More Than A Game (The Kings of Kroydon Hills Book 2) by Bella Matthews (the best electronic book reader .TXT) 📗

“Dad, promise me something.” Looking over at Coach, Coop wipes at the corner of his eye dramatically. “Promise me you won’t give my room away to this jerk-off if the Murphys move into our house.” Then he fist-bumps me. “Kidding, man. But you still can’t have my room.”

We hear the beep of his watch.

“Guess it’s time to go.” He kisses Nat’s head one last time, hugs Declan tight, and waves at the rest of us. “Love you, guys. See you at graduation.” With that, Cooper walks through the wrought iron gate to the driveway and is gone.

Coach kisses my mom. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He follows Cooper through the gate.

Declan reaches over and wraps his arms around Nattie. “He’d hate to know you were crying, Nat. It’s just two months. He’ll be okay.”

Nattie sniffs before looking up at him. “It’s the first two months of eight freaking years. We shared a womb. We’re not supposed to be apart for eight years.”

Declan looks over Nattie’s head to Brady as if to say help me.

Brady runs his hand down her arm and links their fingers. “Come with me, Nat. Let’s go inside.”

She turns to Brady, who wipes away her tears, before walking into the house.

The rest of us stand there with our feet stuck to the ground for what feels like hours but in reality is only minutes. Coop will have eight weeks of boot camp, then another few weeks of special ops training before he gets moved again to start the whole BUD/S process. We really won’t have much opportunity to see him during any of it before he’s sent to a different base. I’m gonna miss having my friend around.

Fuck this day.

7

Sabrina

The weather in Philadelphia has been completely insane this year. Tonight has turned into a crisp fall night. It’s hard to believe that it’s only been three days since I was in a pool at the Sinclairs’ last weekend and now, I’m wearing my favorite pale purple hoodie.

It’s that weird time of year where you need to dress in layers because there’s a twenty-degree temperature swing throughout the day. I’m wondering if I should have worn leggings tonight instead of running shorts, but I’m not turning back now.

God, I hate running for the sake of running. Stick me on a soccer field with a team of girls at my back and another team that I want to decimate, and I’m golden. I used to run at least seven miles during a game and never cared. My entire team would run together a few days a week, and I loved it.

Running just to run sucks, but I do it anyway.

I refuse to gain the freshman fifteen. My mother is already all over me about my weight, and I don’t want to give her any more ammunition. She even monitors what my little sister, Penelope, eats, and she’s eleven years old and as skinny as a string bean.

I wish I were one of those people who can eat whatever they want and never gain a pound, but sadly that’s not me. If I look at a cookie, my ass stops fitting in my skinny jeans. And in my family, that is highly frowned upon. In reality, my family frowns upon skinny jeans in general. So, I may not have developed a love of running, but I have developed an appreciation for it and what it does for my body.

My mother has been a senator’s wife for too long. She treats my sister and me more like we work for my dad than we’re his children. Since I moved on campus last month, she’s made a habit of sending me daily emails and texts advising me of what functions my father has coming up and what functions I’m expected to attend to help with his reelection.

Updating me on anything and everything to do with my dad’s campaign.

When I’m scheduled for fittings for clothing that’s been purchased for me.

She even told my hairdresser what to do to my hair.

I guess I’m no better, because I go along with it. I never push back.

She always manages to ask if I’m drinking enough water so my skin doesn’t break out, sleeping enough so I don’t get bags under my eyes, and exercising so I can look appropriate in pictures. So, here I am, rain or shine, headache or not, running so I don’t feel guilty for the muffin I ate this morning. When I run in the mornings, I stick to the trails, but tonight I’m jogging the half mile from my dorm room to the football field and then running the track.

It’s incredibly boring with nothing to look at, but there’s better lighting on the track, and it gets the job done.

At about three miles in, I take off my hoodie and tie it around my waist. Guess it wasn’t that cold after all. Once I’m back in my groove, the next two miles go by quickly. It’s not until I’m coming off my fifth mile that I start to slow down. I could have probably pushed it further, but my head is starting to bother me.

As I come to a stop and begin to stretch my muscles, my eyes take in the tranquility of the empty stadium. It seems a lot different now than it does on game day, when fifty thousand fans are wearing their black and gold Crusader best, cheering on their favorite team. The stadium is pristine tonight. The team practices at their other facility on the opposite side of campus, so it’s typically only those of us using the black rubber track during the week. It’s a classic coliseum design in the shape of a horseshoe with the original, ivy-covered Kroydon Hall behind one goal post. Looking over the top row of seats, you can see the city’s skyscrapers dotting the inky night sky. When I bring my eyes back down, they come