Page 45 of Notorious Man on Campus

Splashing cold water on my face, I leave the stubble in place. My eye is still black but who gives a shit. Hopefully coach doesn’t ask questions. Fuck. I take a deep breath in spite of the tightness in my chest. Cupid still has a mean grip in revenge.

I’ll do what I always do, what I should have done all along and fuck Majik’s assignment that I watch out for Nyla. She didn’t know what she was asking. I need to avoid Nyla. Going down the front stairs, I enter the dining room from the living room end. Dylan smirks, knowing why I’m avoiding the kitchen and I resist flipping him the finger. Roman and Trey look up at me, surprised to see me—or anyone—entering the dining room that way for breakfast.

Wisely, they don’t comment on my entrance or my black eye and I take a seat, late enough so the food is already on the table. I’m hoping Nyla will cooperate with the plan I suggested in my note to put the night we spent together behind us, relegate it to the stack of other things we shouldn’t have done.

I feel like a fucking ass for betraying my brother and a fucking bastard for leading Nyla on, for fueling her foolish notions that we have something between us, that there’s any hope at all. Because there’s not. Only pain. Romeo and Juliet had it right. Love is tragic.

Not that this is about love. Not even close. It’s about a crush and pure carnal lust and maybe a dash of loneliness. That’s all I’ll admit to. All I can afford to admit as I stare at my eggs and bacon without taking a bite.

“Something wrong with the food?”

I look up to see her, not believing she has the nerve to talk to me, to sound so fucking normal. I meet her blinding soul-searing sunshine smile and my gut clenches.

“I have brownies I know you’ll like,” she says, kindness oozing from her, making me want to retch. Please don’t do this, don’t torture my soul, don’t taunt me with what I can’t have, with your mirage of happiness. All eyes are on me and I force myself to not make this any weirder than it is. I take a brownie from the plate she holds in front of me. Then she passes it around, laughing at the grasping hands emptying the plate before it’s half way around the table.

The minute I bite into the brownie, the taste slams me back in time and I know these are my mom’s brownies.

She kept the recipe I gave her four years ago when I told her about mom’s death, about the brownies. Shock has me speechless and barely able to swallow now.

She stands at the other end of the table, watching me, still smiling until I finally swallow and put the half-eaten brownie on my plate with a shaky hand. I curl my fingers into a fist and try to gain control, to make my voice even when I speak.

“Is this the recipe? You’re baking my mom’s brownies … for everyone?” Her face falls, the sunny smile collapsing. This should bring me relief, but it doesn’t.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“That’s unlike you, Nyla. To be so cruel.” I tighten my muscles in an attempt to steel myself as I taste bile rise and my stomach revolts. “Do whatever you need to do. I don’t care.”

I get up from the table. Dylan rises too, alarm etched on his face. I put a hand on his shoulder and nudge him back down then head for the kitchen stairs. I need to get out of here. It’s the only clear thing in my head. The rest is a confusing jumble of shit. Nyla starts to follow.

“Brick—”

“Leave me be.” I can’t believe how much hurt comes through in my strangled words, how little is left of my defenses, of my armor and how easy it is for her to strip me down and draw blood. In a controlled pace, as I try and get my shit together, I climb the stairs. Fuck the brownies.

Fuck Nyla. I don’t need her. I don’t want her.

Isn’t that what I’ve been telling myself for four years? And how did that work out for me?

* * *

After practice Dylan sits down next to me in the locker room. I look up, still in my practice gear, holding my helmet in my hand, in no rush to change and get home, back to BMOC House. To face Nyla again.

“Maybe you have a good idea there, just leave the stinking pads on because it seems like all we do is eat, sleep and shit football sometimes.” Dylan smiles and nudges my knee with his.

“Fuck you.” There’s no heat in my words. I start undressing.

“I’ll wait for you. No problem,” he says. I give him my middle finger as I head for the showers with my towel. He laughs.

Practice sucked because I missed more passes than I made and coach threatened to start Dylan. Nothing against Dylan, but that’s the last thing I need my senior year when I need to make a stand-out impression on NFL scouts for the draft. It’s what I’ve been working for ever since I watched Jimmy play and decided I wanted to follow in his footsteps.

It was the only thing our whole family rallied around. Football and making it to the pros. When Jimmy quit before his senior season was finished, all eyes turned to me and I stepped up.

That’s where I am now. This is no time to collapse. Not over the same girl the same way Jimmy did four years ago.

Fuck no, I’m not going to let that happen.

* * *

Roman’s long gone, so is everyone else except Dylan when I’m fully dressed and ready to leave. As soon as we get in his Jeep and I close my door, he turns to me.