Dylan(54)

Not that my scowl would deter her. She’s been after me for weeks now. She’s obviously immune.

She bats her lashes, which are long and black and weird-looking. Dyed with something, too. “Come on, Dylan, please…”

Jesus. I can’t swear at her, as she’s a customer at the gym. How fucked up is that? “I said I can’t.”

She pouts, and my fists itch to do damage, so I grab my stuff and turn to go. Two more girls are now trailing after me, and I glare at them, hopefully looking forbidding enough for them to stay where they are and not attempt to engage me into any sort of conversation.

I never minded the flirting so much before. As I settle the straps of my backpack more securely over my shoulders and set out toward the campus and the sports department, I wonder about that.

Then again, before I wasn’t seeing Tessa’s face on every girl, didn’t hear her voice in their chatter. I also didn’t have this headache from hell pounding at the back of my eyes, like Thor’s hammer. It’s a miracle my eyeballs haven’t popped out of my head yet.

Normally I’d jog to the sports center. I’m a trained athlete. Up until a couple of months ago, I’d wake up early and go running, then train a couple more hours on campus. Now the only exercise I do is some machines at the gym when it’s quiet and running like crazy when my brothers are sick or in trouble.

Trained athlete or not, by the time I reach the sports center I have black spots swimming in my vision, and I’m panting like a dog. Sweat is trickling down my back and into my eyes despite the cold, and I wipe a hand over my wet face as I enter.

“Dylan.” Coach West looks up from a folder he’s been studying, and he frowns. “Is it raining outside? You’re soaking wet.”

“Nope. Not—” I crash into a chair, fighting to catch my breath. “Not raining.”

Dammit.

Coach West’s eyes narrow, their pale gray echoing the overcast sky outside. “You okay, kid? You don’t look too hot.”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sick? Maybe the—”

“I’m not sick.” Impatiently, I glance at my watch. Miles has to be home by now. “You said you had some forms for me to fill out?”

“Yeah.” He swivels in his chair and digs through the folders stacked on a shelf under the window. “How’s your little brother?”

“He’s better.”

“And the other one? Mike, is it?”

“Miles. He’s okay.”

“So now you have more time for your studies. For yourself.”

“Not really.” I fight the urge to drum my fingers. “Look, Coach, I have to go. I’m late.”

He swivels back around, a bunch of papers in his hand. “Do you want to have another scholarship, Dylan? Do you want to continue your studies, or are you here because I asked you to? Let me know, so I don’t waste your time or mine. Getting you back into the program isn’t simple. I had to call in favors.”

I hunch forward and close my eyes, the pain behind my eyes spiking. “Sorry, Coach.” I press the heels of my hands into my forehead. “You know I used to live for this. For football, for the team. For a chance to make this my career.”

“I know,” he says quietly.

I fix my gaze on the far wall. “I do want this. I’ll…” I’ll what? Ditch my brothers and win the lottery? Make a wish on a falling star? “I’ll fill these out.”

“You do that, Dylan.” He taps the papers on the desk. “Your team is asking about you. What should I tell them? Are you coming back?”

I reach for the forms, and he passes them on to me. I stare at them, my mind blank. Don’t know what to reply. I really miss the team, their lame-ass jokes and ribbing. Miss playing football. Fucking miss looking forward to my future.

But ever since the moment Dad left home a year ago, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up. I lasted a few months, running between classes, training, work and home, until the school called to inform me they wouldn’t accept anymore the state my brothers were in—their clothes wrinkled, their homework not done.

And when one day Teo fell very sick with a fever, I cancelled everything to stay home with him, and that was the beginning of the end of it all. I dropped out of training, out of the classes. I managed to keep my job by the skin of my teeth and with a great deal of help from my neighbors.

What makes you think you can get back in the saddle now? Nothing has changed.

“We can make it work, together,” Coach West says. He rests his fist on the table, knuckles down. “I still believe in you. Just give me something to work with, some evidence of your dedication and desire to succeed. Convince me you care.”