All Broke Down (Rusk University #2) (30 page)

“I bet that’s stressful.”

Dallas throws up a hand. “Thank you! At least someone has a little empathy.”

Stella throws her bag down in the chair by Dallas and says, “You say empathy, and all I hear is empty. As in . . . empty stomach, which I’m about to fix with a big, greasy slice of pizza smothered in as much ranch as I can convince the stingy checkout lady to give me. Wait.” She pauses. “Make that two slices. First day back and all.”

As Stella heads off to find her pizza, I opt for a chicken sandwich from one of the other food court stalls. The pizza place has a longer line, so I make it back to the table first, and Dallas asks, “So did you two run into each other outside or something?”

“No, we actually just had a class together.” I hesitate before taking a seat. “I hope it’s okay she brought me.”

“Of course, it is,” Dallas says. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

I put my tray down and loop my bag over the back of my seat. I shrug and sit down across from Stella’s open seat. “I don’t know. We just don’t know each other that well.”

“Sorry about that. I’m just not the biggest football fan, so I tend to keep to myself when Carson and I go to stuff with the team.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Why? Did Silas say something?”

She crinkles her nose in a way that might be distaste.

“So do you hate Silas, too?” I ask. “Or just football?”

Stella takes a seat at that moment and cuts in, “Oh, she definitely hates Silas.”

Dallas points her fork threateningly at her friend and says, “Hush, you. I don’t
hate
him.”

Stella takes a sip of her soda as she scoots in her chair and adds, “Fine. She strongly dislikes him.”

“Why?”

I don’t know why I’m torturing myself, but I have to know. Dallas hesitates, and I have zero desire to pick up my chicken sandwich.

“It’s nothing. It’s old news, and I’m over it.”

Stella turns a loud laugh into a fake, hacking cough. “Right. Totally over it.”

“Did you . . .” I take a breath and push the question out. “Did you two date or something?”

Stella doesn’t even bother hiding her laugh behind a cough this time.

“No,” Dallas answers. “Nothing like that.”

“Oh, just tell her,” Stella says. “She should at least know what kind of stuff her boyfriend has gotten up to in the past. Give the girl some leverage, for God’s sake.”

“Oh, we’re not . . . he’s not my boyfriend.”

Stella stops with a slice of pizza halfway to her mouth, ranch dripping off the end onto the table.

“You’re joking, right? You guys are always together. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I don’t know what we were. It was this weird nonrelationship-relationship, but whatever it is . . . it ended. Last night.”

Both Stella and Dallas stop chewing.

It’s Stella who talks first. “That son of a bitch. I knew he was gonna screw this up.” She turns to Dallas. “You should definitely tell that story now! That way we can all hate on him together.”

“Actually . . . I think . . . I think it was mostly my fault.”

Shocked
doesn’t even begin to describe the way they look at me.

“Long story short . . . we ran into my parents, and I lied about how we knew each other rather than introduce him. I thought he would be relieved not to have to meet them, but instead he was hurt. And then some other stuff happened, and it all just kind of snowballed, and he says we’re too different. That we don’t fit in each other’s worlds.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Stella says.

“It’s not. I think . . . I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. I kept pretending like we were just messing around, but deep down I think maybe I knew he was serious. That he wanted it to be more.”

“Well crap,” Dallas says. “Totally didn’t see that one coming.”

I offer a sad smile. “Me either.” And then because I need a distraction, but also have this sick need to keep thinking about him, talking about him, I ask, “Will you tell me why you don’t like him? Is it bad?”

Dallas sighs. “There was just this stupid bet that my ex-boyfriend started that involved guys on the team trying to sleep with me. Silas and Levi, my ex, were friends, and Silas hit on me at a party in an attempt to win the bet.”

“But you guys didn’t . . .”

“God, no. I heard the two of them talking about sleeping with me, and I bolted as soon as I saw Silas with Levi. I didn’t need to know about the bet to know he was bad news.”

Dallas jerks and mumbles, “Ow,” and I think Stella kicked her under the table.

“What she means is . . . Levi was bad news. But Silas isn’t friends with him anymore.”

I’m not sure if she’s defending Silas to me because he’s her friend or because she doesn’t want me to think I made a stupid mistake.

I still haven’t touched my chicken sandwich, but I’m feeling the need to wrap up lunch early anyway. I’ve tortured myself enough for today.

I hadn’t let myself think about him actually getting serious about me. I’d just assumed it wouldn’t happen. Instead, I’d been focusing all my energy on making sure
I
didn’t get too serious. I’ve made myself write off each sweet, tender kiss, every time he called me baby, all the mornings he’s pulled me in close like he didn’t want to let me go.

Now it’s like someone has taken the lens cap off, and I’m seeing everything from a new perspective . . . but I’m too late. Way too late.

I make some excuses and get up to leave, but Stella grabs my arm.

“You should go to the game with us on Saturday.”

I shake my head. “I think that’s the last place I should be.”

“Oh come on. He won’t even be playing. Besides, Dallas and I could use some new girl friends. We’re kind of drowning in testosterone at the moment.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her.

I
DO END
up going to the game.

Because something I’m discovering about my new nonshell self . . . I’m a bit of a masochist.

Besides . . . I’ve never been to a college football game. I’ve never been to a football game period. I go with Stella, Dallas, and Matt to a pregame tailgate party, wherein I see a lot of very drunk guys with painted chests and faces acting like idiots. I find them obnoxious, but Stella assures me it’s a classic football tradition. I don’t ask whether she means the body paint, the drunkenness, or the acting-like-idiots part. I assume it’s all three.

When we finally make it into the stadium, the sun has set, but it’s still suffocatingly hot in the bleachers while we wait. Dallas brought blankets that I don’t understand until she lays them down on the hot metal seats so we can sit down without feeling like our butts are on a George Foreman grill.

And while we wait, the three of them teach me about football. And I try my best not to connect everything I hear back to Silas.

Dallas begins: “So each team has offensive players and defensive players. Obviously, the offense’s goal is to score, and the defense’s goal is to stop the other team from scoring.”

“I think you can skip past the commonsense stuff. I’m not completely hopeless. Just tell me how to know when things are going well and when they aren’t.”

“Okay. Well, on offense, the team has four chances, which are called downs, to either score or move ten yards from their starting point, which clears the slate and lets them start over again with four more downs. That’s called getting a first down. So, ideally, when we’re on offense, we’ll continue to move the ball enough to keep starting over until we’re within scoring range and can run or throw the ball in the end zone. Defensively, the goal is to stop the other team from getting first downs, and we want to do it as far away from their end zone as possible. Following me?”

“I think so. So, Carson is the quarterback, right? He kind of leads the offense?”

“You got it,” Dallas says.

Stella cuts in then: “Silas is a running back. He’s on offense, too.” I try not to wince at his name or look too eager. I think Stella is trying to get us back together because she keeps not-so-casually slipping his name into conversation.

Matt tags on: “If Coach Cole sticks to his game from last year, they’ll be in shotgun with Silas, or I guess Silas’s replacement, positioned by Carson ready to either take a handoff or block for him.”

I hold up my hands. “Whoa. Whoa.”

Stella rolls her eyes. “Shotgun? Really? You thought she’d follow that?”

“Fine. Silas or some running back will take the ball on occasion, and he either has to be fast enough to run through open holes in the defense before they catch him, or he has to be strong enough to run over the people in his way.”

“Okay. Fast. Strong. Gotcha. What about the other positions?”

I want to know about Silas. I do. But I can only handle it in small doses.

They keep going, explaining the different positions and their purposes, and Stella helps me connect the people I know to their spots on the team.

“Wide receivers are typically the flashy guys. They get the big, exciting plays and catch the ball for bigger advances than Silas or Carson can usually get running. That is, if they actually manage to catch the ball. One guess which show-off you know is a wide receiver.”

“Torres?”

“Ding ding! We have a winner, folks.”

Dallas cuts in: “He’s also one of the idiots who does his own little dance when he scores a touchdown.”

“Hey,” Matt says. “I like touchdown dances.”

I snort. “You would.”

He holds up his hands. “I will not feel guilty for enjoying the wonders of tight football pants. I also enjoy the way the cheerleaders jump up and down when we score. All in all, I’m a big fan of when we score.”

Stella stands and goes to sit on the other side of Matt. “I’m watching the game with this guy. He, at least, knows how to enjoy the sport.”

Dallas rolls her eyes.

“You don’t like the game, right? But you come for Carson? And your dad?”

She says, “I’m getting used to it again. I’ll like it more once fall rolls in and it’s not so freaking hot.”

I agree with her there. I keep looking at my watch, thinking about how long the game is going to be, and considering buying one of those nerdy handheld fans with a water spray that they were selling at the souvenir booths on our way in.

Time passes a little faster once the game starts. I follow the group’s lead and hold up my hand in a claw shape and scream as the other team runs and kicks the ball to us. Dallas keeps up a running commentary for me, pointing out Carson as one of the big guys on the line tosses the ball back to him. In the beginning, it goes well. Torres and Brookes both make a catch each for back-to-back first downs.

(I feel so accomplished when I say “first down” out loud and actually know what I’m talking about.)

Then Carson runs the ball instead of passing, and the student section around us goes crazy. I see a few of the half-naked, painted guys down on the front row, screaming at the top of their lungs.

They start chanting something about bleeding Rusk red (which ick), but for a little while, I manage not to think about Silas, and I just have fun with some new friends.

Then on the next play Carson hands off to a shorter black guy, and he gets laid out when he tries to run through a hole. People around me wince and groan and I ask, “What? Was that bad?”

Dallas explains. “You know at the start of the play how the guy tosses the ball back to Carson?”

“Yeah.”

“Because they’re tossing the ball backward, they’re losing yards, which usually isn’t that big a deal as long as they make it past the starting point during the play.”

“And we didn’t that time?”

“No, we didn’t. So we essentially just moved backward instead of forward, so now we have to get
more
than ten yards for a first down.”

Ah. Hence the groans.

Stella leans around Matt to say, “And the dude who just choked is Keyon Williams. He’s a freshman, and Silas’s replacement.”

For the first time, my eyes find Silas standing on the sidelines. He’s not dressed in his uniform like the rest of the players, so he’s not hidden behind pads and a helmet. And my gaze fixes on him, unable to look away, even when another play goes badly and Matt curses next to me.

A few minutes later, I pull my eyes away to watch the game, but they keep going back.

Silas’s replacement gets one decent run, but the four after that are just like his first. They stop giving him the ball. Carson either runs it himself or throws it. But the defense seems to be coming down harder on him now that it’s clear Keyon isn’t as much of a threat. It’s common sense, really. The defense focuses their effort on the players who are statistically the most likely to cause damage.

And as things get worse and worse, I watch Silas pace on the sidelines. He runs his hand through his hair again and again each time the offense fails.

With three minutes left in the game and Rusk behind by thirteen, people start streaming toward the exits. We stay, along with the painted guys and a few more pockets of people in the student section. Stella plops down on the bleacher with a groan. Dallas stays standing, biting one of her fingernails and flicking her gaze back and forth between Carson and her father.

Then time runs out. And we’ve lost.

Silas squats, resting his elbows on his knees and covering the back of his head with his hands. And he just looks so . . . small.

And I know he’s feeling that way, too, and I ache for him.

Boyfriend or not, he holds a bigger piece of me than any guy ever has, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get that back.

I’m not sure I
want
it back.

Chapter 27

Silas

I
‘m restless all night after the game.

I barely sleep. My thoughts bounce between the team and Dylan. Keyon and Dylan. My mom and Dylan. And I wonder how long this shit will last. How long will the memory of her stay under my skin, in my thoughts, in this bed?

After a few scant hours of rest, I do the only thing I know how to do to quiet my thoughts.

I pull on some clothes, do a few fast stretches, and then set off on a run. Levi and I picked this house because it’s on the side of campus where all the athletic stuff is located. We’re about a mile from the athletic complex, so that’s where I head. I figure I can squeeze in some weights, and then run home, try to focus on the things in life I
can
control.