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The water is falling in waves against my body as I close my eyes and point my head up towards the shower head.
Everybody was mostly silent as the game ended. One of the worse losses in New York Nailers history.
I know I just came to this team this season, but I’ve grown to think of these men as my brothers. As this team as my fucking family.
And I feel like I’ve let the team down today.
Not even Coach Karl has anything to say to us. Maybe that’s the worst feeling of all. That even the coach doesn't want to fucking talk to you because he’s disgusted.
The shower is definitely cooling me off - calming me down and making me feel a bit more normal. Fuck.
21 to 7.
I decide to stay under the water until I feel calmer. Until my brain is focused again. I can’t keep on being distracted by thoughts of Julianna. Thoughts of Ethan.
The locker room is pretty deserted by the time I get out of the shower. That’s fine with me. Just the way I fucking want it.
I walk past rows of deserted lockers heading towards mine. Towels, jock straps, socks, helmets, all line the floor. All waiting for the maintenance folks the team hires to come clean up.
I don’t know why, but I make a turn to go the longer way, seeing if anyone is around.
And that’s where I run into him.
Ethan fucking Blake.
I have my towel on but he’s still naked, putting on deodorant.
Fuck. The fucking sight of his naked fucking back - muscled and chiseled - makes my cock twitch. What the fuck! I know I’m not gay, but what the fuck is it about this motherfucker that’s getting me fucking hard.
Hearing movement, Ethan turns towards me.
Our eyes lock. I stop walking past him and turn towards him.
“Ethan…” I manage to croak.
Don’t you fucking get caught up at laughing at me, bro. You know I fucking hate that motherfucker.
You cannot fucking forget that. I want you to burn that into your brain.
But the normal Colt Stackford is gone. Instead, my heart is fucking beating a mile a minute.
Ethan brings his eyes down, not meeting my gaze, “Sorry about the game tonight, Colt…” he begins.
“It’s okay, man,” I say, not knowing where all this is fucking coming from. I should be skewering his fucking ass right now.
But I don’t.
“No,” Ethan says with a deep sigh. “No, it’s not alright.”
I’m silent as a troubled look goes through his face. “It was my fault. I saw you play and I saw how exhausted you got by the end of the game,” Ethan say. “I couldn’t hold them back. I couldn’t shut them down.”
Ethan’s shoulders slump.
My nemesis since I’ve been six years old is defeated. The one kid who was able to always stand up to me when we played peewee football in our small Texas town is broken. The one kid who didn’t care that his father worked for mine on the ranch is now giving me a vacant fucking stare. The one guy in high school who I had to share the MVP award with on our football team. The only other person in the history of our high school who had their jersey retired. The one guy who was good enough for Delta Sigma Rho - the most prestigious secret society at Ole Miss to offer two spots and not one to someone from the football team. The one guy who was drafted with me. Who has played across from me. Who was used with me in tandem by the Dallas Devils to take us to victory time after time after time.
He’s standing before me now.
Defeated.
