CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

After the cafeteria incident, Emerson chose to isolate himself for the rest of the day. Yet, with a friendly game against a neighboring school on the horizon, he reluctantly joined the practice session, seeking a temporary escape from the turmoil that seemed to be engulfing his life.

The practice field crackled with palpable tension, a thick cloud of unease settling in as Mason's imposing figure dominated the scene. Jonathan, his patience worn thin by their abysmal communication and pitiful teamwork, unleashed a verbal storm, admonishing both culprits with a thunderous voice that reverberated across the field, leaving no doubt about his displeasure.

The game unfolded under an unrelenting cloud of tension, mirroring the earlier cafeteria incident. As distractions swirled around, Emerson’s calculated maneuver to steer clear of Mason on the field, driven by a desperate bid to avert any explosive confrontations, backfired dramatically. Regrettably, these very choices became the catalysts that sealed their defeat, leaving them with a bitter taste of missed opportunities and lingering conflicts on the field.

Emerson’s frustration burned like a relentless wildfire, a cage preventing the unleashed prowess of his body. In the art of crystallizing the situation to its acrid core, Mason had masterfully orchestrated the minds of a select group of teammates, coercing them to aim their accusatory arrows directly at Emerson, thus heaping the full weight of their loss squarely onto his shoulders.

He patiently bided his time, lingering outside the empty locker room until he was certain of being alone. Only then did he step inside to refresh himself, deliberately avoiding any interactions with others. He discreetly asked William to leave without him.

Even as the sour sting of defeat lingered in the air, the meticulously planned celebration showed no signs of surrender. It stood as a symbol of unwavering resolve, a testament to their determination to press on with the festivities, resolute in their quest to wrest joy from the clutches of disappointment.

Emerson stood beneath the cascading water, entranced by the liquid's journey down the drain. His mind was a chaotic whirlwind.

“This is unacceptable! Losing is one thing, but the way we just played out there was a disgrace! We trained hard, we practiced, and we had a game plan. And what did we do? We threw it all away. Now, I don’t care what’s going on between you two, but  you need to fix it. We didn’t come here to play around; we came here to win! It’s time you two get your shit together, I won’t tolerate such behavior on my team.”

Jonathan's voice haunted him. Not only had he failed to rein in his emotions on the field, but all their painstaking efforts had yielded nothing. Emerson closed his eyes, turned off the shower.

He found himself staring up an exterior of a two-story structure. Loud music thumps through the walls, and raucous laughter echoes into the night. The flashing lights from the party illuminate the surrounding houses, casting an eerie glow, underage teens littered the lawn, it was a wonder the neighbors haven’t called the cops yet.

His legs led him again, he was avoiding body, and drunks teens unconsciously his feet took him through numerous room  

Emerson was unaware of what he was searching for but apparently his leg did as they came to a halt when he came within range with Mason and his friends.

He occupied a couch in the backyard, with Ava perched comfortably on his lap engrossed in a passionate make out session. As he scanned the surroundings, Emerson noticed a couple of his fellow teammates, including Nickolas and Jeremy, engaged in casual conversation. It appeared that he had managed to evade their notice for the time being.

Emerson watched with a mix of emotions as Mason devoured Ava in a passionate embrace. Their eyes briefly met, a charged connection forming, just before Mason’s hands sensually traced down her silhouette, igniting a shiver of desire within her. Mason’s touch lingered provocatively on her posterior, and Emerson, unable to bear the tension, shifted his gaze away, convinced that Mason was deliberately teasing him.

Gathering his resolve, Emerson locked eyes with Mason once more, the intensity of their gaze unyielding, and he boldly advanced a step closer.

“What do you want Emerson?” Mason interrupted the kiss, his tone laced with frustration. His hand continued its slow descent down Ava’s body, prompting her to shoot a disapproving glare at Emerson, clearly perturbed by the interruption of their moment.

Emerson keenly sensed the weight of numerous curious gazes now fixed upon him. He wasn't entirely certain what had driven him here; perhaps it was a desire to confront Mason, or maybe he simply yearned for some form of connection, anyone's presence would suffice. He nervously chewed on his lower lip, his gaze wandering amidst the sea of eyes until it eventually settled on Mason.

“If you’ve got nothing to say, then just go.” Mason remarked, attempting to divert his attention to kissing Ava’s neck.

Emerson was adrift in a sea of uncertainty, grappling with the unpredictable aftermath of the day’s events and the profound transformation in their relationship. A gnawing ache settled in his chest, and the painful realization washed over him: he had truly lost his friend. Wrestling with the harsh reality, Emerson found himself at a loss for words, unable to articulate the depth of his emotions.

“How can you push me away so fast?” he whispered, his voice quivering so he bit down hard on his lip to contain his emotions.

Mason must have detected the tremor in his own voice, for he paused in his actions and cast a quick glance at Emerson. The sadness was unmistakable in Emerson's eyes. He sighed heavily, allowing Ava to gracefully settle onto the couch beside him.

“I don’t associate with homosex-”

“I told you am not like that” Emerson whispered.

“I don’t believe you!” Mason yelled. He rose from the couch, his steps deliberate as he approached Emerson. “I don’t fucking believe you.” His voice carried an anguish, as if those words were physically painful for him to utter.

Mason's fist landed on Emerson's chest with a controlled force, enough to make a point without causing harm.

"What now, what do we do... What about us?" Emerson questioned, the weight of uncertainty hanging in the air.

“Why did you let him touch you?” Mason inquired, his voice a hushed whisper, intended solely for Emerson's ears. "Almost as though you wanted it." he continued, his gaze penetrating Emerson's eyes in search of answers.

Emerson exhaled, his breath escaping like a fleeting whisper into the charged air. In that moment, the atmosphere crackled with an electric tension that seemed to beckon Mason's simmering anger. His fist, clenched like a coiled spring, collided with Emerson's jaw in a burst of explosive intensity. It was as if Mason had delved deep into the recesses of Emerson's gaze, unearthing a wellspring of raw, unspoken emotions that laid bare the profound depth of his feelings for William.

The sheer power behind Mason's punch sent Emerson reeling, forcing him to stumble backward. Yet, in an unexpected twist, Mason swiftly caught Emerson's arm, his grip like an anchor, steadying the momentarily dazed figure. But Mason wasn't done; he summoned the wrath within him and delivered a second, thunderous blow that sent Emerson crashing to the ground, the ground quaking beneath the force of their turbulent emotions.

Mason swiftly moved, using his weight to pin Emerson down. His fist was poised for another harsh blow when he locked eyes with Emerson. Emerson's lips were split, blood trickled from his nose, and tears streamed down his face. "You're disgusting." Mason uttered.

A wave of sadness washed over Emerson, tugging at his heart. "Fight back!" he screamed. Emerson’s once indomitable willpower had eroded away. He had initially approached Mason with the fiery intent to confront him, but as he contemplated the possible trajectory of his life, a turbulent storm of uncertainty swept over him. If this was what it meant to be with William, he wasn’t so sure he wanted that anymore. Doubts gnawed at him, casting shadows over his desires.

With a haunted, vacant gaze, Emerson fixed his eyes upon his friend, his silent plea echoing through the charged air. For the very first time, he yearned for the impending blow from Mason’s relentless fists, secretly hoping it might be the definitive end to it all, a dramatic punctuation mark to the tumultuous chapter of his existence.

Tears streamed down Mason's face, the droplets landed on Emerson's, indicating that Mason had long abandoned throwing punches. He clung tightly to Emerson's shirt, his voice trembling as he asked, "Why? I can't understand why you would choose this."

Emerson hand on his cheeks disgusted him. “Don’t touch me!” Mason yelled.

The expression in Mason's eyes made it clear that there was no turning back. Mason had figured out why Emerson often closed his eyes or avoided making direct eye contact with him. Emerson's biggest fear had now become reality; Mason had looked into his eyes and realized he had feelings for William.

Emerson remained in that position for an extended period, gradually inhaling air into his lungs. When he eventually summoned the strength to rise, despite vehement protests from his body, he staggered back into the house. Everything blurred as he moved with a singular purpose in mind. Reaching his final destination, he seized the first bottle he could find and downed its contents in one desperate gulp.