Page 9 of Break Point

Bryson

I caught that look on Crash’s face when she got the text from my sister. The way her eyebrows rose as if I’d squeezed her ticklish sides from behind and yelled, “Boo!” I also spotted how quickly she tucked her phone out of my sight. She must not realize I got the message too. I’m not sure what she’s so embarrassed about. I think she looks great in those photos.

I know that little “approval” part my sister added is only for one of us. I don’t care what my sister does with my name, image, and likeness. It was a pain in the ass to get the contract to go through the clearinghouse, though. I guess it raises flags when a business is paying the athlete a total sum of one dollar. And even though I’m doing this for my sister, I still had to sign all sorts of waivers dismissing my right to sue the university, the team, her two-person company, my family, and I think maybe somebody’s great-aunt that I met once at a barbecue.

I jumped through the hoops, though, because Amelia and I are tight. She’s the only person in my family who I know has zero ulterior motives. Even my mom, who I idolized for most of my life, isn’t completely pure in her intentions. She revels a bit in the fact that her kids prefer her to their insanely wealthy father. It’s the only thing she really got in the divorce—us liking her better. But Amelia? She’s sincere. She wasn’t going to ask me to be a part of her big app launch. Hell, she probably wouldn’t have even told me about it if I hadn’t noticed a familiar name sticking out of the stack of papers sitting in her passenger seat when we went to dinner last week.

Jaden Johnson’s name hit my eyeballs like a laser beam straight from Superman. We’ve crossed paths plenty of times over the last three years, especially when I was spending most of my time in the training room rehabbing my shoulder. Not once did she utter an “I told you so.” But there were a few glances that did the job. And now’s her big chance. Yet we’ve walked an entire block through campus in absolute silence.

May as well pick a fight.

I spin on my heels and match her speed as I walk backward in my squishy shoes, our eyes locked.

“So . . . on a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me?” I drop my hands into my pockets and try to act casual and not laugh as she blinks, seemingly stupefied by my question.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Her gaze locks straight ahead, so I pick up speed and put myself in her path, still walking backward.

“Bryson, just stop,” she grumbles, shifting to one side to move around me.

I lift my shoulders but keep my hands in my pockets as I sidestep to cut her off.

“What? I’m genuinely curious. You never say anything when we see each other. We even had an entire media day on the same sports panel last year, and I think you gave me a fist bump as a hello. Oh, and the signature eye roll. I got one of those too.”

She stops abruptly and tilts her head to the side, blinking twice.

“I don’t have a signature eye roll.”

I can’t help but snicker as she rolls her eyes.

“Ugh! It’s not my signature anything. It’s just something I do around you!”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she marches around my other side, her elbow bumping my arm. I rub the spot and laugh as I spin around to catch up.

“Come on. Pick a number. One through ten,” I prod.

“Ten.”

My brows rise into my hairline.

“Wow, that was fast. All the way to ten, huh?”

I get I was a dick our freshman year, but ten seems kind of harsh. I’ve basically stayed out of her way ever since our meet-not-so-cute. Not that I didn’t pay attention to her. I paid a lot of attention. She’s been hard to miss. While I had a decent junior year and the team made the playoffs last season, Jaden’s been showing up on the cable sports shows with words like phenom tossed around. The fact that she doesn’t have major NIL deals, or a full ride, is baffling.

“Is it because you’re not number one yet?” I blurt out.

Her head swivels, and I’m hit with a lightning-fast glare.

“Sore subject?” I quirk a brow. Sometimes my thoughts fall out of my mouth. It’s something I’m working on controlling. Ashton says it’s probably my ADHD, but I think it’s just a by-product of growing up in a household where you had to be blunt to be heard. Feelings aren’t really regarded in the Moss family.

“The preseason rankings all have me at number one,” she says.

“Yeah, I know. But that’s still preseason. And I remember you were determined to be number one our freshman year, and I just wondered why—”

“You know what? This isn’t worth it.” She stops fast, pulls the credit card from her back pocket, and holds it out to me.

I exhale as my shoulders drop, my gaze flitting from the card I know she desperately needs up to her stone-cold eyes. I pinch the bridge of my nose and squint.