All The Wild Ones | Wildfire Series

Pregame

NESSA

I couldn't remember the last time I was this frustrated with Grayson. Probably never. Not legitimately. Like fakely, maybe. Like how I used to convince myself that I was frustrated with him but never really was.

That wasn't the case this time. He was legitimately driving me up the wall.

Pacing. All he had done since we'd gotten home from class earlier was pace. And even before that, he'd been acting weird. Tense. Short.

Not Grayson-like.

His pacing went back and forth across my bedroom door, blocking it, and every time I suggested we leave for the football party at his house, he stalled.

There's probably no one there yet. There's no rush.

I'm waiting for Jules to text me that he's back from the liquor store.

Maybe you want to pregame here first?

"Grayson Wilder Everett," I finally snapped after the third time, throwing my purse on the bed and collapsing onto it.

He blinked at me, his expression clearing from some sort of haze. It told me that he couldn't possibly imagine a reason why I would be yelling at him. He was so in his head that he didn't even realize how he was acting.

"What's going on?" I asked, softer this time. Poor guy looked like a deer in the headlights.

He raked a hand through his hair, and I watched his throat work up and down.

"I just don't think we should go to the party."

I frowned, a sort of sadness coming over me. Leaving the team had been hard on him, and watching him go through that had been hard on me. I'd tried to talk to him about it, but once he made up his mind, it was a done deal. He'd go back next fall, he said.

"They would want you to be there," I said, keeping my voice gentle. "They're your friends, baby. Your team. They're still your team." Then with a bit of a lighter tone, I added, "Besides, it is your house."

I grinned, but Grayson didn't return it. My smile faltered.

"What else is wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

I sat up straighter in bed. "Since when did Grayson Everett tell bold-ass lies?"

Grayson didn't hesitate from returning my stare, his grey eyes steely. "Since he thought it would keep Nessa Elez from getting hurt."

Something dropped into the pit of my stomach like a bomb detonating. That would be the only reason he'd ever lie.

"Trust me," he said, laughing without a touch of humor. "It's killing me."

Walking over to one side of my small bedroom, Grayson pressed his head against the wall and muttered, "I was hoping he would just be gone by now. But from what I hear, he won't fuck off. Like a pesky goddamn fly." He groaned. "I should have hit him harder."

I'd never been more confused, and the rock in my stomach grew heavier.

This didn't have anything to do with him leaving the team. Or if it did, it was more complicated than I'd initially thought. Hit? Who had he hit? Had Grayson been in a fight, and I had no idea about it?

"Who...who are you talking about?"

My first thoughts went to Quinton...but he was in jail. And Brodie and I... we'd come to an agreement of sorts. Grayson wouldn't hit him, either. So who?