The two sides glared at each other, drenched in the threat of violence swirling through the air.
Summer heat had given way to an early fall chill, but the alley reeked of rubbish all the same.
“What you did to my car.” I tightened my grip on Bocci’s shirt. “I knew you were bullies, but I didn’t know you were petty criminals too.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bocci sounded unfazed by his current predicament, but his eyes glittered with loathing. “We live in different cities, Donovan. Do you think you’re so important that we’d risk our careers to play whatever prank you accused us of playing?”
“You’re the only people who could’ve done it,” I growled. “Judas, your favorite nickname for me. Who else would carve that into the side of my Jag?”
A shadow of what looked like true surprise flashed across Bocci’s face before he laughed. “Hate to break it to you, Donovan, but there are plenty of people who call you that, and plenty more who despise you enough to key one of your precious cars. You can’t use us as a scapegoat for everything.”
“It’s not about scapegoating; it’s about honor. You want to attack me? Have the balls to do it to my face. This sneaky sabotage is the work of a coward.”
Bocci’s smile vanished. “You want to talk about honor? How about we talk about loyalty?” he hissed.
My temper reared its head again, fangs bared and ready to strike. “It’s a transfer, and it’s been nine bloody months! Get over it!”
“You know it’s not about the fucking transfer!” he shouted back. “You can transfer whenever the hell you want. It’s a reality of the league. But to blindside us and ditch us mid-season for Blackcastle?” He spat on the ground. “You didn’t give us any heads-up. One day, you were with us, and the next, you were against us. That’s cowardice.”
The air thickened into toxic sludge.
No one moved. No one so much as breathed, but the tension was so palpable I could taste its bitterness at the back of my tongue.
Bocci hadn’t said anything I didn’t already know. I knew I should’ve told them first, but I’d been afraid the news would get back to my father and he’d talk me out of it before I signed the contract.
I understood why my old team felt betrayed, but again—it’d been nine fucking months. I hadn’t killed one of their family members or instigated a hate campaign toward them with Blackcastle. They were holding onto something that should’ve been old news long ago, and none of that was a good enough reason for what they did.
It wasn’t about the property itself; it was about the principle behind it. The lack of respect and good sportsmanship.
“I apologized,” I growled. “The minute the news came out, I apologized for not telling you earlier. This grudge is unnecessary, as was your fucking stunt with my car.”
Bocci’s lips thinned. He didn’t acknowledge what I said.
Fresh irritation streaked through me, but I refused to get into another fight. Not when I was already on shaky ground with Coach and the paps were breathing down my neck. Anything I did would be blown ten times out of proportion given the current scrutiny I was under.
My teeth ground together, but after a serious moment of contemplating whether I could punch him once and get away with it—it wasn’t worth it—I released Bocci and stepped back.
However, the tension didn’t dissipate. If anything, it intensified.
“You want straight talk? I’ll do you one better,” Bocci said. “Race me. Let’s end this grudge once and for all. You win, we back off. We’ll still talk trash on the pitch, but you’ll never hear another word about Judas or your transfer from us again. If I win…” A dark gleam entered his eyes. “That Jag of yours is mine—after you’ve fixed it up, of course.”
That bloody bastard.
He didn’t want the car. He wanted a symbol for his victory. He wanted proof that he was better than me in some way. Every time he drove that car, he’d feel a kick of triumph at beating me.
It was too bad for him that was never going to fucking happen.
My fists curled. It took every ounce of willpower not to take him up on his challenge and make him eat his words. I wanted to see his expression when he lost so badly that my blood burned with it.
But racing would be worse than another fistfight, and I’d promised Scarlett I wouldn’t do it…no matter how much I wanted to.
“What’s the matter?” Bocci arched an eyebrow, his expression turning mocking. “Got cold feet again? Going to chicken out the way you did for our match?”
I bit my tongue so hard the faint taste of copper filled my mouth.
My pride roared at me to say something. To prove him wrong.
I stormed in here with my team, ready to confront Bocci, and what did I have to show for it? A few useless words? If I wasn’t going to fight him and I wasn’t going to race him, why was I even here? I might as well have stayed home and fumed from a distance.
You promised Scarlett. A voice warned me away from the ledge.
Scarlett doesn’t have to know. Another, more insidious voice slithered into my ears, promising retribution with impunity. It’s one race. That’s all.
“You didn’t take me up on my challenge the first time. Now you’re running scared a second time.” Bocci tsked in mock disappointment. “You’ve lost your touch, Donovan. It’s only a matter of time before everyone else finds out you’re not the perfect golden boy you portray yourself as. You say we’ve been holding on to our grudge for too long, and maybe we have. But I offered you a chance to end this feud once and for all, and you’re the one who declined.” He nodded at the silent players gathered around us. “We have plenty of witnesses who can vouch for that.”
My heart slammed against my ribcage with bruising force. Bocci’s taunting words tangled with snippets from my past, filling my head with unwanted memories.
You’ll never amount to anything.
Football is a ridiculous dream.
Dammit, Asher, you’re not trying hard enough! Do you want to be second best forever?
Promise me you’ll play for both of us. You have what it takes to be the greatest footballer in the world. Don’t let this opportunity go to waste.
You’ve lost your touch, Donovan.
Your team or your son?
