Slow It Down

Part 14 •REWRITTEN•

I see red the moment the words leave his mouth.

Before I can think of what I'm doing, my locker slams shut with a force that rattles the entire row. The crack of metal on metal slices clean through the room like a gunshot. The room pauses—mid-laugh, mid-sentence, mid-celebration.

Silence suddenly overwhelms the group.

Every head swivels toward me, but I'm already rising from the bench, my arms stiff with tension.

The guy who made the last comment looks up as I approach, his smirk faltering when he registers my face. Fortunately for him, I'm immediately targeting the mischievous fuck who is trying to start rumors—Danny. I stop directly in front of him, close enough that he has to look up.

"You wanna run that by me again?" My voice is low, and razor-sharp with demand for an answer.

No one else dares to breathe.

He tries to shrug it off, leaning back to reclaim space between us like he's not intimidated. "Relax, man. It's just talk."

"Talking like that makes you funny?" I ask, my eyes piercing into him as I step closer, every muscle moving rigid as they're wound tight.

His throat bobs pathetically, but he still tries to play it cool by crossing his arms.

A couple of guys shift uneasily. They've seen me lose it before. They know the line I don't cross often—but on the rare occasions that I do, there's no negotiation.

He scoffs. "Come on, Jackson. We're just messing around. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it—"

I grab him before he can finish.

I shove him backwards, over the bench and slam him against the lockers. The metal crashes behind him, echoing through the room as his body hits hard. My fist knots in his grass-stained jersey, yanking him up until he has no choice but to crane his neck and meet my eyes.

Gasps ripple across the room, and the celebratory energy among the team has quickly been diminished.

I lean in, voice low and deadly. "Say her name again. I dare you."

His pale skin turns nearly ghost-sheet white. Panic finally cracks through his confidence, flickering across his face and held in his widened, darting eyes. It's enough to tell me he finally understands exactly the kind of fucking mistake he made.

On cue, teammates break free of their shocked state and surge forward, arms clamping securely around my biceps to pull me off him.

"Jackson—chill!"

"Let him go!"

I release his jersey, though my muscles are still vibrating with the urge to keep going, to see how his jaw looks after my fist makes contact. To make sure he never forgets this moment.

Danny stumbles upright, coughing, looking anywhere but at me.

I wrench free of the guys holding me, chest heaving, vision still fogged with rage. I don't break eye contact with him—not because I want him to speak, but because I dare him to try. I want him to understand exactly how close he came to something worse.

A few beats pass as the locker room remains still, as if it's frozen in time. When he continues avoiding to look at me and doesn't say anything, straightening his jersey instead, I figure he's done being an asshole.

I return to my locker to grab my things, wanting to be anywhere but near these guys—especially Danny. As I'm opening up my locker and grabbing my stuff, I hear the familiar mumble of his voice as he mutters something under his breath.

I pause what I'm doing and I swear the whole locker room holds their breath. Looking over at him, I raise an eyebrow once we make eye contact, daring him to repeat it. When he doesn't, a humorless laugh slips out of me.

"That's what the fuck I thought."

The warning hangs thick in the air, suffocating and unmistakable. No one speaks Lilah's name again. Some of the guys turn back to their lockers, pretending everything is normal, while others remain in their place and watch me like I might still snap.

I shove the rest of my gear into my duffel bag, my hands still trembling with anger as I zip it shut, and turn to leave without another word.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the exit just as the door opens and Kayce walks back in.

He takes one look at me, his eyes glancing at my bag that I'm adjusting the strap of, and frowns. "Where the hell are you going?" He asks, the corner of his mouth pulling downwards.

"Home," I mutter. "I'm fucking exhausted."

It's half the truth. I didn't even shower—I don't trust myself to stay in this room another second.

Kayce turns toward the rest of the team, completely unaware of the tension choking the room, of Danny rubbing the back of his head, of the way no one will look at us. Some of them are more interested in the floor than anything else.

He doesn't notice anything. And I don't tell him, not wanting to ruin his night like mine.

Because if I do, I'll have to admit the truth simmering beneath my skin: I should have hit that guy. Hard enough for him to remember Lilah's name for the right reasons next time.

But I'm not ready to face the truth that's been clawing at me ever since Lilah came back into my life; I care too much.