***

  Once practice and classes are over for the day, I go back to my dorm for fresh clothes. Then it’ll be back to the apartment with the guys. I turn my phone on as I walk. It takes a second for it to catch up with the world again, but once it does it floods with information. A new voicemail, six texts, and four emails from the coaching staff. The voicemail is from Mama. Most of the texts are from random friends. One is a group text to the team reminding us to check our emails. Another is a girl from my Economics class asking if I went today and did she miss anything important. The chick is a complete sneakerhead. I’m pretty sure she ditched today to be in line for the new Ivy Park x adidas.

  Before I can ask if she got what she was looking for, I see the sixth text. It’s from Brooklyn.

  You look like Ted Bundy.

  “Who is Ted Bundy?” I mutter to myself.

  “Serial killer.”

  A guy a few feet ahead of me on the path answered.

  He looks at me over his shoulder. “You never heard of him?”

  “No.”

  “He was a psycho. He killed a bunch of women in the seventies.”

  “How many is ‘a bunch’?”

  “I forget.” He veers off on another path through campus. “Google him. He’s gruesome.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

  I look like a champion, I text Brooklyn back.

  Then I make the mistake of actually Googling Ted Bundy.

  There’s a lot of information on him. I find tons of pictures (I don’t look anything like him, by the way), a million articles, links to movies and documentaries. He’s described as ‘prolific’ and after I Google what that means, I agree. Dude killed thirty women. THIRTY! And those are just the ones he admitted to.

  Brooklyn replies, A champion serial killer.

  Jesus Christ, he broke out of jail TWICE to murder some more because he just loved it so fucking much.

  Did you just take the Lord’s name in vain? I thought you were a good boy.

  Because I’m Southern? That’s prejudice.

  I thought you went to church every Sunday, she reminds me.

  Only when I’m home.

  What’s going on in South Carolina that you think it’s the only place that you need Jesus?

  My mama, I answer. That’s what.

  I love that you call her Mama. Between that and Gandy…

  This message is followed by three emojis with big hearts for eyes.

  It feels sarcastic.

  They’d revoke my hunting license if I didn’t, I reply.

  Do you own a gun?

  Is that a real question?

  It felt like one.

  I’m from the south, I remind her.

  Is that a yes?

  Yes. That is a definite yes. I own a gun. I own many guns.

  How many?

  How many are you okay with before it gets scary?

  Three.

  I own three guns.

  What a coincidence!

  I get the … of her typing for quite a while before finally she says, Going to dinner. Have a good night. Text me tomorrow.

  I’m calling you later.

  I’m not answering.

  Yeah, but you might.

  She doesn’t reply. And when I call her three hours later as I’m getting ready to go to bed, she doesn’t answer.

  She doesn’t call me back either.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Shay!” Meyerson shouts from outside. “We’re leaving!”

  “I’m comin’!

  I hurry down the stairs outside the apartment, pulling on my jacket.

  I can’t get used to the weather here in Oregon. It rains randomly, seemingly out of nowhere. From a clear blue sky. But then there are weeks where I struggle to remember what blue sky actually looks like. Some of the guys on the team, southerners mostly, have special lamps in their room that act like sunshine. It fights Seasonal Something Disorder. Whatever it’s called, it feels like depression. Like you’re fuckin’ Eeyore under a roaming, raining cloud.

  Oregon is beautiful, I’ll give it that, but the rain is too much. It needs to calm down.

  So does Meyerson.

  “The fuck is wrong with you, hillbilly?” Meyerson demands from the budding lawn. “Quit jerking off to Ryan Reynolds and get in the car. We’re hungry.”

  “I said I’m comin’.”

  “I’m not stopping to pick up roadkill for your breakfast. You do that shit on your own time.”

  “Funny,” I reply dryly.

  “We’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.”

  It was five. Literally five minutes.

  “We don’t have all day, man,” he continues. “We got practice later and some of us want to see our girl once in a while.”

  Your girl is not your girl. She’s just a girl you hook up with when you’re bored.

  “I know you’re busy juggling dudes all day, but if you—”

  “Shotgun!” I shout.

  I sprint toward the Jeep. Eustis is behind the wheel. Weiss is behind him. The front passenger seat where Meyerson was probably sitting before he stormed into the house to get me is wide open. Prime for the taking.

  “Stop!” he shouts after me. “No!”

  “It’s empty and you’re in sight of it!” Weiss argues out the window. “You better run!”

  Meyerson slips on the wet grass as he sprints after me. He’ll never catch me. No one on the team can catch me. That’s why I’m the best we’ve got and this year, finally, I’ll be able to prove that. Just like I prove it to Meyerson as I dive inside the Jeep, slamming the door in his face.

  “Motherfucker!” he cries, outraged.

  “Too slow. Hop in back.”

  “I should get shotgun on seniority.”

  “Doesn’t work like that,” Eustis reasons. He hitches his thumb toward the back. “Rules are rules. Get in. I’m hungry.”

  “He’s the one who was making us late and I have to sit in the back like some punk bitch after I offered to go get him,” Meyerson rants indignantly. He climbs into the back, a sour look on his face. “It wasn’t a fair race.”

  I snort. “I never said it was.”

  “He still would have beat you,” Weiss reminds Meyerson.

  “Nobody asked you, man!”

  “Still.”

  “This.” Clap. “Is.” Clap. “Bull.” Clap. “Shit.”

  “If you stop being such a baby about it,” Eustis tells him as he backs out of the driveway, “I’ll let you pick the music.”

  “Finally! Yes! I got a new playlist going last night. Y’all gonna love it.”

  We will not love it.

  We never love Meyerson’s music.

  He is a proud black man born and raised in Illinois and the guy listens to nothing but heavy metal. He said it’s actually called Scream Rock but that can’t be a thing. I won’t allow it. I have physically touched a Martin D-35 owned and played by Johnny Cash, and I can’t live in a world where Scream Rock is recognized as a type of music.

  The second Meyerson’s music starts blaring through the speakers, Eustis lowers the volume to three.

  “The hell?” Meyerson demands.

  Eustis grins. “I said I’d play your music. I never said how loud I’d play it.”

  “I’m putting my buds in. You all can go to hell.”

  “Sweet dreams, little prince.”

  As Meyerson’s music switches off the speakers to his earbuds, Eustis flips the radio completely off. This is usually how he rides – in silence. Weiss and I don’t complain because he’s the quarterback, he’s team captain, it’s his car, and he’s not the kind of guy you argue with. Not because he’d be a dick about it, but because you don’t want to add to his stress. Not over something small. He has enough to worry about.

  He hasn’t seen his kid since Vegas, nearly a month ago.

  He’s hurting.

  Reflexively, I check my phone for messages.

  There’s nothing.

  “Who are you always texting?” Eustis asks curiously.

  I slip my phone into my pocket where it’s safe, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “A girl.”

  “What girl?”

  I knew they’d ask eventually. They always ask. No one is allowed to have secrets on the team. Especially not a guy who tries.

  “You don’t know her,” I answer evasively.

  “I know a lot of girls. Try me.”

  “She goes to OSU.”

  “Oh, you fuckin’ traitor!”

  “No wonder you’re keeping her a secret,” Weiss laughs.

  Meyerson rips his earbuds out. “What’s happening? What are you all laughing about?”

  “Pupper is dating a Beaver.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not dating her.”

  “Are you for real?” Meyerson demands, ignoring me. “Since when?”

  “Since he started texting nonstop,” Weiss answers.

  “It started in Vegas, didn’t it?”

  I turn to look back at Meyerson, shocked. “How the hell do you know that?”

  He shrugs, smiling crookedly. “I keep a good timeline, man.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “So he’s right?” Eustis asks. “You met her in Vegas?”

  I sit back in my seat with a reluctant thwump. “Yeah. At the club when we were watching the games.”

  Meyerson slaps the back of my seat. “Hey, is she the one who gave you the sex toy?”

  “What kind of sex toy?” Weiss asks.

  “It wasn’t a sex toy. It was a pineapple air freshener that she wrote her number on.”

  “Did you throw it away?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “You live with us. In a common area. How have we never seen it?”

  “I keep it at my dorm.”

  “Yeah,” Weiss says knowingly. “I was right. You’re hiding her from us.”

  “I’m not. We’re just talkin’. There’s nothing to tell. I haven’t seen her since Vegas.”

  “You’re just talkin’ a lot,” Meyerson comments, mimicking my accent.

  “What’s her name?” Eustis presses.

  I sigh, giving up because I know they’ll never stop. Eventually one of them will steal my phone and find her name anyway. “Brooklyn.”

  Eustis frowns. “No, I don’t know her.”

  “Oh shit! I do!” Myerson exclaims excitedly.

  “No, you don’t,” Weiss laughs.

  “I don’t know her, but I know of her. I’ve heard of her.” He pats me on the shoulder consolingly. “She’s a slut, man.”

  My heart skips a beat.

  My fist clenches.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Eustis asks Meyerson.

  “I’m telling you! She’s—”

  “Stop,” Weiss warns him.

  “Nah, I’m serious! She’s a star-fucker. She only goes for guys going pro. They call her ‘Broken’ up in Corvallis. That’s how I remembered her name.”

  “You don’t know it’s the same girl,” Eustis tells him.

  I can’t call you until I’m a starter?

  Take it or leave it.

  “It’s the same girl,” I mutter.

  He looks at me sideways, his hands shifting on the steering wheel. Eustis goes to say something. He thinks better of it.

  “Did you know?” Weiss asks curiously.

  I shake my head. It feels heavy. “No.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s probably trying to get pregnant,” Meyerson says confidently.

  Weiss isn’t having it. “That doesn’t make any sense. She’s gonna have some guy’s kid before they make any money?”

  “The odds of that one guy making millions in the NFL are small,” Eustis agrees. “That’s a huge gamble.”

  “He could end up going last round in the draft or getting injured and not drafting at all.”

  “And if she’s been fucking these guys all year, she’s not trying to get pregnant by just one.”

  “It’s a spray-and-pray,” Meyerson argues.

  “Right!” Weiss laughs incredulously. “She’s taking loads from every five-star in the area, praying one of them gets her a kid, and then gambling again that the one she got knocked up by is going to make some real money. It’s stupid.”

  “Maybe she’s stupid.”

  “She’s not,” I tell him confidently.

  They look at me, surprised. Like they forgot I was there.

  I rub my hands together, my fingers slick with sweat. “She’s smart. Smarter than any of us.”

  “No offense, man,” Weiss says, “but if she’s so smart, why is she fucking everyone in town?”

  “Everyone but him,” Meyerson adds.

  “Un-fucking-necessary, Mey.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “He’s right,” I admit. I look out the window, watching the gray sky sink lower and lower over my head. “She told me when I met her that I couldn’t call her until I was a starter.”

  “So how are you talking to her now?” Eustis asks. “Did she call you?”

  “No. Well, yeah, but only after I called her. I couldn’t wait.” I laugh at myself, shaking my head. “I was too excited about her.”

  The car is silent around my admission. I’m thirsty, that’s what they’re thinking. That’s what I was worried she’d think too, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t leave it alone. I had to talk to her again, and I’m glad I did.

  I just wish I didn’t know what I know now.

  “Who’s she been with?” I ask because I’m an asshole.

  It’s none of my business. It’s rumors and gossip. If I want to know, if I think I deserve to know, I should ask her. But I can’t and I know I won’t. And I need to know.

  For some massively messed up reason, I really need to know who.

  “Will Reich,” Meyerson answers without hesitation. “The defensive lineman from Auburn. Jeff Strauss from Stanford. Seth Varinaitis from USC.”

  “That fuckin’ guy,” Eustis grumbles. He took a late hit from Seth during our game against them in November. I remember seeing Seth with Brooklyn at the bar in Vegas. Right after she gave me her number.

  “Judd Kurland. Huskies.”

  “Stop,” I tell Meyerson, my gut clenching tighter than my fist.

  “Those are just the ones I know of,” he continues. “There’s gotta be more. She’s gone to some away games.”

  I know. They’re all over her ‘gram.

  “How do you know all this?” Weiss asks Meyerson.

  “I know because I have friends, fucker.”

  “Friends from a rival school, asshole.”

  “It’s better than no friends at all, shitass.”

  “That’s not a word.”

  “You’re a dick.”

  “Sorry, Shay,” Eustis tells me sympathetically.

  I shrug, not sure what to say. “It’s whatever, right? It doesn’t matter.”

  “It sucks that you can’t even date her,” Meyerson piles on. “That’s rough.”

  Weiss shakes his head. “Fuck that. You’ve slept with more chicks than she’s had dicks and you’re still viable.”

  “Don’t get all PC with me! I’m saying he can’t date her because he’s not lit enough. No one knows who he is.”

  “Not yet,” Eustis corrects. “But they will. Soon.”

  “Tell it to her, not me. I don’t care. I’m just sayin’—”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” I interrupt. “I get it.”

  “If she was just sleeping with guys for fun, I wouldn’t talk shit, but she’s targeting. She only goes for guys who have a shot at getting rich. That’s crazy. It’s—”

  “I said I heard you, Mey. Stop.”

  He puts his hands up like he’s innocent. “Alright. Fine. I just—”

  “Stop,” I interrupt forcefully.

  He stops. Finally.

  But what does it matter? I know what I know now and there’s no going back.

  I feel raw. Rough. Everything he’s told me, it hurts more than it should. I’m kinda wrecked over it, a reaction I didn’t think was possible considering I’ve been face to face with her for all of three minutes. Still, I feel the way I felt when I got that rejection letter from LSU. There was this dream forming in head and suddenly it disappeared. It was just a muddy memory, like a thing that had never even happened. Because it didn’t.

  It wasn’t real, no matter how bad I wanted it to be.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Spring Game is tomorrow. My nerves are shot. My head is screaming. I’m a minute away from calling Gideon, but I know it won’t help. It’ll only make me feel worse.

  My parents wanted to fly out for the game, but after a week of arguing I finally convinced them not to. I had it out with Mama about it again tonight. She’s pissed at me. And sad. Big John is annoyed with me because I upset her. Again. I didn’t go home for Spring Break and now I’m not letting them come here for the Spring Game. I haven’t seen them since Christmas and I won’t see them again until I finish with finals the first week of June. I miss them. I don’t know why I’m putting this distance between us, but every time I think about them coming out to visit, I swell with anxiety. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s just the way I feel.

  And I feel like an asshole.

  I want to talk to Brooklyn about it. I want her to tell me it’s okay to not want them here the way she told me it was okay to not love my stepdad, lifting that weight that’s starting to ache in my shoulders. The problem is, as much as I want to talk to her, I also don’t want to talk to her. I’m worried about what I’ll say now that I know the things I know about her.

  I’m worried I’ll be an asshole.

  “So don’t be that,” Weiss tells me.

  I roll my head to look at him. I’m lying on my back on his bed as he folds his clothes, putting them away in his dresser. He’s the only person I know who’s cleaner and more organized than I am. Sometimes, when the apartment is a mess and it starts to feel too chaotic for me, I come into his room to remember what order looks like.

  “It’s not really a choice,” I argue.

  “It’s not out of your control either. If you start to feel like you’re going to say something stupid, don’t.”

  “Do you have that kind of self-control? ‘Cause I don’t.”