CHAPTERTEN
Sebastian
Islump down in my chair as our teacher prattles on about something I’m not listening to. Just like every moment since Stella decided to give me the slip and leave the fucking country, my mind is firmly on her.
It’s been almost two weeks since my lying cunt of a so-called brother tried to pull a fast one on me and convince me that he was as shocked as I was at her sudden disappearance.
I haven’t spoken to her. I haven’t tried to reach out, despite the fact that her phone number is currently sitting in my phone, courtesy of Nico, who swiped it from Calli last week.
I told myself I wouldn’t call, that I’d give her the time she quite obviously wanted, but my patience is running thinner and thinner with every day. So is my temper.
“Are you going to be able to hold it together for tonight’s game?” Theo asks, clearly paying minimal attention to what’s going on as well.
I glance over at him, my face blank.
“I’m just saying, if you’re gonna cause us shit then maybe don’t bother.”
“Wow, your faith in my ability to focus astounds me.”
“We’re playing Westminster. You know they’ll sniff out any weakness before we even get on the pitch.”
“I’ve got this, and we’re gonna fucking win. Okay?”
He’s pissed. I get it. We lost our last two games, and he’s put that down to my absence. I mean, I’m good, but I’m not that fucking good. The rest of the team still needs to be on form, and it seems that everything that went down with Stella didn’t just affect me, because they were walked all over for both the ninety minutes.
I refuse to feel guilty. I refuse to take responsibility, no matter how badly Theo seems to want to land it on me.
“Okay, fine,” he snaps. But it’s completely insincere.
He wants a trophy this year. Hell, so do I. But possibly not as much as he does. Not now, anyway. Finding Stella in that graveyard might have put a few things into perspective for me.
None of us are going to be hitting the Premier League anytime soon, so whether we win or lose, it doesn’t matter all that much in the grand scheme of things.
* * *
“Are you doing this or not?” Theo barks a few hours later, his anxiety over the outcome of this game even higher than it was earlier.
There’s bad blood between our two schools. Not to mention that they’ve beat us for five years in a row. Theo wants to prove himself.
Closing down the webpage I was looking at, I shove my phone into my bag and push to stand.
“I’m good. I’ve got this.” Theo’s brows lift. Glancing behind him, I find Alex and Nico looking at me with matching concerned expressions on their faces.
Blowing past all of them, I make my way to where Coach is ready to give us his speech before we attempt to hand these motherfuckers their arses.
“Letting you play today, huh?” the Westminster player standing behind me mutters as we wait for the whistle.
Sucking in a deep breath, I fight to keep my cool and not react to him.
All eyes turned on me the second we walked out. They know something is up. They know there’s a very good reason I missed the last couple of games, and I already know they’ve come up with more than a few dirty tactics to make it work to their advantage.
“What’s wrong, number four? Cat got your tongue?”
My fists curl in my need to ignore him. Theo would never forgive me if I swing a punch before the whistle has even blown.
The guy, their number nine, has clearly been set a task, because at every opportunity he makes a dig at me.
I’ve got a rep at being more than a little hot-headed. Last year, I had more than my fair share of red cards waved in my face, something I told myself would change this season. But if the first half of this game is anything to go by, I might not be able to make it happen.