The Trade (Coastal Rivals Book 1)

Two weeks have passed since Jade took off in the dead of night, leaving me in a perpetual state of confusion.

At first, the sting was unbearable. Her abrupt departure was a reminder of how quickly happiness could be torn away. Together, we made a hasty decision, one driven by passion and longing, and then . . . she was fucking gone.

Couldn’t bear the aftermath. Couldn’t bear to face me in the morning.

Her words still echo in my mind, a bitter fucking lullaby: “I forgive you, and I’ll miss you.” It seemed so real, so sincere. And despite her resolution, her actions certainly made it seem like she wanted me, too.

But she warned me that first night at Lucky’s when I kissed her in the hall. She might have craved my touch, my warmth, but that was it. Now, the sadness has been replaced by a hollow emptiness, a numbness that’s more comforting than the continuous ache.

Jade’s made it clear she wants me to focus on training this summer, and so I’ve been pouring every bit of my energy into it. The weight room has become my refuge, the field my battleground.

Today’s practice ends with running skill patterns, again. By the time I’m done with the fifth set, which ends in another grueling forty-yard run, I’m running on fumes. Two of our wide receivers—and my least favorite assholes—are running their patterns alongside me.

“West, your girl still around this summer?” Miller’s voice slices through the thick, humid air. His breathing is ragged. “We didn’t get a chance to finish our last conversation.”

My teeth grind together at his audacity. “That’s real fucking funny, man.”

“Yeah.” McNair lets out a laugh that sounds more like a pig’s grunt. “Just let us know when you’re done with her, ’kay?”

My blood boils. “The hell did you just say?”

He snickers, clearly pleased with my reaction. “Just ’cause you don’t like to share doesn’t mean Mills and I have to play by your rules.”

The red in my vision grows deeper. “I get that you two are pissed at me, but you really don’t want to cross this line.”

“Why?” Miller throws back, a smug smirk on his face. “Jade’s a grown girl. Feisty, too. I’m sure she can handle herself.”

An ominous calm descends over me. My voice drops dangerously low. “Say her name again and see what happens.”

His smirk widens, unfazed by my threat. “And what if I moan her name in bed?”

He’s baiting me, I know that. But I don’t give a shit. In one swift motion, I lunge at him, my fist connecting solidly with his jaw. A gratifying crunch rings out, music to my fucking ears.

Miller stumbles backward, the force of my punch taking him by surprise. McNair jumps in but is quickly met with a shove that sends him sprawling.

I look down at the pair, a smirk tugging at my lips. I spit next to them. “Now will you keep your fuckin’ mouths shut?”

Coach’s booming voice echoes across the field. “Offense! What the hell’s goin’ on over there?”

“Nothing, Coach,” I say as casually as I can manage. “We’re just screwing around.”

He barks back a warning. “You better get your shit together.”

“You got it, sir!”

McNair scrambles to his feet, pulling Miller up with him. Their glares could bore holes into my head, but I just chuckle at the sight of them. Miller cradles his swollen jaw, eyes filled with unadulterated hatred.

“Fucking pathetic,” I spit, my words as icy as the smile on my face. I turn my back on them and dive back into my training, channeling my anger into every move, every stride.

For now, this is the one and only place my focus lies. It has to be.

“Dude, what the hell was that earlier?” Cam barges in, his duffel bag making a soft thud as he tosses it onto the couch next to me. His eyes bore into mine, demanding an answer. “I saw you throw that punch at Miller.”

“He had it coming. McNair, too.” I offer no further explanation, my gaze dropping to the floor. “Those fuckers wouldn’t stop running their goddamn mouths.”

“What’s going on with you, man?” He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest as he steps closer. “You’ve been moping around the house for weeks, and now you’re starting fights on the field. Is this all just because Jade left?”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Well, then why don’t you explain it to me!” His voice is sharp, laced with frustration.

The words slip out before I can stop them. “I fucking loved her, okay?” I rake a hand through my hair, heart pounding. “But she clearly doesn’t love me back. So, now I’m just . . . done. I have to be.”

“Fuck, are you really?”

“I think so,” I murmur, slinging one arm over the back of the couch and shutting my eyes. “Cam, she let me sleep with her, and then she left on the first flight out of here. Not even a word.”

“But didn’t she leave things open-ended?” His voice is gentle, hesitant.

My eyes fly open at that. “So, what?” Frustration surges again. “I’m supposed to continue to sit around waiting for her all summer? Wallow in self-pity and beat up my teammates in the process?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” he mutters. “Besides, you act like you only have two options here.”

“What else is there?”

He gives a short chuckle. “You could actually try to enjoy yourself,” he suggests. “Stop fucking thinking about Jade for two seconds and have some fun with your best friend.”

Despite myself, I snort a laugh. “You had to make this all about you, huh?”

“No, you fucker.” He playfully smacks me on the back of the head, his tone lightening. “This is about you. It’s been about you for months.”

A muscle in my jaw ticks. “The hell does that mean?”

“It means you’ve been torn up over this girl for a long-ass time. You’ve been ignoring your friends, staying in all the time, and acting like your world has ended when you’re only twenty-one years old, for God’s sake. Our lives have just fucking begun.”

“I know I’ve been MIA, and I’m sorry for that,” I say. “It’s just been rough.”

“So, what do you say? Let’s go out tonight. You can try and forget about everything, even if it’s just for the night.”

His question hangs in the air between us, heavy and imposing. Do I want to forget Jade? Could I, even if I tried?

The thought makes my heart twinge with pain. Sure, moving on from my feelings for her in a span of two weeks isn’t realistic. But constantly obsessing over her isn’t healthy either. Especially when she’s explicitly told me not to. I think it’s about high time I let myself breathe.

“Maybe,” I finally concede, meeting his gaze. “Maybe just for tonight.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Then let’s go get shitfaced at Lucky’s.” He gives my shoulder a firm pat. “We don’t have practice until four o’clock tomorrow.”

“Yeah, alright.” The heaviness in my chest lifts slightly as I push off the couch. “I’m down.”

It doesn’t take long for Cam and me to turn our favorite bar into our personal playground. We go shot for shot like the old days, the alcohol burning my throat and dulling the edges of my heartache.

By the time we’re six or seven drinks deep, we’ve roped in a couple of guys from the baseball team for a game of pool. We’re swaying slightly, half-drunk already, but we’re laughing and enjoying ourselves. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve let myself genuinely smile.

Maybe Cam was right; maybe tonight I could forget, just a little.

As I’m lining up my last shot, two girls approach the table. “Hey, boys, can we play next round?” the taller of the two asks, interrupting my perfect line of sight.

“Sure, we’re just about to bring it home anyway,” Cam says with a chuckle. His cocky smile is as wide as the table. “After that, table’s all yours.”

The two girls exchange glances, a mixture of mischief and daring in their eyes. “Actually, we were hoping you two might show us the ropes.” I allow my gaze to wander over my shoulder, taking in the sight of them cozying up to Cam like it’s second nature.

“You cool with that, West?” Cam calls out, eyes glinting.

“Sure,” I say absently, refocusing my gaze on the eight ball. With a flick of the wrist and a satisfying clunk, I pocket it. Victory.

Our win is met with a chorus of half-hearted cheers. The baseball guys retreat, leaving us with the two newcomers. One, a bottle blonde, seems more interested in Cam than the game. The other, a dark-haired girl with an edgy pixie cut, leans on the pool table, her eyes on me.

“So, West. Do you remember me?” Her question comes with a purposeful tilt of her head and a bat of her eyelashes. “We met here a while back.”

I squint at her, my brain sifting through countless faces I’ve met at this bar before a spark of recognition hits me. “Uh . . .” I hesitate. “Zoë, right?”

She looks visibly taken aback, maybe even offended. “No? My name’s Niah.”

“Cool,” I manage, nodding slightly.

She steps closer, biting her lip with a certain calculated charm. “Do you think you could show me how to shoot?”

Ah, classic move. “You’ve never played before?”

“Once or twice.” She shrugs, a coy smile playing on her lips. “I might need a little refresher.”

Taking my place beside her, I guide her through the sequence, adjusting her grip and stance. When she executes a flawless stroke, breaking the rack and sinking two stripes immediately, I can’t help but be impressed.

“That wasn’t just beginner’s luck, was it?” I raise a brow, smirking as she shrugs casually, leaning her cue stick against the table.

“Sorry, no.” She seems amused. “I guess I just wanted an excuse for you to touch me.”

I blink at her. “You played me,” I accuse, glancing around to find that Cam and his blonde companion have conveniently disappeared.

“I did,” she confirms, unabashedly meeting my gaze. “You have a problem with that?”

“I guess I can appreciate a good hustle.”

She grins, curling her fingers around my bicep. “Did you actually want to finish this game? Or would you rather just skip ahead and buy me a drink now?”

“I’m, uh . . .” I’m silent for a moment, caught in an internal crossfire. What is it that I think I am, exactly? Taken? Not anymore, and certainly not by choice. “Sure, Zoë. I’d be down for a drink.”

“It’s Niah,” she corrects, fingers tightening around my arm.

“Right.” I shake it off, gulping down the lump in my throat. “Sorry. Niah, let’s go get that drink.”