S.M. ✦ Gin & Juice

XIII.

All of the players in the locker room whipped their heads around when the sound of hard metal against muscle drew their attention. Shawn slammed Brian up against the lockers, holding him there by the edge of his hard plastic pads.

"What the FUCK, man?!" Brian spat, unable to keep the loathing from coloring his tone. Shawn raised his arms a little, sliding the smaller quarterback up and off the ground. Brian's legs kicked out and around, trying to find purchase but only coming up with air.

"I know you opened your fucking mouth, snake." Shawn grasped the pads tighter, the plastic starting to protest against the strain, "if you ever talk to the fucking press about what happens in practice again, I swear to God." The corners of Brian's mouth turned up in a self-satisfied smirk, "what are you gonna do, Mendes? Pretty boy isn't so perfect is he? Gonna tell your little girlfriend?"

Shawn could see the team circling again, just like his last confrontation with Brian. It wouldn't be long before the coaches came running. He leaned in, so only Brian could hear, "mention her one more time and I'll make sure you never hold a football ever again."

"MENDES! CRAIGEN! BREAK IT UP!" Coach wrenched his arm between them. Shawn dropped Brian, making sure to slam him once more against the lockers hard enough to knock the breath out of him. He looked at Coach while Brian wheezed, taking a steady breath to calm down, "I thought we didn't talk to reporters about team business."

The onlookers parted, allowing Shawn to get to his locker. No one made a sound. He stripped off his practice jersey and tried to act like nothing happened, like he wasn't panicking inside knowing that she would have seen the article by now. He wished he had his phone, wished he could send her a text to check in or assure her that it was nothing, that no one knew anything. But he had to wait until the game was over. He gripped his helmet and slammed it into his locker, the vibrations carrying through his arm.

He took a deep, cleansing breath. It was the last game of the regular season. This game would lock up the conference championship and a postseason bid for the national championship. Shawn had to focus, remember what it was like before her, when he could breathe without a sharp pain under his sternum where she was tethered to him. Another breath. He focused on the numbing sensation he used to call upon, the feelings he got when he drank himself onto the bathroom floor, the sweet bliss of feeling nothing. His heart rate slowed and he opened his eyes, panic and anger turned to cold indifference. The game, the opponents he was about to face, his team leaning on his every move, they meant everything and nothing. The dark ruled his periphery, tunnel vision submerged in a black pool. He only knew what he had to do.

He had to win.

* * * * * * * * * *

You hadn't left your dorm in two days. Your legs had pulled you toward the door more than once, but your head wouldn't let you go. As soon as you had finished the article, dropping the paper to the floor, the whispers you had heard earlier seemed deafening, like everyone knew you were here, knew that the article was talking about you. The paralysis set in then.

All you could do was think. Why did he say that? He had to have known she'd take it that way. He's not stupid. He knows this press bullshit better than anyone. Does he want to go public? Am I holding him back? You had seen the faint glimmer in his eye. The one that hoped you'd decide to hold his hand or walk with him to class. Hell, you knew he would be happy just leaving the library at the same time. But the same fear that kept you in your room, kept you from being able to tell him you were ready. Your heart stuttered and your lungs spasmed even thinking about it. The article was proof that you would be under scrutiny. People would know you . Know your name. Know your face. They would look at you, be jealous of you, scorn you for taking what they thought was rightfully theirs even if they only knew the armored Shawn that you'd fought to break. Those parts of him embedded in your chest quivered, threatening to dislodge and leave you bleeding and broken. You loved him, but you couldn't love him in the way that he wanted. I'm never going to be able to give him what he wants.