Breaking The Rules: Book 2

Chapter 17: Karma

𝚃𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟸𝚝𝚑
Griffin POV

"How in the world are you putting food in your stomach right now?"

Parkers voice is the icing on the shitcake that has been my last twelve hours.

It's bad enough that I had to sit next to my dad on the plane for four hours, then be rushed immediately to this camp without taking a nap, then sit around at said-camp while dad shot the shit for two hours with the other old guys who wanted to reminisce on their highschool football days, then not being able to fall asleep due to the muffled sound of what sounded like my cousin having sex, then when I did fall asleep, I got woken an hour later because dads snoring was louder than a room full of kindergartners high on sugar.

One could safely assume that I'm not in a decent mood today. Especially because all four of us overslept our fucking alarms, so I couldn't even give myself the pleasure of a hotel-made waffle.

Instead, we had to haul ass to the second day of this camp and scarf down the food they have onsite. No matter how hard I try to use my imagination, this goddamn vegetable omelette is not tasting like the sweet, buttery, sugary sweet perfection that's made in a waffle iron.

With all of that being said, I hurl a withering look at Parker and scoop up some eggs and mushrooms on my fork before taking a bite. "Just like that."

Parker sniffs and shoves his plate away. "Smart ass."

"Better than being a dumbass like you. Don't talk to me," I grumble, stabbing the tines of the fork into green peppers and grilled onions.

Whatever small amount of compassion and joy that I felt around Parker and Miles yesterday afternoon is now shot, dead, and buried six feet deep. Not one string in my heart pulls at the distressed look on Parkers face. Whether he's feeling afflicted because of my words or all of the things that are at stake today, I have no idea. And frankly, I don't give a fuck either.

Miles glances at me from underneath his dark eyelashes as a warning. My behavior towards his boyfriend still isn't enough to drag him away from the omelette that he's currently inhaling.

"What scrimmage do you think we will be placed in this afternoon?" Parker asks, his tone bordering on caution.

The question is like a stick going down a dark hole to poke the fox to see whether or not it will fight back. Whether it still has fire. In this case, I can feel the fight starting to burn in my gut, waiting to blaze.

Before I answer, I let my attention fall down to the field below us. We've been seated at a high top table on the second floor of the stadium for the past ten minutes, watching the first round of boys work through the stations that are set up. This floor wraps around the entire edge of the stadium, overlooking the first section of bleachers and then the football field itself. We're seated close enough to the field to run to the locker room when it's time to perform, but far enough to avoid the highlight reels and other various activities happening on the sidelines.

Parker has been watching everyone down there like a hawk since we've sat down. I've been busy digging asparagus pieces out of my breakfast.

Our table lines up perfectly with the middle of the field, hence I notice the agility ladders first. There are five of them total, and all of the tops of the ladders are lined up perfectly on the 50 yard line. There's a timer set up at the last rung, waiting for the next participants.