Page 23 of Kiss to Shatter


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“Fine.” I take a long sip of the whiskey, letting it burn its way down my throat. “I’m back on the field, working on getting back those muscles.”

“And by that, he means killing himself working out to the point he’ll get injured again if he doesn’t slow down.”

I glare at my roommate. “Are you turning into Cole? Because seriously, I don’t need that shit in my life.”

“I’m just saying it as I see it. I saw you flinch when you were getting off the leg press machine.” He raises his brows, challenging me to contradict him.

I shift my weight, feeling the muscle in my jaw tick. “I’m fine.”

I’m not even lying much. The meds started to kick in, and the pain dulled into an ache. It was still there—it’s always there—that distant throb in the middle of my knee, like a needle poking in my flesh every time I move.

“What you are is full of shit.”

I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off when obnoxiously loud laughter comes from the living room. We all turn toward a group of baseball players sitting on the couches.

“Well, at least you’re working hard to get back in shape,” Xander mutters.

I turn toward him, not sure where he’s going with this. “Why?”

He looks around, making sure that nobody’s listening, before leaning closer. “That guy,” he tilts his chin almost imperceptibly in the direction of the baseball team and, more importantly, their pitcher. “Heard he had some issues with his shoulder last season.”

My heart slows, and I lean closer, trying to hear him better. He can’t mean what I think he…

“You don’t think he…” Spencer asks, his eyes wide.

“Used some extra juice to help him get out on the diamond?” Xander shrugs. “It’s just a rumor.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, remembering the bitter taste of the pills on my tongue as the guilt slams into me.

It’s not the same.I try to reason with myself.

Using supplements and steroids for college athletes, hell, even high school athletes at this point, isn’t unheard of. Some people have a lot riding on their ability to play. Scholarships, going pro, and making a better life for themselves, but damn, the risks…

If you were caught, you were done.

There is no going back from something like that. And even if a team does pick you up, nobody will ever look at you the same way.

My gaze darts to the pitcher. He tilts his head back and laughs like he doesn’t have a care in the world, his arms shifting around the girl sitting on his lap. My stomach twists as I watch him, mulling over what I just found out. That damn throb is still persistent in my knee, reminding me of what I did, reminding me of my new normal.

How long will I be able to play without pain meds to help me manage the worst of the pain?

“Whatever, it’s his funeral.” Spencer downs his drink and pours us each a new round just as a group of giggling girls enters the kitchen. A brunette looks up, her eyes meeting mine before they shift to the bottle in Spencer’s hand, and a smile curls her red lips.

“Have some of that whiskey to share, boys?” she asks in that sultry voice girls love to use, her gaze straying back to mine.

From the corner of my eye, I see Spencer turn toward them, taking the group in. “I don’t see any boys here, love. But if you wanna hang with real men, we can figure something out.”

“Oh, really?” I watch as her tongue sweeps out, sliding over her plump bottom lip. Bringing the cup to my mouth, I down the contents in one go. “And what do real men do?”

Spencer smirks, “Drink whiskey after a hard day of practice.”

I grab the bottle out of his hand and pour myself another round, but before I can take a sip the brunette wraps her hand around mine and brings the cup to her lips. My eyes fall to her mouth as it wraps around the edge of the cup, and her throat bobs as she swallows.

“That was my drink,” I say dryly. Not just that, it was the only means of pain relief at the moment.

What are you going to do tomorrow? Or the day after?a little voice at the back of my head taunts me.Drown yourself in alcohol to dull the pain? Hard to play football when you can’t stand on your feet.

I shove it back, irritated with myself for letting it get to me.

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