Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Coach lets out a heavy sigh, and I see a flicker of indecision in his eyes, giving me just a sliver of hope. “You’re a risk, Noah. I can’t have you leading my team astray.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ve heard that shit a million times from kids like you. They start heading down a bad path, get involved with the wrong crowd, start skipping training, showing up to school still fucking drunk from the night before, and there’s no coming back. They throw away their future and waste my fucking time when their position on the team could have gone to someone else who truly wanted it, someone who would have put in the work.”
“I do want it,” I growl, frustration burning in my chest as I step back out of his office and begin to pace the hall. If he denies me and it’s all over, what’s the point of being here in the first place?
Coach Martin leans against his desk, his feet crossed at his ankles. “Okay, here’s what I’m going to do,” he says. “You can attend training. You work your ass off and keep your attitude away from my team. You attend every fucking class on your schedule and maintain a B+ average, and if you can do that, if you can earn it, then I will officially offer you a position on my team.”
A B+ average during senior year? Fuck. That’s gonna take some work, but what choice do I have?
“You got it,” I tell him, knowing damn well it’s going to be a challenge to keep myself out of trouble. Who knows just how bad it’s going to be now that I have to see Zoey wandering the halls day in and day out—a constant reminder of everything I’ve lost.
“Alright,” Coach Martin says. “Training runs from three p.m. ’til six. If you’re even a minute late, it’s over. Understood?”
“Yes, Coach. Thank you.”
“Good. Now get out of here, otherwise you’ll be late for homeroom,” he says. “I’ll make sure you have a uniform here waiting for you this afternoon.”
I nod, and with that, I get my ass out of there, ready to face down East View High and make it my bitch.
4
Zoey
Noah Ryan can kiss my ass.
I knew he was troubled. I knew he was spiraling out of control, but the stranger who stood before me in the student office was nothing but a monster with a fractured soul. Those dark eyes I used to adore were cold and lifeless, not even close to the ones I used to know.
Noah always had a mean streak, but he’d go out of his way to reel it in when he was with me. The other kids on the playground were terrified to even look at me wrong because Noah was my protector, but not anymore. The hateful, cruel words that so easily fell from his lips . . . shit. They chilled me to the bone.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
I ran as fast as my feet could take me, thankful it was too early for students to be crowding the halls, and the second I could, I barged through the door of the girls’ bathroom and threw up every single bite of my breakfast. And since then, I’ve been hiding out in here, too scared to take a single step outside that door, fearing what I might find.
I sat up all night, my heart racing as I tried to imagine what I was going to find this morning, but never in my wildest dreams did I picture that. I thought maybe he’d give me a sad smile, maybe he’d subtly push me away, or maybe he might have even wrapped me in his arms and told me how much he missed me.
God, I wanted him to do that so badly. I needed him to welcome me back into his arms, tell me that everything was going to be okay, and take away all the hurt from the past three years. I needed to breathe him in, needed to feel the warmth of his strong arms holding me to his chest, promising me that he would always be right by my side.
But what I got turned my heart to ash.
Don’t even get me started on the stench of cigarettes that wafted off him and made my stomach turn. He always swore to me that he’d never smoke, not after his grandfather died of lung cancer. He hated it and would turn up his nose at people smoking in the street. It made me realize that I can’t even pretend to know him anymore.
And yet, every piece of me was calling out to him, desperately needing him to make this right.
I hate how much I wanted him, and I hate that after three long years, he still owns every part of me, but what I hate most of all? Despite the words I threw back at him, he could see right through me as though not a single day had passed. He knew the effect his cruelty was having on me, and all he could do was slam the knife further into my chest and revel in my pain as he twisted it right to the hilt.