook my head. “No, no— I care about him, but it’s pretty obvious we aren’t going to work out.”

“Why do you think that?” Jenna asked, looking astounded.

I shrugged. “He knows where to find me. He could have tried to talk to me if he wanted to.”

“Did you consider the fact that maybe he was trying to respect your break up?” Jenna asked. “You’re the one who dumped him.”

I shrugged. “It wasn’t really that simple. I just wanted him to fight for me, but he wouldn’t even stand up to his parents on my behalf. Now that he’s playing again, now that he’s off the injured list, now that Adams isn’t breathing down his neck…if he wanted to try to prove to me that he still wants to be together, he’d find me. But he hasn’t. So it must not be that important to him.”

Jenna scowled. “Worst. You are the worst. Call him. Tell him that.”

I swallowed and admitted the truth. “If I call him, there’s a pretty big risk he’ll say no. That he’s over it. So…I’ll guard my heart, thanks. It hurt too much the first time, leaving him.”

Jenna nodded and sighed. “Alright. See you tonight for dinner?”

“Yep, see you there,” I said, and made my way into my anthropology class. I took my usual seat, by the front. I loved it, and sorely wished I could double major in the subject. But…that wouldn’t get me out of college in three years, and I had my long term plans to consider.

Plans that, without Jacob in them, seemed a little duller than they once had.

Class began, and I pored myself into the material, listening raptly and taking notes as quickly as possible on my laptop (no way could I manage to follow along writing longhand). The period was nearly over when the door in the back of the class opened. I didn’t pay it any attention, and continued to type until the professor stopped speaking.

“Can we help you, Mr. Everett?” he called out.

I froze, my fingers above the keys, my heart thumping. I turned my head slightly, just enough to look toward the door with my peripheral vision. It was Jacob— of course it was Jacob— standing on the steps, gray t-shirt, basketball shorts, tall and broad and every bit as gorgeous as I remembered him.

“Sorry, Professor— just needed to talk with Ms. Copeland quickly, if you don’t mind,” Jacob said, grinning. His teeth were so stupidly beautifully white and I remembered again how much I missed his smile.

“Of course— if you could step out into the hallway so we can finish,” the professor said to me.

“No— I need to stay for the end of the lecture,” I said quickly, without looking Jacob’s way. I wanted to go with him, badly, but he couldn’t just barge in here like this. He knew how important school was to me, after all. Still, something was twisting in my stomach, and it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling.

“I’ll wait, then,” Jacob said. I finally dared to meet his eyes, still slate blue and stunning. He gave me a sly, pleased look. “I liked it last time I sat in, after all.”

“Of course,” the professor said. Jacob slung himself into the desk beside me, and I couldn’t stop a smile from sneaking to the corners of my mouth. I raced to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t be smiling over him, shouldn’t even be happy to see him, but nothing came immediately to mind. I tried to keep my eyes ahead, to focus on the lecture, but Jacob’s scent was taking over my thoughts. I inhaled sharply when a piece of paper slid across my desk. It sat folded for a moment— a long moment— but finally, I unfolded it. In barely legible handwriting:

9:30 pm

Manhattan Bar

I stared at it for a long moment— the note totally identical to the one he’d given me ages ago. Jacob’s eyes were on me, a gaze that seemed to carry literal weight. It settled over me, and I focused on breathing. I could say yes. He was here, after all. Wasn’t the fact that he still wanted me— or at least, wanted to talk to me— something?

I dared to look at him, and I saw he wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked intense, serious, wanting. After a moment of eye contact, he lifted his eyebrow, asking me to answer the note.

I exhaled. This was ridiculous. He was going to get drafted into the NFL, and I was a college freshman. His parents were the actual worst. And he’d never stood up to them for me—he never would.

Jacob was a nice guy, but he wasn’t a partner, not someone long term. I cycled through this over and over and over, until I had the nerve to write a response.

No
.

When I handed the note back to him, I had to firm my jaw to keep it from trembling. Jacob took it, read it, but didn’t move for a long while. Then he scribbled something else down and passed the note back.

Literally anywhere.

At literally any time.

I looked at the note, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. No. No, no, no, no, this was sweet, and nice, and romantic, but romantic gestures didn’t change compatibility, didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t fought for me when I’d needed him to. I couldn’t bring myself to write anything, this time, but I shook my head once.

“Why not?” Jacob asked.

It startled me, taking me a moment to process the fact that he’d said this out loud. The class had fallen silent, professor included. Jacob didn’t look angry, exactly, but rather perturbed.

“Why won’t you see me?” Jacob asked again. A titter ran through the class, and I felt my face heat up. My fingers started to shake a bit from the stress of it all, but I finally gathered the courage to respond.

“We’re just not meant to be, Jacob. I think you know that,” I said lowly, trying to keep everyone from hearing— there was no need for what would surely be a blow to his pride to be broadcast through the lecture hall.

To my surprise, Jacob smiled and shook his head, like I’d told a mildly funny joke. Suddenly he got to his feet. “Sasha Copeland, I’m standing up in front of an anthropology class, which I’m not even taking, and practically groveling. Believe me when I say that I’ve never pursued someone like this before. I’ve never wanted to before. You know my reputation, what it was before you got here—“ the class chuckled collectively, and even the professor nodded a little— “but then I met you, and that all changed.”