XANDER

"I still don't understand why you don't like the idea," Cassie says when I reach the table with our coffees in one hand and the disgustingly sweet muffin she chose for herself in the other.

I sigh, tired of going over the same conversation over and over again.

We met during my first week on campus, and somehow we instantly clicked, which is ridiculous, considering that she couldn't possibly be more different from me with her bubbly personality, talkativeness, and glass-half-full attitude. But maybe that's why I like her.

"I told you, like...six times already. One more, and I'll start to think you're either deaf or have anterograde amnesia."

"Wow, big boy using big words," she says, her tone playful as per usual. She's the sweetest person on Earth, but a cocky bastard at the same time, and she'll give you a hard time just to watch fuck with you, but she'd never turn a blind eye to your struggles. "Yeah, you told me, but none of it made sense. He wants to make peace and be friends with you, so forgive me for not comprehending how it is a bad thing."

"Not a bad thing, just an inconvenience."

That's a lie, obviously, but I'm not keen on telling her why the thought of spending two hours in a room not much bigger than a broom closet with Everly makes me want to puke. Not out of disgust but out of nerves. And fear.

There's no point in denying that I'm fucking terrified of what this thing between us might turn into. The two extremities are equally daunting, only with one small difference—one will destroy me beyond repair.

I can't afford to let myself get attached to someone who's the spitting image of the guy who made my life a literal hell. Not his appearance, no, apart from being ripped to a similar degree, they look nothing alike. I mean personality-wise. Because this whole golden retriever energy Everly's got going on—always cheery, always in a playful mood, always going with the flow, and only letting his true colors show when you rub him the wrong way, which seems to be my special skill—he got that too. Hell, it was the very reason why I idolized him so much, acting like an attention-starved dog whenever he was around, silently begging Notice me, see me, feel the same way I do.

He noticed, and that was the moment I signed my own death warrant. I got all the wrong attention from him and watched my dignity go down the drain along with the water from the shower, our sweat, and a few drops of my blood. I'm still wondering where those came from.

"Xander?" she all but yells, pulling my head from under the metaphorical water.

"What?" I have no idea how much time I just spent in my high school locker room, but judging by the look on Cassie's face, a little too long to brush it off as getting lost in thought.

"I asked you a question. Four times, in fact. But your mind is clearly somewhere else."

"Sorry," I say, lowering my gaze to the crumbs on her side of the table.

But I still feel those big green eyes on me, starting straight into my soul.

I feel like an asshole for asking her to hang out and then ignoring her. Not on purpose, but details don't really matter here.

"You're easier to talk to after a beer, you know?" The lack of animosity in her tone is a good sign. Almost good enough to take some of the guilt off my shoulders. "At least then you were actually talking to me. Hey, maybe that's what you need to, you know, loosen up a little. Otherwise, I'm afraid the staff will have to call 9-1-1 on you two."

She takes a sip of her coffee and then another one, waiting for my not-so-clever answer.

"It was two beers." Perhaps even three, which didn't even make me tipsy, let alone drunk. My alcohol tolerance is unbelievably high for reasons I'm not proud of. "And trust me, it will only make things worse. I'm not easy to be around when the booze kicks in."

I'm not safe to be around, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Oh, well." She bites her bottom lip, slightly frustrated. "Then you're on your own, boy."

"Helpful." But I never asked for her advice. I just wanted to talk to her and remind myself I'm not completely alone.

Well, that's depressing.

"I know, right?" She gives me a gentle smile. "Listen, nobody said you need to be his friend or even like him, but he has a point about learning how to get along. The whole team will suffer the blowout if you don't sort your shit out."

"He's a goalkeeper, so it's not like he's on the field with me. Not in the way that matters, anyway." We may be playing at the same time, but we never play together like defenders or attackers do. They need to be in constant sync, almost to the point of telepathy. Everly and I? We don't need that. We need to be in sync with other players, but not necessarily with each other. "I doubt being on the outs with one guy while the other twenty love him will do any damage."

No lie there. The team loves him, which is hardly a surprise. If certain things from my past were erased, allowing me to see him in a different light, I wouldn't want to leave his side. I've seen the guys with him. I see every day how easily he makes everyone laugh, and how eagerly they all listen to whatever he's saying.

Okay, well, not everyone. One person always looks grave, no matter what the topic is, and that person is Darren. But I have no doubt he is the one closest to Everly, judging by how protective he is. After all, people call him a guard dog for a reason, and this reason involves all those uncalled-for body checks whenever someone hurts Everly during games. Or at least that's the impression I got from rewatching those moments an unhealthy number of times.

"Have you ever considered that maybe he's not doing it because he has to, but because he wants to?"

The smile on Cassie's face is wicked, and I do not like where this is going.

"Bullshit. The fucker's just too scared to stand up to Coach."

"Then why don't you go and tell him off yourself?" Her eyebrow pops up, and when she doesn't get an answer from me, she continues, "Looks like you're just as much of a chicken."

That's insulting, but unfortunately, pretty accurate.

"Nuh-uh, I just don't want to risk getting on Coach's bad side and give him a reason to get rid of me for causing trouble. I can't play the 'you have to keep me because I'm too good on the field' card like I did in high school—his words, not mine—so I have to dance to his tune. Everly, on the other hand, is clearly his favorite, which means he can get away with things that would get me kicked out of the team immediately. He's our way out, but he won't do anything 'cause he's a fucking coward."

Cass gives me the "no bullshit look" I've grown to hate.

"Didn't you say he was going to talk to Davis? After you annoyed him into doing it?"

"First of all, fuck you. Second, yeah, but he changed his mind and came up to me with this stupid escape room idea."

I don't mention the details about him comparing us to horses and making suggestions that he most certainly didn't think through, realizing what he said a little too late. I already know what her reaction would be, and I'm in no mood to have this conversation again. Besides, there's no point since everything he said was just nervous rambling and couldn't be further from what was actually on his mind.

"Why stupid? It might be fun."

Oh, Cass, ever the optimist...

"Real fun," I say dryly. "For a masochist, maybe."

"My God, you're stubborn."

Old news.

"Wait, no, I take that back. This—" she points her finger at me "—is just you being petty."

I scoff.

"I'm not petty."

"Oh, you so are. Tell me: why don't you like him?" Her gaze is weirdly intimidating. "The truth, though. Not some pathetic excuse that you'll hide behind because you're too scared to face your real feelings."

The last sentence makes me pause. Then realization hits me like a freight train.

"Oh fuck," I mutter under my breath, and these are the only words I'm able to say aloud.

The look on Cassie's face tells me she knew the answer long before I did.

Right up until this moment, I thought I hated Everly for obvious reasons like constantly pushing my boundaries or this positive attitude that couldn't possibly be more fake, but now I see how wrong I was. Don't get me wrong, all of this is beyond annoying, but I don't hate him for it.

I hate him because I'm jealous. Jealous of how easily he stepped out of his comfort zone and how little effort it took him to accept the new situation and adjust.

I've been envious from the start because I couldn't do the same, not while my pat held me back. He looks at me and sees a teammate. I look at him and see a threat. Logically, deep down, I know the possibility of coming full circle in this particular context is low, but the rational part of my brain is outshouted by the one that remembers the pain and humiliation.

"I just don't want to get hurt." I can't tell if my voice carries any sound.

It probably does, because Cassie's warm hand lands on mine and squeezes hard enough to stop the blood flow for a moment.

She doesn't know the whole story—and she most likely never will since I promised to take this to the grave—only enough to understand I'm not the way I am by choice.

But she also knows better than to ask any questions.

"I'm being cautious, nothing bad about it."

If you don't get attached, people can't betray you, right?

"And I respect that, but perhaps you're being too cautious?" There's a pause—a long one. "Whatever happened, don't let it take every good thing away from you."

The problem is it already did. Lacrosse is all I have left, and right now, all signs from the universe tell me I should say my goodbyes.

There's no winning in my situation because refusing to cooperate will piss off Davis, and from there, it takes one mistake to have your name removed from the roster. Although this option still sounds less painful than the alternative, which is, ironically, the one where I play nice and make the effort to be his friend.

Objectively, it's impossible not to like Everly. I have several bones to pick with him, but those stem from my personal issues, except for the one that led to me calling him fake, and him throwing a tantrum. I still claim he's to blame.

But all this aside, he's actually pretty great; even made me smile a few times, which is exactly why I should stay as far away as possible. Because the last time I became friends with a guy like that, my pride was shattered into pieces along with my heart in a locker room shower stall.

All that pain could have been avoided if I had learned earlier what horrible things people are capable of when they're scared.

I'm not saying Everly would do the same thing he did, but I'm not taking any chances.

"When do you need to be there?" she asks, meaning the time Everly booked us at.

"Six." I groan loudly, realizing I barely have any time left.

"Then get your ass up and go." Cass kicks my shin under the table, or at least she attempts to, because I've known her for long enough to be able to predict her sudden but fortunately rare acts of violence.

"I really don't want to."

This time she manages to kick me, and fuck, the sugar and caffeine must've given her super strength.

"Are you trying to bench the best lax player in this school?" I ask, a hint of playfulness in my tone to lighten up the mood. My mood.

"Excuse me, I haven't done anything to Hilton. Nothing that would hurt him anyway." The wink she gives me is shameless.

Ugh. I didn't need the mental image of our captain fucking my best—and, well, only—friend.

"Xander." She quickly sobers up. "Go. Have fun. It won't kill you."

Maybe it won't, but it sure as hell feels like a suicide.