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No matter who was staring at me, I didn’t stop until I shoved open the doors of the locker room. My heart rammed against my ribs at the sight of the nearly empty space. A few of the guys were lounging on the benches near their lockers, and they glanced up when I strode over to Chris’s locker.
I set my hands on my hips and stared at the contents.
Rashad and Micah walked over, concern heavy in the air.
“You okay, Davies?” Rashad asked.
My jaw clenched before I answered. “No. I want this shit gone. We’ve been staring at it for too long.”
They traded a look, though neither of them dared push me.
My voice was raw as I spoke again. “I need a fucking box.”
But neither of them moved. Rashad simply settled his massive hand on my shoulder. “I know, man. We got you.”
Something rattled deep in my chest, and I fought a snarl at the moment of kindness he was showing me. It wasn’t just kindness, though.
Thegraceof his reaction.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t want any of this.
A box appeared next to me, and it was attached to Coach Freedman’s hand.
Looking him in the eye felt like a herculean task, something I wasn’t nearly strong enough to do. But I took the box with a slow nod and set it on the bench.
I tossed Chris’s bag in there without a single glance at what was inside.
Then I picked up the box and swept in all the loose shit from the top shelf. Deodorant and mouth guards. Eye black and a spare shirt with the sleeves ripped off. A few receipts and some ChapStick.
“Messy fucker,” I muttered.
Rashad exhaled a laugh. “Yeah, he was. Amie’s the only reason that house was clean. He was always leaving his shit around, wasn’t he?”
It should’ve taken longer to clean all his things out. An amount of time that represented exactly how important he was. To me and to everyone else.
But less than two minutes later, everything was gone.
Everything except the picture taped to the back.
My throat burned. My eyes filled with sand that I couldn’t blink back. And like a coward, I refused to look at their faces while I carefully pulled up the edges.
Once the photo was tucked inside the safe confines of the box, I let out a slow breath and closed the top, folding the edges so that it wouldn’t open up. “It’s done,” I managed.
Coach clapped a hand on my back. “We’ll leave it empty for now, okay?”
It was tempting to let my teammates offer comfort. To allow our shared grief to lessen the ache gnawing at my insides.
But I didn’t. Because I wasn’t entirely sure I deserved their support right now.
“Do whatever you want with it,” I told him.
I gave the locker one last long look, then picked up the box and left.
Chapter Six
ZOE
