Feuds and Reckless Fury by K. Webster

 

Alister

Five days later…

I’m going crazy.

Every stolen moment with Canyon is hot and desperate. Now that we’ve crossed this line, we can’t seem to get enough of each other. Twice this week, our dads have almost walked in on us making out in the kitchen.

Twice too many.

I can’t even begin to fucking think about how bad it would be if they saw us. And yet, I can’t seem to stop myself. It’d be easy to blame it all on Canyon and say he’s the one always initiating our encounters, but that’d be a lie.

I want him just as much as he wants me.

Sometimes, I pounce on him like a lion attacking his prey. I crave the taste of him so badly my mouth waters, and my hands often tremble with the need to touch him. I’m addicted to him, like a junkie who can’t seem to shake their hunger for a hit of the drug that keeps them blissed out. To the point that it’s exasperating.

That’s what Canyon is.

A mind-altering drug.

A window into a different reality.

When we’re alone together, I practically devour him inch by inch. The hickeys on his neck and chest are proof of that. I can barely keep my dick in my pants when people are present because all I want to do is jump him.

I’m fucked.

So fucked.

I’m in too deep—my heart and dick tag-teaming against me—to even consider stepping back. I should put distance between us and walk away because if Dad finds out, I’m finished.

Dread is swallowing me whole. Whenever I imagine what the look on Dad’s face would be, a mixture of disgust and anger, I feel queasy, and my temples throb, threatening a migraine.

I love Dad.

So fucking much.

He became the family I always needed.

But because I’m a horny motherfucker, I’m jeopardizing all of it to please my cock.

I don’t deserve this life. Or Dad. Any of it. Like my mother, I am predestined to be a fuckup, no matter how hard I try to be perfect in every aspect of my life.

“What’s wrong?” Canyon asks, trotting up to me on the track, a worried frown on his handsome face.

This is why everything is so difficult.

Him.

Canyon Voss.

My enemy turned lover.

If he were still an asshole, that’d be one thing. But he’s not. I can absolutely see why Nae stuck with him for so long. Canyon is a lover, not a fighter. Sure, he’s spent months being pissed about what Ryan did to their family. In some fucked up tactic, he tried taking it out on me, but now that we’ve stepped over that hurdle, he’s more than likable.

He’s more.

So much more.

So much more than I’ll ever be allowed to have.

“Wonderland,” Canyon barks, jerking me from my wallowing. “Are you going to pass out?”

Coach throws his hands up in confusion when we walk away from where we were supposed to do some practice sprints. Canyon holds up a finger at him and then leads me to a bench the football players use. One of the guys—someone who used to be good buddies with him—makes a disgusted sound and scoots farther away. If it affects Canyon, he doesn’t let it show. It pisses me off, though, that his teammates treat him like shit now.

My jaw clenches as I glower at the guy. Canyon grips my chin, turning my head to focus on him. For a moment, I get lost in his electric blue eyes. His dark hair is drenched in sweat and hangs low over his brows. I crave to run my fingers through it and make it stick up like I do when he gets out of the shower.

An ache forms deep inside my chest.

Why is life so unfair? Of course the guy I actually truly like would be considered untouchable. He’d be the one guy I’m not allowed to have—the one who has the power to destroy my family.

A ball of emotion clogs my throat, and I desperately try to swallow it down. His fingers, still on my chin, reluctantly slide down my neck, and then he curls his hand into a fist in his lap.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, his brows furrowing. “You’re upset.”

Beyond upset.

I want him. I want to shout it to the world. I want to kiss him in front of his old team and his new one. I want to grab his hand, march us into the kitchen at home, and tell our dads we’re seeing each other.

But I can’t.

I won’t.

The turmoil inside me is nauseating. Sweat drips into my eyes, making them sting. It could be tears, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever cry in front of the football player fuckfaces. Definitely sweat.

Canyon, though, sees right through it.

He has an uncanny ability to cut into me with just one look.

How he exposes me feels dangerous. Like a scalpel slicing through layers of skin to reveal a pulsating carotid artery. One tiny nick, and it could be over. That’s how I feel around Canyon. He’s a blade tearing through my life, digging so deep I’ll never recover. While he hasn’t done anything detrimental yet, it’s inevitable.

And then I’ll bleed out for him.

For Dad.

This life.

It’ll hurt and, in the end, it will be the death of my happiness.

“Do I need to take you home?” he asks, his voice tight with worry. “You’re kind of freaking me the fuck out right now.”

Absently, I brush my knuckles over his fist, needing his touch like I need air. “I’m fine.”

“You haven’t gotten any more texts, have you?” His worry transforms into something possessive and protective, wrapping its claws around me and sinking in.

“No,” I rush out. “I blocked the number like you said. It’s just…”

“Just what?” His brows crash together as he studies me. “Tell me.”

“Never mind.”

“Don’t do that,” he growls, his voice low. “Tell me.”

I feel like such a dick. It’s his birthday today. We had plans to go to dinner with our dads and then make it a marathon night of Mubōna Ikari. I was going to give him the best birthday blowjob—since we’ve yet to move to anything past that—and give him the present I made.

Not have a mental breakdown at track practice.

“I don’t want this to end.” My head drops, and I suck in a deep breath. “I like it.”

Canyon squeezes my thigh in a comforting move, uncaring how it might look to those around us. “It’s not going to end. I promise.”

“Faggots.”

The sneered word behind us has Canyon jumping to his feet, a furious roar rumbling from his chest. I jerk my head back in time to see Gage looming over us, his wicked glare burning into us from behind his football helmet. Canyon is seconds from knocking his ass out. I’m about to intervene when we hear a loud squeal of tires.

A car flies into the parking lot going way too fast, plowing right through the fence. Collective yells of surprise sound out all around us. It all happens so quickly, in the blink of an eye.

A vehicle barreling across the track.

Coach getting clipped and flying up in the air before the car nearly takes out two of our teammates.

It rams into the bleachers behind where Canyon and I’d both been readying ourselves to sprint just moments before. The crash of the car is a deafening cacophony of shattering glass and bending metal. I don’t realize I’m barely standing on two feet until Canyon releases his death grip on my arm and takes off in a dash toward the accident. Gage and several other football players do the same. I shakily follow, hoping no one is hurt too badly.

Canyon and Gage both head toward the car while I rush over to Coach Davies. He groans in pain, clutching his hip.

“You’re okay,” I tell him, assessing him for more life-threatening damages, and then holler over my shoulder, “Someone call an ambulance!”

“Is…Is anyone else hurt?” Coach Davies asks through gritted teeth, his face pinched in pain.

“I think everyone managed to move in time,” I assure him, though I can’t be certain. He had his back turned to the car, so by the time he heard the noise, he wasn’t able to move away in time.

“The driver?”

“Not sure.” I glance over my shoulder to see the crowd that’s formed around the car. “Where does it hurt?”

“Hip.” He grimaces. “I don’t think it’s broken, thank fuck, or I’d never hear the end of it.”

“What?” I tease, though my voice is tight with worry. “That you’re an old man who broke his hip? Coach, we would never joke about something like that.”

He flips me off, which has me relaxing. “Yeah, yeah. Help me up.”

“No,” I grunt out. “You’re not moving until the EMTs arrive. Just in case.”

His eyes close, and he nods. I take his hand, squeezing it. “Just relax, Coach. Help is coming.”

“Better me than you and Voss.”

“What?”

“Had you two not taken a break…” His words trail off, and he swallows hard. “Let’s just say I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

The gravity of what he said has my stomach churning. Had I not had my little meltdown that required Canyon to pull me aside, we could have been smashed a lot worse than Coach. Bile rises up my throat, but I quickly swallow it down.

After the EMTs arrive, I step aside to let them do their job. By this point, police have shown up, and it was determined the driver died on impact. Everyone stayed late to answer questions, but I’m one of the last to get to leave, aside from Gage and Canyon, who are still talking to an officer. I’m numb by the time I make it to the showers, sick at the turn of the day’s events. I quickly shower off and wrap a towel around my waist. Silence greets me in the locker room now that everyone has left. I’ve just opened my locker to change when I see my phone light up on top of my clothes. It’s a text from a new number I don’t recognize.

Ice floods through my veins, chasing away any lingering heat from my shower.

Unknown Number: Watch your back. Nowhere to hide.

My fingers fly over the keypad as I hurry to reply.

Me: Leave me the fuck alone, asshole.

The response is immediate.

Unknown Number: You and your daddy would like that.

Dread poisons my every thought, and I gasp for air. This isn’t a random wrong number. I can feel it with every fiber of my being. This is something else, and it’s personal.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

I freeze at the sound, terror immobilizing me. I’m right back in my bed as a child, trying to hide from the mice that are everywhere. Crawling, crawling, crawling. A whimper claws at my throat as tears burn in my eyes. My skin prickles and buzzes as though the very thought of the mice has my flesh coming alive. I’m a trembling mess when the squeaking nears. A shriek of horror bursts out of me when something touches my arm.

“Hey,” the soothing voice croons. “It’s me.”

The shuddering stops as I take in Canyon’s gaze on me, concern etched in his features. He reaches up and strokes his thumb along my cheek. My eyes flutter closed. I lean into his tender touch, needing his comfort more than air right now. His hand slides to my nape, and he presses his forehead to mine, gently rubbing his fingers through my hair.

“You’re okay. Just a panic attack,” he murmurs, words like whispers along my skin. “Coach will be fine, I promise.”

Squeak.

My eyes fly open, and my spine turns to rigid steel. The air in my lungs is sucked out in an instant, leaving me gasping for air. Canyon yanks me to him, hugging me tightly.

“Wonderland, hey, it’s okay. Breathe. Breathe for me. That’s it.” He kisses my neck. “I’m here. Chill out.”

He’s sweaty but still smells delicious. I anchor myself to his scent, trying my damnedest to block out my fears.

“It’s…It’s not Coach,” I croak out when I finally find my voice. “It’s…”

I pull back and hand him my phone. His face transforms from worried to pissed in the blink of an eye.

“Who the fuck sent you this?” he demands, fury radiating from him like heat from the sun.

“I don’t know. I think the wrong number wasn’t wrong after all.”

He fiddles with the phone, blocking the number. “These texts make it seem like…” His words die off, and his jaw clenches. “So help me, if I find out someone did this shit on purpose.”

“It could be a coincidence,” I choke out, though I don’t believe it.

“Come on. We’re going home.”

“Are you going to shower?” Confusion trickles through me, tugging my brows together and making me frown.

“I’m not leaving you alone.” He stands up, his tennis shoes making those squeaking sounds as he walks over to his locker. “Get dressed. We’re going to tell our dads about this.”

I want to argue with him because involving our dads seems like a terrible idea, but I’m also scared shitless. With Canyon and our dads at our side, I feel like I could handle anything.

“Your birthday is ruined.”

He yanks his bag out of the locker, shooting me a soft smile. “You didn’t get hit by that car. I don’t give a fuck about my birthday as long as you’re okay.”

Being with Canyon may be my worst idea to date, but right now, it feels like the best one.

It doesn’t feel wrong or twisted or sick.

It feels reckless…but right.