Feuds and Reckless Fury by K. Webster

 

Canyon

The surprise written on Alis’s face was worth all the effort to get my schedule changed to match his. Even though I’m on the outs with my dad, it doesn’t stop me from using his connections to get what I want. The school counselor, Mrs. Rawlins, is married to one of Dad’s colleagues. All it took was some name-dropping and a little begging over the phone this morning before I left to pick up Naomi and Paige to get what I wanted.

It’s not that I can’t handle all the AP classes. Normally, my schedule is overloaded by football, and Coach has hinted that we should take the easiest load possible. Go Blood Gators. All brawn and no brains if Coach has his way. If we aren’t killing ourselves with homework, it leaves more time to practice.

This summer, everything changed.

Football is no longer something I live and breathe for. When Dad and I were close, it was our thing. Now that he betrayed our family, I loathe the sport. Getting revenge through whatever means necessary is my new sport.

Seeing the shocked expression on Alis’s face in first hour was enough to make it all worth it. The surprise then transformed into irritation and finally anger once he realized we share five classes and lunch together. The only escape he got from me was orchestra since I can’t play an instrument to save my life, and the last hour of the day, which is reserved for sports.

I text my sister on the way to the locker room to change out for football practice.

Me: Was Sommers pissed?

Carrie: Enough to give up first chair violin? No.

I smirk at the thought of Carrie pouting. She’s really good at the violin, but of course, she’s nowhere near Alister’s senior-level, given that she’s only a sophomore. It gives me satisfaction, though, that he’ll have to stay on his toes to be the best because she practices endlessly and aspires to crush him when it comes to that dumb instrument.

Me: Give me a week. He’ll be so distracted, he’ll fuck up. First chair will be yours.

Carrie: You’re evil. He’s going to be our brother soon. Probably not smart to terrorize the poor guy.

I roll my eyes as I set my bag down.

Me: He’ll never be our brother. He’s just the kid of the guy Dad’s been dicking down for fuck knows how long.

She sends me a bunch of vomit emojis. I toss my phone into my bag and then proceed to change into my gear.

For the next hour, Coach runs our asses ragged on the field. I go through the motions, no longer burning with the desire to be the best in this sport. When I fumble on one of Damon’s passes, I get reamed by Coach and half the team.

They’re all glowering at me, throwing barbs my way, when I feel someone else’s stare on me. As though I have a talent for finding Alis, my eyes lock on his dark brown ones. He’s standing on the track, stretching, as his teammates sprint.

Coach bellows at me to sit my ass down on the bench. Ignoring his rage, I stalk over to the bench and stand beside it, my stare never leaving my enemy as I guzzle down some water. Alis scratches his middle finger into his bleached hair, a provoking smirk on his face. Then, his coach points for him to get into position.

The coach blows the whistle, and five guys take off in a sprint. Alis easily outruns them all as though they’re no competition for his conceited ass. Something about his arrogance pisses me off. I toss my red helmet into the grass and strut over to the track. The track coach, Coach Davies, frowns at me.

“Need something, Voss?”

“One hundred meters?” I ask, nodding in the direction the sprinters just ran.

“Yep.”

“What’s the best time?”

“Twelve seconds.”

“Time me.” I crack my neck and grin at him. “I want to see if I can beat it.”

He glances past me in confusion, where Damon is hollering at me to get back on the field. “Your team is looking for you, son.”

“They can wait.”

“Are you going to take off your gear?”

I laugh, earning a few confused stares. “Nope.”

Coach Davies rolls his eyes but motions for me to step into place. “Get in position.”

Mimicking the way the runners started out before, I ready myself.

“Those cleats are going to slow you down,” Davies warns.

“Just blow the whistle, man.”

He sighs, and the sharp, piercing sound signifies my start. Just like in football, I race as hard as I can, as though I’m going to catch the ball and carry it into the end zone. Instead of a ball, though, I lock my eyes on Alis’s stunned face. I whiz past where he’s standing and slow once I’ve crossed the finish line.

Davis trots up to me a moment later, his eyes wide with awe. “Well, I’ll be damned, Voss. Eleven point six seconds. In full gear, no less.”

Alis’s glare could melt glaciers. He’s pissed, and it has me feeling as though I’ve rankled him like I set out to do. I know he’s used to being number one in everything he does, but that was before I decided I wanted that number. I’ll enjoy tearing away every proverbial trophy from his grip and making them my own.

“I beat Sommers?” I ask, panting as a grin spreads across my face. “Is that good?”

“Hell yeah,” Davies crows, playfully shaking Alis by the shoulders. “This guy could run for the Olympics one day, and you just blew his time out of the water.”

“No shit?”

“Language,” Davies chides, but he’s still smiling like an idiot. “You thinking of quitting that useless game over there?”

I know he’s joking, but it stirs something in my gut. Beating Alister in his sport was the highlight of my day. Football sure as fuck wasn’t.

“Actually,” I say with a shrug. “I was thinking about it. I bet I could shave some time off without my cleats on.”

“Go to hell, Voss,” Alis snaps, his body thrumming with rage.

Already there, asshole.

Our dads sent me there that night on the boat.

“Be a good sport,” Davies chastises, misunderstanding Alis’s anger. “He’d be a good addition this year for our team. Sommers, wait—”

Alis storms off, ignoring his coach. I shrug as though I don’t understand his fury.

“He’ll come around,” Davies assures me with a sigh. “He’s not used to having to try too hard. This’ll give him the incentive he needs.” He gestures to the football field. “Need me to talk to your coach?”

“Nah, I’ll tell him myself.” I lift my chin at Davies and then saunter back over to where my team is staring at me. I walk right up to Coach Healy and lean in to whisper words that feel really fucking good to say. “I quit.”

His string of curses echoes behind me all the way to the locker room.

I can’t wait for Dad to find out.

After a quick shower to avoid my pissed-off teammates, I grab my black and red Blood Gators bag and exit the locker room. Naomi and our sisters are waiting for me. Ignoring the younger two, I pull Naomi to me and plant a kiss on her lips.

“Missed you,” I murmur against her lips.

“You can go a few hours without seeing me.”

“Says who?”

She rolls her eyes and pushes me away from her. “Let’s go. I have to get to work.”

I thread my fingers through hers and guide us down the hall toward the exit, our sisters trailing behind us. As soon as we walk outside and get assaulted by the muggy Florida August afternoon, my hackles rise. Sitting on the hood of my car is a familiar bleach-blond asshole.

Nae squeezes my hand. “Canyon, don’t.”

“Get in the car, babe,” I grind out. “I need a word with this prick.”

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” she warns, pinning me with a firm stare. “I’m serious.”

“Never,” I say with a crooked, forced grin before pecking her lips. “It’ll just be a second.”

I hand Nae the keys so she can start up the AC. The girls pile in, and Alis hops off the hood before she starts the engine.

“Stalking me, Wonderland?” I cross my arms over my chest and peer down at him.

Fearless as fuck, he steps closer, a sneer twisting his features. “Stay out of my lane, bro.”

“Call me bro again.” I flash him a vicious grin that promises a fist through his irritating face. “Do it. I fucking dare you.”

“Your bully tactics won’t work with me,” Alis scoffs, his dark, empty eyes sharpening. “You’re pissed at your dad, so you’re trying to get to me. It’s a wasted effort. You’ll never be anything but second best. Just ask your dad. He has a new favorite son.”

I grind my teeth together, trying desperately to keep my promise to Nae not to hurt him. To keep my fists from swinging, I crack my neck and suck in a deep breath.

“You’re not his son,” I manage in an even tone.

“By Christmas, I’ll be calling him Daddy too—”

His words are cut off when I shove him. He’s ready for my retaliation because he swings his violin case at me, nailing me in the ribs. It’s not hard enough to break anything, but I’ll be sporting a bruise, that’s for damn sure. Rather than continue our fight, he turns and hightails it away from me.

“That’s right, bro, run the fuck away!”

His middle finger waves at me in return before he climbs into his shiny white Range Rover. Spoiled little shit. I huff and fling open the door to my Challenger. The air has yet to cool, but Naomi’s icy glare has me feeling like shit.

“That was entertaining,” Paige sasses from the back seat. “I laughed my ass off when he hit you with his violin.” She cackles again as though just thinking about it brings her great joy.

“He started it,” I grumble, ignoring Nae’s glare.

I reach over to take her hand, but she swats it away, choosing to cross her arms over her chest and look out the window.

“Oooh, trouble with the lovebirds,” Paige hisses. “Is this because you quit the football team?”

“You can take the bus tomorrow,” I snap over my shoulder.

“Wait,” Nae croaks out. “You quit the football team? When were you going to tell me?”

“Oh boy,” Carrie mumbles under her breath.

I back out of the parking spot and peel out, ignoring everyone in the car. I’m quickly losing my shit, and I don’t want Nae even more pissed at me if I take it out on her bratty sister. With a mash of the button, I blare some G-Eazy even though Nae hates his music. The bass thumps through the vehicle, calming my nerves.

When I pull into Nae and Paige’s driveway, Paige climbs out, but Nae turns the music off before leveling me with a penetrating stare.

“What?” I grit out.

“You know what.”

“It’s just football. I only did it for him. You know that.” Him being Dad.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” she throws back. “Because ever since you went on strike against your dad, you haven’t been yourself.”

Carrie remains silent in the back seat, clearly not wanting to get caught in the middle of our argument, even though it sort of pertains to her too.

“Maybe I don’t like who I used to be.” I narrow my eyes, giving Nae the asshole smile I know she hates. “Maybe I like this guy better.”

Her brows furl, and she studies me for a long beat. I fidget under her intense gaze, darting my eyes to the clock on the dash.

“Thought you had work?” I mumble. “You’ll be late.”

“Right,” she huffs. “Call me later when you’re not being a prick.”

As soon as she climbs out, Carrie hops into the front. She wisely keeps her mouth shut. We ride in silence until we pull into our driveway. Even though we’ve lived in this house since we were babies, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I blame Dad for that. He left us here all alone to go play house with Quinn and Alister.

Carrie pretends all is okay for my sake, but I don’t miss the dark circles under her eyes. It’s not me she’s worried about. It’s Mom. Yes, Mom has a job decorating cakes, and it’s something she probably enjoys, but that doesn’t mean she’s not miserable the rest of the time. It had to be crushing to find out your husband had been cheating on you and wanted to flush an eighteen-year marriage down the toilet. And to add insult to injury, discover you’d been cheated on with another man—a man you’d safely assumed was your husband’s friend and nothing more.

No one knew Dad was bisexual.

The whole thing is so fucked up.

Carrie bails the moment I turn off the car, disappearing into our massive home. I slowly walk inside, my nerves alive and wired as I wonder what sort of mood Mom will be in. The house is darkened aside from the entryway light where she left her purse. Never a good sign. I sniff the air to see if she has dinner going. Nothing. Fuck.

I drop my bag off by the stairs and walk back to my parents’ bedroom that now only belongs to Mom. She’s curled up in bed, asleep. The television is on mute, and the remote is in her hand. Gently, I pull it out of her grip and set it on the end table.

She’s so small.

At one time, she stood tall. Beautiful and vibrant. Now, she’s nothing more than a shell. She decorates cakes at a fucking grocery store and then comes home to sleep the rest of the evening away. This is her life now. All happiness has drained away.

My anger at my father is practically nuclear level as I drag the blanket over Mom’s sleeping form. I’m thrumming with the urge to wreck something when my stomach grumbles. I let out a sigh and head upstairs to see what Carrie wants to eat.

I hear her making plans with someone—probably Paige—to meet up at the pizza place Nae works at, so I bypass her room to go to mine. I’m not in the right frame of mind to see Nae again so soon after our argument, so I certainly don’t invite myself to go with them. Instead, I survey my messy-ass room, smirking just knowing Dad would gripe about it if he saw the state it was in.

He always rode my ass about my mess despite being just like me. His office was always a nightmare, and Mom closed the door whenever company would come over. Dad was such a fucking hypocrite.

Since he left, I’ve met no resistance with Mom about it. In a way, I sort of miss the way Dad’s face would screw up at the sight of my unsightly room.

It’s then I have an idea.

With an evil grin on my face, I text my father for the first time since the fallout.

Me: Can I come over for dinner tonight? I have something to tell you.

He’ll hate that I’ve quit football, and I’ll take great pride at seeing the disappointment on his face.

Dad: You’re always welcome, Son. Dinner will be ready in an hour. Carrie coming too?

Me: It’ll just be me. She has a thing with Paige.

Dad: See you soon. Love you, bud.

I have the urge to send him the middle finger emoji but refrain. Barely. I send him a stupid smiley emoji instead, even though it’s the opposite of what I’m feeling. Maybe I’ll catch him off guard, kind of like he did me when he got on one knee and gave a man a ring before the ink was even dry on his divorce decree.

Yeah, I’m really, really going to enjoy this.