'The Limit' - Chapter Twenty-Two

[unwindingdreams]

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“This is a big game tonight,” Tim comments to Nathan as he laces his shoes up before warm-ups for the game, “Even Whitey is acting nervous.”

“Whatever,” Nathan growls at Tim, his mood fouler than usual even, and Tim takes a wary step back, “Don’t you have anything better to do than harass me all the time?”

Tim shoots him a cool look. “Don’t you have anything better to do than be an asshole all the time?” he mutters under his breath, glaring at Nathan’s back, “Ass.”

Everyone else on the team gives Nathan a nice, wide berth, having already taken in and assessed his mood. No one wanted to mess with him, but they were all getting sick and tired of his constant assiness to the rest of them.

“You could stop acting like a jerk,” Tim suggests, as blunt as he’s ever been with Nathan before, “Everyone is getting sick of it, you know. The whole team is tired of you.”

“Who is everyone?” Nathan snips, “You and a bunch of other people that don’t matter? Jesus, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Tim shakes his head, “We’re on your team, Nate. Leaving you alone is unfortunately not an option on the court.”

But it was in other areas, and all of a sudden, Nathan was feeling the freeze. Most of the guys barely talked to him outside of practices now. Even though his throng of worshippers was still mostly intact, he was beginning to think that the guys mattered a little more to him than he’d previously been willing to recognize.

He knew that part of that had to do with the fact that, aside from him being frequently short-tempered at practice, sick of seeing Lucas there, but also because he was spending less and less time with them outside of school and basketball. Haley - he was becoming so wrapped up in her that whenever possible, he gave up everything else just to spend time with her, and that often meant bailing on the guys.

There was just no way to hold everything together. When he wasn’t with Haley, he was with his father, or Raoul, being punished for having a talent for basketball. He didn’t have time for anyone else, and frankly, he didn’t care all that much that he didn’t.

But it bugged now, to realize that he’s lost control, even of Tim. Aside from Tim, these guys haven’t been his friends in a long time, so he doesn’t feel the loss on a personal level. But Tim was his friend, and he knows that he is the one who messed things up, but Tim was the one who was supposed to put up with him. He’s the one that always had.

“Whatever,” Nathan mutters, focusing his attention on lacing his shoes, “Just go out there, and do us all a favor, and get me the ball.”

He can’t help but notice when the guys exchange looks, including Lucas and Jake. He wants to tell them all to piss off, to let him do what he always does, but he keeps his mouth shut for once. Before anyone can respond, Whitey comes pushing through the doors, glaring at all of them.

“Alright, boys, I’m not going to give you yet another pep talk that you don’t listen to or just plain ignore. So all that I’m going to say tonight is that you’re a good team, when you play like a team. When we get clicking, everything falls into place. So, let’s click tonight, boys,” he finishes, all the boys blinking in surprise in his wake when he turns and goes.

“Shortest speech ever,” Tim snickers to one of the guys next to him, “About unity? Please, like Old Whitey doesn’t know this is the most selfish team ever.”

Nathan knows the dig was directed at him, and judging by the wary looks on the rest of the teams’ faces, they know it, too, and are anticipating his negative reaction. He ignores it, not letting them get to him. After the game, he and Haley have made plans to hang out, and if he just focuses on that, then this kind of shit doesn’t matter. Because that’s what he needs, not this. He just doesn’t need this at all.

“Well, maybe one of us will get to take a shot or two,” one of the other guys snarks, “I mean, maybe the Great Scott will share tonight.”

He ignores the barbs directed his way, partially because he knows they aren’t true. The last few weeks, he’s become a far less selfish player, passing not only to Lucas, but to several other guys on the team. Obviously this is not going to be his night, and he’s not going to push them back right now. So he just tunes them out, focusing on getting into his zone for the game tonight.

There is too much riding on this for Nathan tonight. If they win big, and he has a great game, then Dan will climb off his back a tiny bit. But if they lose, Dan has already promised double the training sessions with him and Raoul, something that scares the hell out of him. He knows Dan is serious, and that he wouldn’t have a way out this time. Then he’d be virtually cut off from Haley, and he knew he couldn’t handle that right now.

Some days, he was sure that she was the only reason he got up in the morning. This growing dependence on her scared the hell out of him. She was nearly always what he was thinking of, and the one saving grace in that is that he could tell himself it was just sexual infatuation and lust. Once they slept together, it would be different. He’d be able to get his mind off of her, and things would be different.

But he kept putting it off. He knew, on several occasions, that she would’ve been more than willing to go all the way, so the question was, why did he keep putting it off? If she was ready, and he had been ready since he realized she had perfect curves under the poncho, what the hell was he waiting for?

He was getting attached to her, and he knew it. The sooner he slept with her, the closer he’d be to getting what he needed to ruin Lucas, and subsequently, the sooner he’d lose her, and something in him couldn’t handle that. He didn’t know what he’d do without her, and that scared the hell out of him.

“Nathan! Are you sleepin’?” Whitey barks, pulling him from his thoughts, “Git your ass out there, boy! You won’t win any games taking a little nap, now will you?”

“I guess not,” Nathan agrees, shooting him a quick smile, which takes Whitey off-guard, “Sorry about that, just thinking.”

”About how you’re going to school those hicks from Pinkerington tonight, I hope,” Whitey nods, not quite sure what else to say, “Go ahead, get out there.”

Nathan goes, warming up with the rest of the team, even though the majority of them are strangely silent and unaffected. They’re all sharp, but there is none of the usual jawing that takes place before games, usually, which has Whitey watching all of them like hawks. These boys are acting strange, he does not like it one bit.

To his surprise - and relief - the first half of the game goes great. They have an easy lead, and the starters play like a well-oiled machine. Halftime is another silent affair, and Whitey can’t help himself any longer - he asks about it.

“What in the name of all that is good is goin’ on with you boys?” he demands, glaring at them, “What is going on out there?”

“We’re winning, Coach,” Lucas chimes in when no one else says anything, “What more could you ask for?”

“We’ve won plenty, Scott comma Lucas, and that’s neither here nor there to me right now. Why’re you all actin’ like there’s been a death in the family?” He glares at them when no one answers, most avoiding eye contact.

Rolling his eyes, Nathan stands up. “They’ve decided tonight is the night they want to start hating me,” he announces, “Apparently they’re still big enough to know who wins the games around here.”

Several of his teammates, including Tim, jump up, yelling back at him. Whitey groans, cursing himself for even bothering to ask, thereby upsetting the tentative balance. “Will you all settle down?” he yells, drowned out by the fracas. “I’m too old for this,” he mutters to himself as he climbs up on the bench, blinking in surprise when Lucas moves to help him, making him think of Keith. “All of you, shut the hell up and sit your dumb butts down!”

That gets their attention, and the boys reluctantly begin settling down slightly, despite fierce glaring being traded back and forth across the room.

“All of you, sit down,” he orders again, to the few stragglers, “Now listen here. This is a basketball team, and a basketball game. This isn’t ultimate fight match or death fight or whatever it is that you kids like to watch these days. There will be no fighting on this team, and anyone who does, will be punished with suspension from the team.” A few groan. “This isn’t a joke, boys, and it isn’t an idle threat. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you kids, but this isn’t going to turn into a circus on my watch, you got that?”

They all nod, no one even looking up to make eye contact with him. He snorts, shaking his head, as he motions for them all to file back out onto the court. When Nathan tries to move by, he stops him, holding his arm out and motioning him back down to the bench. The boy is obviously put out, but he just sits with a roll of the eyes.

“What are you up to, Nathan?” Whitey asks warily, knowing that this one was more than likely to be at the center of whatever shitstorm this was.

“Me?” Nathan exclaims in exasperation, “I’m not up to anything! I come in here today, and everyone, including Tim, was giving me the cold shoulder. I didn’t do anything, Coach!”

Whitey just raises his eyebrows, sighing. “Maybe it’s those past deeds that have caught up with ya,” he suggests blithely, even though he knows the boy won’t want to hear it, “Have you thought about treating people a mite bit better? Then things like this just don’t happen quite as often, and when they do, you have a leg to stand on when you argue with them.”

“How come everything is my fault?” Nathan asks crossly, glaring at his coach, “I don’t even know where Tim gets off. He’s never like this.”

“I never said it was your fault, I just said this might’ve been something you should’ve expected, Nathan. No one likes to be treated the way you treat Tim,” Whitey shoots back, “And maybe he let you for a real long time, but I guess he’s done. Maybe now you’ll have to be a friend to him, too, for a change.” He gives him a hard, assessing look, then sighs. “Get out there with your team, son. Try not to make things worse.”

Nathan opens his mouth to say something, but wisely closes it again. There was nobody there tonight that mattered who would fall for his charm tonight, that was becoming clear. Well, except for maybe Haley, but with the way the night was going, he wasn’t even sure if she’d want him around today.

Giving in, he heads back out on the court only to get hit from behind by a ball, on the middle of the back. He whips around, looking for the thrower. It was Tim, and without hesitating, without thinking about it, Nathan charges, fists flying. Before he even takes a breath, they’re on the ground, fists flying, cursing, and a lot of incoherent accusations being thrown.

Someone pulls Nathan back, and one of the assistant coaches has Tim wrapped in a bear hug, trying to calm him down, too. “It’s not worth it,” the person holding Nathan says, and he tenses when he realizes that it is Lucas, “Don’t even bother.”

Nathan wrenches out of his grasp, turning around and clipping him on the chin with a hard right hook. “Get up!” he yells at him, “Get up, you bastard!”

Lucas doesn’t get up, though; he just holds his hand to his chin, giving Nathan a pitying look. The gym has gone completely silent, and Nathan backs up, looking around wildly at everyone. He cringes when he sees Haley there, her eyes wide with disbelief. Turning, he flees from the gym, unwilling to stand there with everyone staring at him any longer.

He gets to the door, stopping short when he sees an extremely angry Whitey standing there. “Coach, I - I can explain.”

“No, you can’t,” Whitey says forcefully, “Git on into my office, and you stay there while I make sure you didn’t put any of my players in the hospital, Scott.”

Nathan has never seen Whitey that angry. Maybe he’s never seen anyone that angry, including Dan. It instantly cools him down, like ice water poured down his back. Even if he hadn’t seen the look on his face, he’d know that he was in deep, deep shit.

He waits in the office by himself, nervously pacing around and picking up and setting down Whitey’s various awards and papers and things. He can’t force himself to sit down, but he knows if he wants a shot, he has to stay there, and wait. Wait for his punishment, to find out his fate. Not even fifteen minutes ago, Whitey dropped the S-word. Suspension. If he was suspended from the team, he was screwed.

Whitey makes him sweat it out while he coaches the second half of the game. He’s so pissed at the boy that he doesn’t trust himself with him now, anyway. So much potential, such great ability to waste it, and for what? For nothing, as far as Whitey can see.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Whitey asks from the doorway, unsurprised to find the boy slumped over in the chair in front of his desk, looking for all the world like a dejected puppy, “Last I checked, most people aren’t getting into fist fights with their so-called friends during basketball games, but I guess I might just be a little old school.”

“He threw the ball at me,” Nathan recites dully, his worry replaced by a dull numbness that makes his body feel as if it is filled with lead, “And I - I snapped.”

“You sure did,” Whitey agrees, heaving out a great sigh, “You know that I have to suspend you, Nathan. Two games.”

Nathan nods dully, the knot that has formed in the pit of his stomach seeming to grow and expand painfully. “Two games. Dad’ll like that, I bet.”

“I’m sorry if your daddy won’t approve,” Whitey sighs, shaking his head, “But you know better, Nathan! For all that you let people think, you aren’t stupid! Why do you insist on doing stupid things like this?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Nathan mutters, his gaze firmly affixed on the front of Whitey’s desk, “I just…wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Whitey mutters, “Sorry that you’re such a dumbass. And what’d ya have to go and hit Lucas for? I might’ve been able to let you off with one game, but that - that was - “

Nathan glares at the floor, shaking his head angrily. “He had no right to touch me!”

“And you had no right to attack Tim! I don’t care how many balls hit you! So don’t you start telling me who has what rights, because you will not like my response, Nathan!” Whitey paces back and forth behind his desk. “You’re a dumbass, boy. You have all this talent, this incredible talent, and you’d rather waste it fighting or being petty or trying to drive other kids off the team.” Nathan blinks at him in surprise. “You think I didn’t notice that?” Whitey smirks, “I ain’t blind. I see what’s going on here. And I’ll tell you what. These two games? They’re your warning. When you come back, none of that bullshit is going to be tolerated, you hear?”

Wearily, Nathan nods. He doesn’t get it, and he knows it can’t stop, but he nods. What else could he do? Argue and get kicked off now, rather than later? It probably didn’t matter much, but if he was going down, he’d at least take Lucas with him.

“You can’t do this, Nathan,” Whitey sighs tiredly, rubbing at his eyes, “Like I said, you have the talent, but stuff like this comes out, and schools, they won’t want you. They don’t need the hotheads, the kids who get into fights or steal busses or alienate their teammates. They can pick and choose, and you keep this shit up, you won’t be picked or chosen. That’s not me trying to threaten you, or even scare you. But I think you need to know it. Think about it some.”

“While I’m on my suspension?” Nathan bites out snarkily, “Sure thing, sir!”

Whitey just rolls his eyes, tired of Nathan’s attitude. “You can go ahead and go then, if you have nothing productive to offer up here,” the old man sighs, feeling every one of his years. He should’ve known it would be Danny Scott’s offspring that would wear him down like this. That was probably the only reason he reproduced, anyway. “You think about things, Nathan. My team isn’t going to be like this, not anymore. I have to go tell your teammates what is going on. Maybe you should come, apologize. Or at least be there. After that, don’t you step foot in my gym until a week from today.”

Nathan stands up, nodding stiffly. He gloomily follows Whitey down the hall, his face mutinous and implacable against what he knows will be nasty looks and remarks from the rest of the team. He’s not disappointed in the reaction, either. About the only person not glaring hardcore at him is Lucas, and he just watches him warily, like he’s trying to figure out his next move.

“Well, boys, Nathan here is going to be suspended two games,” Whitey announces without preamble, “And he won’t be at practice for the duration, either.”

Tim pushes to his feet, clapping. Several other guys join in, clapping along. A few even let out small cheers. Nathan’s hands clench into tight fists at his sides, the skin going completely white for the effort.

“And you,” Whitey barks out, “Smith, sit your ass down. You’ll be missing one game, for provoking a fight and fighting back. All of you - this is it. We don’t fight on this team, and if we did, we’d be normal and fight other teams. What is wrong with you all, really?”

No one offers up any explanation, but most do have the grace to look shamefaced. A few even drop their gazes to the floor, unable to meet his eye.

Shaking his head, Whitey waves his hand at them in dismissal. “No practice tomorrow, for anyone. Take a day and cool off.”

Nathan turns and leaves, suspecting there was no one in there that wanted anything to do with him then. He grabs his bag on the way, and doesn’t stop until he gets outside. He went out the back way, and he’s relieved that it paid off, and no one is out there.

“Nathan!” Lucas calls from behind him.

He tenses up, turning slowly to glare at his half-brother. “What do you want? Come to rub it in?”

Lucas approaches him slowly, stopping a ways back. “You don’t get to be the aggressor and the martyr,” he tells him softly, “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh, do give me a lecture on how things work,” Nathan growls, rolling his eyes, “Because I’m so dying for your opinion on everything.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Lucas sighs, “I just wanted - I don’t know what I wanted. I guess to tell you that I’m not quitting the team. There’s nothing you can do to get me off the team, and I know you’re planning something. Give it up, it’s stupid of to pursue something that will end up getting you kicked off.”

“Huh, I guess the tutoring sessions haven’t paid off yet,” Nathan leers in response, relishing the way Lucas tenses up at the insinuation, even though he didn’t really have to say anything, “And why would you care if I quit, anyway?”

“Because I know you make the team better,” Lucas shrugs unapologetically, “I can admit that. I don’t like you, and I know you hate me, but you’re a good ball player.”

“Well, yay for me,” Nathan glowers, pissed that Lucas just brushed the suggestion off, like it was so unfathomable. And he knows Lucas interpreted the suggestion right, his posture change spoke volumes of that. But that he can just ignore, that doesn’t sit well with Nathan at all.

Lucas nods, taking a step back. “You know what? Forget it. Obviously, I shouldn’t even bother.”

“Bother with what?” Nathan snaps, “You didn’t do or say anything interesting, so what exactly are you bothering with?”

“I was going to offer a truce, at least with basketball, but it’s not worth it, is it?”

He said the one thing that has the power to surprise Nathan, and he doesn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe it shouldn’t, and he definitely doesn’t want it to or think it should, but it makes him feel guilty. Lucas walks away, and Nathan turns back, walking across the parking lot. He doesn’t want to be at the school anymore, or anywhere around these people. Getting home is his only priority right now, and he does it as quickly as possible.

~*~

The bed shifting beneath him is what wakes him up. There’s a split second of panic where he doesn’t breathe, but then he relaxes when he realizes that is just Haley. No, not just. Haley. It’s Haley.

She stretches out beside him, and he waits for her to say something. There’s no question that she’s pissed at him for fighting, but maybe….maybe she isn’t too mad this time. Maybe he hasn’t lost her yet.

“You’re awake,” she says quietly, but matter-of-factly, “You want to talk about it?”

“About what?” he mumbles, turning his head to breathe in the scent of her, to breathe all of her into him.

He feels her shrug, and he shifts his arm so she is using it as a pillow while he clutches her to him. “Take your pick, Nathan. The fight, the ‘thing’ with Luke after the game, maybe the trophies in the garbage. Just talk to me, please?”

Taking a deep breath, he turns on his side, his legs entwining with hers. “I messed up,” he admits, “I’ve been messing up.”

She nods, one hand rising to lie against his cheek. “So tell me about it,” she suggests softly, “What happened tonight, at halftime, start there.”

“They hate me,” he sighs, “All of them. I used to be their hero, their God, almost.” She snorts softly, and he tickles her, his mood improving vastly just by her proximity. “Well, I was really popular with them,” he continues, “But they hate me now.”

“You’ve given them reason,” she tells him quietly, not wanting to hurt him, but not letting him off the hook, either, “I thought you were trying, at least with Tim.”

His eyes drift closed as a pained expression crosses his face. “I messed that up most of all. I - he does not think of me as a friend anymore, at all.”

She nods, unable to argue that. “Maybe it can be fixed, Nathan,” she suggests quietly, “Tim seems like a pretty patient guy. Maybe an apology and a little effort would go a long way.”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, “It doesn’t seem like it, you know? This time was different. He wanted me to fight him, that’s why he threw the ball at me. When Whitey announced my suspension, he - he cheered, Hay.”

“I know,” she says quietly, moving closer to him, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you here?” he asks, even as his hands seek out the soft curves of her body, slipping under her shirt.

“I thought you might need me,” she says plainly, arching into his touch, “And I wanted to see you, make sure you were okay. I kind of thought you’d come over to my house. I waited up for you.”

He nods. “I thought about it,” he admits, “I, uh, kind of figured you wouldn’t want to see me, though.”

Her eyes open to look at him. “I am mad at you, Nathan. Not just for hitting Lucas, either. For being so stupid and jeopardizing all these things that you have. But even though I’m mad, it’s still you, and this is still us, and I was worried.”

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, dropping his head to bury against her chest. “Some days, you are the only thing keeping me sane,” he whispers so low she has to strain to hear it. His arms tighten around her, and she almost gasps aloud when she feels his tears on her skin.

“It’s okay,” she coos, “It’ll be okay.”

It’s an empty promise, and they both know that, but she feels better saying it and he actually lets himself believe it a little upon hearing it from her. He hates this weakness that he’s showing in front of her, but mostly, he’s just grateful that he has her here with him now.

“What can I do?” she asks quietly, her hands sliding over his bare back in comfort, “What do you need from me?”

He takes a deep breath before lifting his head. “You’re doing it, Hay. Just being here with me, not hating me, you’re doing it.”

She leans forward, her lips kissing away the tears on his cheek. “I could never hate you,” she says so surely that he cringes a little, “Sometimes you make me crazy, but I couldn’t hate you, Nathan.”

“You aren’t mad at me?” he asks, unable to leave well enough alone, “I hit your little buddy, Hay. I figured you wouldn’t want to see me any time soon.”

“Life isn’t always black and white,” she reasons, “And I don’t know. I am mad at you for being a dumbass and for hitting Luke. And for hitting, Tim, too, even though he kind of deserved it, throwing that ball at you. Mostly I’m just mad that you’re jeopardizing your basketball thing.”

“Whitey said the same thing,” he notes, his head again dropping to rest against her. He just needs the contact with her, as close as possible. “Told me I was risking the opportunity to play in college.”

“And he’s right, isn’t he?”

He laughs, his lips opening to wetly cover the skin over her collarbone. “You’re going to shame me over this forever, right?”

“Not forever,” she giggles, holding him a little tighter, “Just until you get it through your thick skull that you’re so much better than that. You’re better than fighting with your friends over stupid games. You’re funny and cute and charming and smart, and you should have ten thousand friends, not just people who hang onto you because they know you’re going somewhere. You deserve more, Nathan.”

“Do I?” he asks rhetorically, “Maybe you think so, but I don’t know anymore.”

She rolls her eyes, sitting up. “Okay, this is so stupid. I didn’t come here for a pity party, Nathan, and frankly, I’m a little disappointed in you for turning this into one.”

He blinks at the change in mood, sitting up, too. “What? It’s not - not a pity party, not really,” he tries to defend, feeling pathetic, “I just know that I’m not worth much. Hey, Dan’s been telling me that for years, right? Bout time it sunk in.”

“That is not funny,” she snits, glaring at him, “You know, I don’t get you, Nathan. You’re - you’re gorgeous, okay? You’re quite possibly the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen, in person or in picture. And you’re so charming and funny, and you’re depressingly smart for someone who doesn’t work at it, and you have the kind of talent that people would kill for. Yet you still play the martyr, nobody likes me guess I’ll go eat worms card.”

“Worms?” he repeats, laughing as he pulls her back to him, “And I swear, you see someone else entirely.”

“Okay, hi, we all feel like that at some points,” she tells him, tipping her head up to trail kisses down his throat, “But Nathan, you’re amazing.”

”If anyone was to think that, I’m glad it’s you,” he grins, moaning when she moves onto his lap, “Damn, Hay.”

She lifts her head, looking up at him. “You know I want you,” she says, more serious than the moment really warrants, “And it isn’t just because you’re beautiful and you look like that without your shirt.”

He leans into her, his hand sliding up her stomach to cup her breast. “You’re beautiful,” he tells her sincerely, her eyes glazing over a little as he rolls his fingers over the nipple, “You feel beautiful, you smell beautiful, you taste beautiful, you are beautiful.”

She breathes his name out on a sigh, moving to straddle his legs. “Are you okay?” she asks quietly, leaning against his chest, “I want you to be okay, Nathan, and I just worry that you aren’t. If you aren’t, tell me. I’ll help, however I can.”

“This isn’t very good pillow talk,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat for both of them. He knows that she gets what is worrying him, the thought of what happens when his father comes home. She knows that is breaking something inside of him, something they both desperately hope she can fix. For him, for her. For both of them.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she assures him, “And - and maybe I can make you feel better.”

He sets her off of him a tiny bit, shaking his head. “I told you perfect. Not until it’s perfect, and me freaking out about what my dad is going to do when he gets back? Definitely not perfect, Hay. You deserve so much more than that.”

She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It doesn’t have to be it,” she reasons, “There are other ways, other things, that I could do to make you feel better.”

He shakes his head, unwilling to take what she is offering now. It’s just not…right. And everything else with her is, and he doesn’t want to taint that, doesn’t want to do anything that takes away from it. So he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, his hand sliding down her ribcage to rest on her jean-covered hip. “I can’t right now, Hay.”

She watches, concerned, as he slams his head back into the headboard. “Nathan,” she cries softly, pulling him forward gently so she can trace her fingers over where his head hit, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he sighs, laughing bitterly, “God, I’ve done it this time. He’s going to flip on me, you know? This is the one thing - this is why he’ll hate me, because I messed up basketball. I messed it up, and he’s going to hate me.”

“Why do you care?” she asks after a brief pause, “He’s so awful to you, Nathan. And he’s so awful to your mother and Luke and Karen, too, and Keith even. He doesn’t deserve your efforts.”

“I don’t really know,” he admits, “Other than he’s my father. I don’t want him to hate me, I guess. At the end of the day, that’s what it is. I’m so afraid he’ll hate me, or that I’ll mess up and turn into him. And he’ll still hate me.”

She brushes her fingers across his cheek. “You don’t know that,” she sighs, trying to offer him whatever nugget of hope she can, “Maybe this will be a wakeup call or something.” He gives her a dubious look. “Well, maybe not,” she admits, “But maybe it won’t be as bad as you think it will, either.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “It could definitely be worse than my assumptions.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” she admonishes him lightly, nuzzling against him when he shifts, moving them back down on the bed, “Just hold on for a little hope, okay?”

He drops a kiss on her forehead. “You are my hope,” he says quietly, his arms tightening around her. The sick part is, that’s the truth. She is his hope, in more ways that one. She’s what will get Lucas off his team, and out of his life, but she’s also become the only reason he smiles, the only thing he has to look forward to.

How did he do this to himself?