It all started on a Friday Night. 13 suspects, 1 dead body and a lot of blood.
Two complete strangers meet up to solve the mysterious shocking murder of their common friend and well-known footballer Colber Foster.
Meet Evren Maddox - the ravishing...
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"THE CODE"
A/N: We're at chap 21 but this story is not even close to be complete. So many exciting adventures are yet to come. So keep an eye out for these two magnificent characters❤️ Don't forget to vote and to comment! 🥰
BRENDAN's POV
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I HAVE LOST COUNT OF how many times my mind has taken me somewhere else since I've been sitting on this bullcrap monotonous bench. It's almost midday, I know it because I haven't taken off the black shinny watch of my left wrist and my eyes keep continuously making contact with the small object in hopes for time to run faster, although obviously, it doesn't.
Click, another infamous second has passed, so once again I turn my head back to what's partly, yet presently stressing me out - full-mouthed, vain, definitely not funny but sure born with utterly ridiculous physical skills, Travis fucking Walker keeps winning me everytime, even when it's just on the matter of who's the one who kicks the ball first. I nod involuntarily, as I watch his growing pride paint his facial expressions whenever the ball reaches his feet.
Pss, fuck it, I dodge another poorly blissful thought from devouring my conscience, though I know I'll stay petty for a while. Fun fact is, I, Brendan Rhys, for the first time in what it seems like to be ages now, am fucking salty. Which, by the way, doesn't mean I'm jealous or the tiniest similar, that affirmation alone is a lie and hundred percent unfounded.
But know this, it does upsets me he gets to take my place as striker, especially because for one, the rearrangement was set by the coach, who was practically the one person I still believed wouldn't treat me differently, or cross me out like I don't even matter, as if I'm some sort of a broken plate or a bike with flat tires. I'm not disposable. Secondly, don't fuck with me, Walker knows how to score, but I'm much more of a complete player than he his.
Not that it matters now. The football tournament will soon start, even if I was on my highest physical condition, I don't think I'd be fully prepared anyway, for obvious reasons. My mind's somewhere else, myself on a pitch would be equal to a drunk prick singing Hallelujah while playing beer pong, not such a great view right? Just another youngster pretending to be cool while fucking things up: definitely not up for it. At least I won't take the blame if we don't get to the finals. This one's on you, fucker.
