Hate You Still by Lyssa Lemire

CHAPTER FOUR

KNOX

“Alright, which one of you suckers on defense is getting burned today?” I boast on the practice field as I strap on my helmet and walk up to our team’s secondary defense. We’re running practice plays today, in preparation of our first game this Saturday.

“You’re the one getting burned today, Delton.” I cringe as the harsh and furious voice of Coach Markus cuts through the air.

I turn around and see him storming across the field, heading right in my direction, his eyes narrow and his face red with anger.

“What’s wrong, Coach?” I ask, trying to feign an ignorance and innocent which everyone here, myself included, knows is total bullshit.

I know why he’s mad. But, fuck, it’s not my fault.

Blame her. Blame Emma Willows.

“What’s wrong?” He incredulously repeats my question, stopping in front of me and leveling me with a judgmental glare. He’s about a head and a half shorter than me, but his personality and authority give him a high stature. “You think I’m a dumbass, Delton?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay, then. You wanna tell me what happened last night?”

Emma Willows barged in from out of my past, shattered all my illusions, and drove me to temporary insanity.

That’s the answer I want to give, but trying to pass off the blame for my actions onto someone else would only get me deeper in shit with Coach at this point.

“Just a party, Coach. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

The first sentence may be the truth, but the second sentence is pure, unadulterated bullshit.

Because it was out of the ordinary that a firetruck and two squad cars had to come to put out the bonfire on our front lawn and disperse the raging crowd that got out of control, after I kept chugging bottles of liquor and throwing the half-empty bottles into the flames.

After that conversation with Emma I had upstairs, I guess I snapped a little.

Instead of Emma being excited to see me again, thinking of me as someone she had a meaningful relationship with at one time and was excited to get to know again, and to maybe pick things up where they left off with … it took her a split second to drive home the fact that she thought of me as nothing but worthless dregs from her past that she wants nothing to do with.

The only words of greeting she had for me were, basically, shut up and let me pretend you don’t exist.

I guess it shouldn’t have been surprising. My own parents didn’t want me. No foster parent ever kept me around for more than a couple months. Teachers didn’t want me in their classes because I was too much trouble to handle.

The only people who want anything to do with me are football coaches, and that will only last as long as I’m still able to catch balls and slam my body over defenders.

Oh, and the girls on campus – but they only want me for as long as it takes me to give them the elusive orgasms they can’t get from lazy-in-bed frat boys.

Just about the only relationship in my life that had any meaning, any real emotional meaning to me, was with Emma.

It felt like my heart and soul crumpled into a ball when my foster parents told me that they had to give me up back to child services because they were moving. Not because I had developed much of a relationship with them. They were good people, don’t get me wrong, but I’d been with too many bad people as a foster child to open up easily.

It was Emma who I was really crushed to be leaving behind.

“Earth to Delton!” Coach’s frustrated voice shocks me out of my contemplation. “You hear me, son?”

“Sorry, sir,” I answer, trying to get my composure back, after my reminiscing of my past with Emma has me internally shaken up.

“I said, you’re running laps all day! And riding the bench on Saturday!”

“What?” I’m shocked. I know Coach is mad, but the team can’t afford to not have me play. “Are you kidding?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He folds his thick arms over his equally thick chest and his face has an unmovable, pitiless look that absolutely does not look like he’s kidding. “Now get those legs moving. You’ve still got a chance to play in week two – unless you piss me off again.”

Knowing that Coach isn’t one to issue idle threats, I bite my tongue and start jogging around the field while the rest of the team practices for the game that they’ll actually be playing.

As I exhaust my lungs, I cast jealous looks to the field where my teammates run practice play after practice play. I see that the tight ends who will be replacing me this Saturday are woefully inadequate. Especially since West Hadden just got drafted last year, the team needs me on Saturday.

Coach must be beyond pissed off to bench me when he knows how badly my absence will be felt in the very first game of the year.

Maybe I should turn the partying down a couple notches. But even as I think that, I know that the constant knowledge that Emma is living right next door is going to make me want to be wasted as often as possible, and will make me want to sooth my heart with as many empty caresses from sexy (but not as sexy as Emma) coeds as possible.

Finally, Coach blows his whistle and sends us back to the showers. Having to run nonstop around the field, I’m more drenched with sweat than any of the other guys. The sun was scorching and the humidity unforgiving out there.

At least the guys running practice plays got to take breaks. Every time I started to slow my pace, Coach sent me sharp glances from across the field that told me I’d better not even dream of letting up until he blew his whistle.

Back in the locker room, as I lean against one of the walls and try to catch my breath, Lars, the team captain and one of our senior offensive tackles, walks up to me with his chin hoisted high and his eyes full of disdain.

“Nice going this time, Delton. I hope you grow up soon enough so you don’t tank this season.”

“Fuck off, Lars,” I bite, in no mood to tolerate anyone talking down to me. I’ll put up with that from Coach Markus, but sure as fuck not from a fellow player.

“What’d you say, punk?” Lars is bigger than me – shit, he’s bigger than everyone – but I’m not about to back down from anyone.

I didn’t back down from abusive foster parents when I was only seven years old, so I sure as fuck won’t back down from some asshole team captain who wants to get on his high horse in front of me.

“You heard me. Maybe you need to pay more attention to your own shitty footwork during plays than on what I do with my own time.”

A ferocious look flashes across his face. By this point, the rest of the guys in the locker room have all stopped what they’re doing and are focusing their attention on the storm that’s brewing between me and Lars.

“You wanna repeat that, you asshole?” I can see Lars balling his ham-sized hands into fists, just waiting for me to give him an excuse.

If he wants it, he’ll get it.

“Why? It didn’t get through that thick, dumb skull of yours the first time?” I take another step forward, annihilating the distance between us. Yeah, he’s bigger than me alright. But I’m faster. And I guarantee I’ve taken and gotten up from way more hits than he has in life.

He shoves me. He’s got power. I fly back but maintain my equilibrium. I rush forward and give him a shove of my own, showing him that I won’t back down. The guy’s like a mountain, but I put enough force into it to send him stumbling back. As if to prove my cheap shot about his footwork right, he trips and falls on his ass.

I look down on him and let out a dismissive chuckle.

His nostrils flare and fire burns in his eyes. He starts to get up, but the rest of the team runs over and occupies the space between us. It takes about four guys to hold him back. He’s got his fists clench tightly. If he could make up the distance between us, he’s mad enough to try and take a swing at me for sure.

“Let me at him!” He yells.

“Yeah, let him come get some more,” I call out, reveling in his anger. If I can’t have the opportunity to show up the rest of the team during practice plays, I’ll take the opportunity to show up one of them in a locker room scuffle. No problem.

“Chill, Knox,” my roommate, Gavin, says to me in a calming voice. “If Coach catches wind of this, you’re fucked.”

He’s got a point there.

Even though I wasn’t the one to start it, if I’m caught in a fight with one of my teammates, Coach isn’t going to have any time for my side of the story, not after what happened last night and during practice today. I nod to Gavin, and we walk to our lockers to get changed. With me standing down, Lars is able to cool off, too.

“Dude, what’s with you?” Gavin asks once we’re by our lockers and away from most of the rest of the team. “You’re off the fucking rails lately, bro.”

Gavin’s my only real friend. He’s our kicker. In fact, I helped him get the position. Met him senior year while he was at try-outs. We’re close to polar opposites personality wise, but for some reason we really hit it off.

His first try out wasn’t the best, to say the least. But I helped him train, encouraged him to stick with it, and eventually he impressed Coach enough to earn a spot as our second-string kicker. Early into the season last year, when the starting kicker wasn’t performing up to expectations, Coach gave Gavin a chance, and Gavin kept earning more chances until finally he won the starting position.

“Fuck, man, you too? You’re gonna give me shit?”

He slams his locker door shut and rolls his eyes. “Cut it out, don’t deflect like I’m everyone else. I know you, bro. Something’s with you.”

“I’m fine,” I clip, my words terse and firm.

He sighs and shakes his head. “Whatever. How about we have a quiet night at home tonight. No party, deal?”

I shrug, but don’t answer. He pats me on the shoulder and heads out of the locker room, leaving me alone to change.

A quiet night at home?

At home.

The home that’s right next to Emma Willows’ house. The Emma Willows who I can’t get out of my head, not even for one fucking second.

Even while I was sucking wind running laps, pouring sweat, my lungs burning, she was still in my head. Even while I was standing face to face with Lars, adrenaline pumping, my fight or flight response leaning heavily toward fight, I saw Emma more clearly than I saw the six-foot-seven mountain of a man who was standing in front of me.

Just the thought of being right next to her house drives me crazy. Knowing that just a few yards away from me, she’ll be dressed in pajamas. In a tight spaghetti strap tank top that shows off her luscious fucking tits and her tantalizing curves.

That she’ll be lying in bed with only two sets of cheap, thin walls separating us.

That only feet away, she’ll be showering, rivulets of water kissing her naked body …

I clench my teeth, trying to keep my cock from getting any harder. My blood pumps hot and frenzied.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have thought about Emma naked in the shower. I could jump headfirst into a freezing arctic ocean and I wouldn’t be able to kill the erection that image generates.

I grab my phone from my locker and scroll through my messages. A lot of numbers but no names. I pick one at random, a girl I last texted in the middle of last week. Glancing over our last couple messages, I think I remember who she was.

Her name was Marcie. Cute face. Nice ass. Nothing compared to Emma, but maybe she can help me get my mind off her for just a little while. I send her a text.

You down to hang out tonight?

Before I can even lock my phone and put it down to tie my shoes, she responds with a string of excited emojis and asks when and where.

My place. 8.

I hesitate, before adding, Bring a couple of your friends, too.

It’ll be good to have a couple girls over. That doesn’t need to turn into a big party or anything. Nothing like last night.