The Game You Play (Rixon Raiders 2)

I needed to leave. To put as much distance as possible between me and the brooding angry guy in the car. But there was something about his anger, the way he’d held back throughout the entire game. I’d watched him, even when I’d tried not to. Twenty-three had been all over him. But Jason hadn’t taken the bait. Even when they were both up in each other’s faces, he had maintained control. But something had changed when Cameron tried to intervene. And the only thing that tied Jason and Cameron together, except football, was Hailee.

The window rolled down, startling me. “Last time, Giles,” his voice hit me straight in the stomach, “Get in the goddamn car.”

Jason didn’t take me home. He didn’t even take me to his house, not that I’d expected him to ever do that. I didn’t. But I also didn’t expect him to take the road out of town and pull over by the lake. The sandy lot was quiet, nothing but the gentle rustle of leaves and my heart beating violently in my chest.

“So...” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Nice view.” Risking a peek over at Jason, I was surprised to see the corner of his mouth lift.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No, I really don’t.”

“What did twenty-three say to Cameron?”

“You noticed that, huh?”

“I…” My lips pressed together, not wanting to admit I’d noticed everything.

Brushing over my slip, he added, “You don’t want to know.”

“Try me.”

Twisting his body slightly, Jason pinned me to his leather seat with those dark intense eyes of his. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” His voice was cold. “She wasn’t supposed to—”

“You think this is Hailee’s fault?” Incredulity filled my voice. “You spent the last six years treating her—”

“I know.” Jason’s fingers jammed in his hair, tugging in frustration. “You think I don’t know that? Hailee was nothing to me, nothing, and now… now she’s in the middle of this thing with Thatcher and I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how to...” He stopped himself, pain glittering in his eyes.

“Care?” I whispered. “You don’t know how to care?”

“I’m not the good guy here, Felicity. I want to win State, graduate high school, and get the fuck out of this town and go to college. That’s it. That’s my lot. And Thatcher is fucking everything up.” The sound of his fist colliding with the steering wheel reverberated through the car. There was barely any air before but now I could hardly breathe; Jason’s anger tangible.

“I just need for it to stop. Just stop for a fucking second.” Head tipped back, he screwed his eyes shut, sucking in ragged breath after ragged breath.

“I’m here, if you want to talk.” The words shattered the silence.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Because I’m not popular? Because I don’t know what it’s like to be put on a pedestal by the entire town? You’re right,” I gave a little sigh, “I don’t know what it’s like. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand what pressure feels like.”

Jason’s eyes slid to mine, filled with a rare glimmer of vulnerability I knew not many people, if any, got to see. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe without the whole town watching.” Surprise flashed across his face, as if he couldn’t believe he’d said the words.

I waited, hoping he’d give me more. Hoping he’d let me in. But his stone mask was already back in place.

Jason was tortured. Over Hailee. Over his dad and her mom having an affair. His mom leaving. Carrying the weight of the team. The rivalry with Rixon East. It all sat squarely on his shoulders. And although I didn’t want to understand him, to try to figure out what went on inside of the head of Rixon’s prodigal son of football, part of me got it. Because although it wasn’t the same, although I didn’t have the pressure of an entire town rooting for me and my future; I had my parents’ pressure. And sometimes that alone was almost too much to bear.

“Sometimes, when it all gets too much, I make a list.” The words were out before I could stop them.

“A list?” Jason snorted.

“

Yeah, it helps me process things.”

“And these lists,” his voice was drenched in sarcasm, “What do you put on them?”

“Anything really. Sometimes I use them to help me organize my life: to do lists, grocery store lists, homework lists—”

“You have a list for homework.” His brow went up and then he smirked. “Of course you do. What else?”