I have a temper. If I dug deep, and I really tried to analyze it, I'd likely be able to pinpoint where it comes from, but I've never cared enough to look too deep into it. Thing is, life gives us all a lot of reason to be pissed off. Mine stare into my face daily.

Kyle Amerson is one of my many reasons for the battles I have with my temper. I've always given into it without conscious thought, but his reaction earlier to my choking him scared the shit out of me. I'm man enough to admit I fucked up, at least in the privacy of my own head.

So, when he fell asleep on my bed yesterday, I cleaned up my room, figuring it was the least I could do, then I got the hell out of Dodge. I crashed at a friend's house, and this is the first I'm seeing of him.

He's dressed out in his practice jersey, and he looks as good as he always does. I'd forgotten what vulnerability looked like on him. When I first moved into his house, he made a sincere effort to get to know me, and when I'd inevitably turn down his attempts to make nice, I saw it. He gave up caring about that a long time ago, and at the time, I thought that was what I wanted.

But there's something appealing about the guy when he lets his guard down. I didn't think I was going to be able to drag myself away from him yesterday, when he was cuddled up in a warm, comfortable ball on my bed. I had to force myself to leave the room.

Now, on the football field, running warm ups with the rest of us, he looks as collected as I've grown accustomed to seeing him, and my brain can't help but think back to yesterday. The contrast between his unguarded honesty, however forced out of him it may have been, and his walls being thrown back up today is jarring.

That's my excuse anyway. That's why I drop nearly every pass he throws flawlessly in my direction. Practice is a cluster fuck of epic proportions, and unlike last time, the blame is entirely on my shoulders.

Kyle's pissed. I can see his anger growing every time I drop a pass. Know who else is pissed? Coach. In fact, he's past pissed by the time practice starts to get into full swing. He's screaming at the two of us about our inability to get in sync. He's threatening to bench the two of us for it too, and Kyle, for his part is biting his tongue even though we both know he wants to blame me for this. Rightly so. Coach blows a whistle thirty minutes into our hour-long practice.

"Everyone hit the showers. This isn't going to happen today," him throwing in the towel here, knowing it's entirely my fault he's calling it is a weight the size of an elephant on my shoulders.

"Caruthers, Amerson," he says, jerking his head indicating we should join him on the sidelines.

We both run to the edge of the field, where we're greeted by his angry face.

"You want to tell me that's not due to lack of communication?" he snaps.

Kyle glares at me. I know because I'm fucking staring at him, waiting for it. Still, even expecting it, I flinch when it finally comes. We're both sweaty. It's at least eighty degrees outside today, and we're both feeling it.

"You two are a well-oiled machine when you check your shit when you change into your practice jerseys. When you bring it onto the field, it's a cluster fuck!"

Which is true. As much as I hate to admit it, when the two of us are in sync, we're untouchable.

"The passes were getting to him," Kyle finally says what I'm fairly certain we were all waiting for.

It doesn't lessen their impact at all. This time, I'm able to mask my flinch. I feel my temper spike, and I do my best to contain it, knowing it won't do any good in this situation.

"That makes it worse! That means this is one-hundred percent whatever bullshit is going on at home! What is it? I've avoided asking to this point, but what makes it so damn difficult for you two to get along. You're brothers now for goodness sakes!" he shouts.

"Step brothers," we both correct in unison.

Coach's face turns red.

"Get inside, it's too hot out here to run suicides, but I sure as shit am not about to let you two slide after that performance," he snaps.

We both jog in the direction of the gym. Kyle looks over his shoulder, and when he notes Coach is walking behind us, he takes his opportunity.

"What the hell was that?" Kyle asks.

His frustration is fully justified. He shouldn't be forced to run suicides right now, but I have a hard time feeling sorry for someone who has probably never seen injustice a day in his privileged life. This should be good for him.

Twenty minutes later, we're both drenched in sweat. My lungs feel like they're more likely to explode than to allow me to take another breath. Each time my foot hits the gym's floor, pain shoots through my knees. My entire body is aching, and Coach continues to expect us to run to his heart's desire—blowing his whistle any time either of us slows down.

"That's enough for today," he says finally, "go hit the showers, and show up to tomorrows practice. If you don't, you won't play Friday," he warns.

We both jog off to the locker room. It's the first time we're really alone since I fucked up so badly on the field. I expect him to lay into me the second we're out of Coach's earshot. He doesn't say a word as he walks past me into the showers. I follow him reluctantly, and I get into the communal shower. We both chose the shower heads furthest apart from each other, and despite all of my ill feelings towards the spoiled asshole, it's still a feat not to glance in his direction when nobody else is in here with us.

We both shower in record time, and because I really don't feel like riding in his Ferrari right now, already feeling like trash after that practice, I tell him I have a ride home. He doesn't say a word, leaving me alone in the locker room.

After practice, I hightail it down the street to Jasper's house. Jasper's an okay dude, and in another life, we could be friends, but in this life, he's a means to a fucking end. Jasper is close to Ben Hartley, and should the time come when I need a contact in Harley's world, I need to be prepared.

Luckily for me today, Jasper also lives down the street from the school and his closeness to Ben Hartley and my subsequent friendship with him is coming in handy. When I reach his house, a small trailer, worth less than any car Holland or his pretentious son has probably ever owned, I feel more at home than I have in years.

Like I said, we could be friends in another life. I reach up to knock on his door, cautious of his previous warnings about his asshole father's tendency to crash out on the couch after a few too many beers and the man's dislike of being woken. It's always a fine line when I show up unannounced here between having my knocking be heard and not waking the sleeping beast. Most of the time I resort to calling him instead of rapping on his door, and I'm about to do that, but it proves to be unnecessary today.

I'm astounded as Kyle Amerson's perfect, blonde, cheerleader of a girlfriend comes tumbling out of the trailer, and there's no missing the evident bed head she's sporting. I glance behind her, and I see Jasper following her out to her car, but no evidence of Jasper Senior asleep on the couch. It's just as well because my temper spiked the second I saw her, and while I would have been alright with duking it out with Sr. along with his son, it's better for this just to be between Jasper and I.

"What the fuck is this?" I ask, not shielding my opinion about it in the least.

I don't know why I care, but I'll bother analyzing it later. Ellie screwing around on my step brother with what could pass as my closest friend in this town is complete bullshit. I have no intentions of sugar coating that for the two of them.

Ellie holds up her hands defensively.

"It's not what it looks like," she tells me, but I don't really care what she has to say.

I turn my glare on Jasper given he's the asshole whose slighting me personally in this situation.

"Want to fucking explain this?" I snap, I'm seething, and Jasper's wide eyes tell me I'm not keeping my anger as far beneath the surface as I think I am.

"We've bonded over our drunk parents, Bryant. Don't get your fucking panties in a twist. She slept here for a few hours before she went home tonight because her parents fight more often than not, and they kept her up at all hours of the night last night. We didn't fuck, so fucking relax," he snaps.

"Also, might I add, you're the one showing up at my place unannounced," he snaps.

So, it's an okay story if it's true, but if I find out it's not, I doubt I'll hesitate before slamming my fist into the fucker's face no matter what damage that does to my tie to fucking Ben Hartley.

"If you mess with Kyle, you mess with me," I shock the ever-loving shit out of all of us by saying.

Ellie tells me one last time that it isn't what it looks like, that she was truly sleeping off a rough night's sleep. I decide that while it's complete shit she didn't tell Kyle about this, I'm not sure it falls into a category of something I should interfere with quite yet, so I let it drop. Ellie doesn't waste any time getting into her car and driving away.

"What're you here for?" Jasper asks once we're alone.

Things are tense between the two of us, and because I like the guy, and because he's a potential tie to something I may want a tie to in the future, I decide to invest a few hours hanging out to smooth things over. It doesn't take the two hours, but I find myself, not for the first-time enjoying Jasper Scott's company.

A few hours of mindless video games later, Jasper's dad comes home, and by unspoken agreement, we decide it's time for him to drive me home.