15
Jace's POV
The defensive lineman in front of me hits me with such force I think my dead father shed a tear. My team has been hanging me out to dry tonight, and we can't seem to make anything happen. With two minutes left in the game, we are down by a touchdown and a field goal, and I quite frankly don't see us coming back from this.
This game, in the long run, won't affect our chances of making it to states, but I am already dreading the earful that I know Michael is going to give me when he finds out that we lost. He expects more from me; he believes that even if my team is sucking, I should still be enough to make them win, which isn't possible.
"Come on Herondale, I expected more from you." My blood runs virtually cold as the defensive lineman taunts me, "What did you just call me?" My body snaps upwards, my heart ramming against my chest at an uncomfortable speed, "Where did you hear that name?" I yell at him, alerting a few of the teammates near me, causing their attention to fall from the impending play, to my angry tone.
"Your dead daddy's gravestone, obviously." In that moment, the thought of losing flies out the window as nothing matters more to me than vengeance. I snap my helmet off the side of my head, and swing a right hook hard enough to knock the helmet off the lineman. He is caught by surprise, evident by the look of shock that crosses his face. I hit him again, this time taking him down to the floor. How dare he mention my dead father? What gives him the right?
"You talk about my dad again," I step on his hand with my cleat as my teammates rush to me to attempt to pull me off of him. It has seemed that I have caused a riot, "I will make sure you can never play football again," I kick him under the jaw, snapping his head back so he lands roughly on the ground, his head bouncing when it makes contact with the grass, "I will make sure you can't walk again." Before I can do any more damage, my own teammates tackle me to the floor. The refs are blowing whistles, players are getting pulled apart, and Coach Starkweather grabs me by the back of the padding, and drags me back out of the mix, "Have you lost your fucking mind!" He screams at me as he yanks me to my feet. My nostrils flare in anger as I attempt to slow my breathing, "He mentioned my dad, Coach, I couldn't let him get away with it." I tell him; my voice firm, and my eyes squeeze shut as I count backwards from ten.
"Damn it kid," his tone is immediately softer, "you can't just punch your emotions out Jace." He tells me, continuing to lead me off the field, as the refs seem to get the rest of the players under control. Coach is going to have to pull some serious strings to keep me from getting suspended for the rest of the season.
"I kicked them out, too." I say, causing coaches head to snap towards me, "I'm going to slap some sense into you." He threatens me as we reach the locker room entrance, "Go cool down, I'll see you after the game." He gives me a rough shove towards the showers, before giving me one last look over his shoulder as he leaves me to my own devices.
At first, I punched a wall twice. Then, when I felt my knuckles crunch with every movement, I stripped my protective pads off, throwing them roughly across the room with a scream. I throw the shower on high, but leave the temperature on cold, as I step under the running water, letting it soak my uniform and I.
I don't know how long I stay like this, my eyes squeezed shut, letting the cold water pelt against my back, but I am finally broken through my spell as I feel a small hand wrap around my wrist. I jump from the contact, spinning as I tear my arm from the grip of whoever just joined me, "Easy." I hear Clary's voice cut through the pounding in my ears. I let out a loud breath as I turn the shower off, stepping out of the wash stall, water dripping off of me.
"What did that lineman do to you?" She asks me, extending a hand to put on my shoulder, which I shrug off, "Don't worry about it." I respond gruffly.
"Jace, you can't just punch people because they upset you," I scoff at her, fighting the urge to roll my eyes, "I don't need a lecture on how to properly handle my emotions from you." I cross my eyes, shaking some of the water off of my head.
"Yeah, sure, Jace. But honestly, you are better than me, better than this Jace." She tells me, and I groan, feeling my anger bubble back up inside of me again. I'm not mad at her; I don't need to snap at her, she hasn't done anything wrong.
"Yeah but I'm obviously not good enough!" My voice has risen now so that I am yelling, my anger boiling over past the point of my control, "Not a good enough fighter, not a good enough son, not even a good enough football player. Which I fucking hate by the way, I don't even want to play football, but God forbid I stop, Michael might as well castrate me at that point." I throw my arms up in exasperation and Clary crosses the room, her body visibly stiff, her damaged arm tucked against her chest.
"You don't get to yell at me." She yells back at me, "I'm sorry that you're upset, and I'm sorry that you're doing something you hate, but I have done nothing to you. I am trying to comfort you the best that I can, but you will not take your anger out on me." She growls at me, poking me roughly in the chest. I instantly feel horrible all over again, turning away from her.
"I'm sorry." I say, not even able to look at her, embarrassed for the way I spoke to her, embarrassed of the way I allowed something as small as me fearing the confrontation between Michael and I to upset me to this degree.
"He brought up my dad, my real dad, and I just couldn't stop myself." I say, facing away from her still, "Up until I was thirteen, I went by my real last name, Herondale." I rub my hand down my face, moving the water out of my eyes, "But eventually, I got sick and tired of getting called an Orphan, and getting asked why Eliza and Michael had a different last name than I did. I was a stupid thirteen year old and I just wanted to blend in." I turn back to face the small redhead, who has propped herself up on the far side of the room, listening intently, but obviously wary of me, "You weren't stupid, you aren't stupid."
"I dropped my real name, and started going by Wayland. It stopped people from asking questions, but I know everyone knows I'm adopted. I don't care now, but as a kid, it stung a lot. The kid, when he called me Herondale and brought up my dad, well, I just couldn't help it. I took out all my childhood anger on him." I hear some clatter from the outside of the locker room and I press my tongue to the roof in my mouth in annoyance, "The team is going to be here any minute, I need to get out of here." I say, my heart thumping again, and I watch Clary leave her spot on the wall.
"Come on," She takes my hand in her own, something she had yet to do, and leads me towards the back door. When we slip outside, the New York chill catches my soaked body off guard, and I unintentionally stiffen, "Where are you parked?" She asks me while steering us away from the large group of people. Judging from the lack of cheering, I would have to assume that the team lost. I feel a pit grow in my stomach, "Over here." Clary lets out a noise of relief, "Oh good. For once I'm happy to see you not on your motorcycle." I guess my decision to take my dad's car to school today was a good one.
We find my sleek black car parked in the front of the lot, and I purse my lips in realization, "I don't have my keys." I look down at her, and she allows a small smile to fall on her lips as she lets go of my hand. She digs my car keys out of her pocket, unlocking the door; "I figured I should grab them when you were having your fit of rage." She tells me, swinging the passenger side's door open, "Get in." She demands of me and I stare at her with wide eyes, "You are not driving my car." I tell her and she shoves me, "Get in now." I eventually oblige, and Clary climbs into the driver seat. I would find her struggle to move my seat up to be comical if I weren't in such a piss-poor mood.
"What about your bike?" I ask her as she floors it out of the parking lot and into the street traffic, "I rode with Isabelle. I told her when I came after you in the locker room that she should be prepared to leave without me and that I would meet her back at my house." I don't respond, rather I press my head against the cool window as the heat blasts my frozen body.
When we arrive at Clary's house, she practically drags me out of my car, "You're going to get sick being wet outside." She sounds concerned; I breathe a sigh of relief as it seems that Clary hasn't held too much of a grudge against me for yelling at her. I wish I hadn't done it; but like my biological and adoptive fathers, keeping my temper in check was never my strong suit. I try so hard, using sports to mask my anger, but I am having a hard time keeping it together.
When we enter Clary's home, we are immediately greeted by her mother and brother sitting on the couch. Of course, they chose the best time to return; their instigation is just what we need right now, "Clary, I don't want him upstairs with you." Her mother calls to her as I follow her up the stairs, "Not now mom!" Clary yells back to her, her voice as hard as nails.
"Fine, but at least keep the door open!" Clary's older look-alike calls to us as we enter the bedroom. In response, Clary slams her door shut so loud; I think the entire upstairs loft shook.
"Take your uniform off." She tells me, and I shoot my eyebrows up, "Listen, I would want to see me naked too but now isn't the time." She narrows her eyes, throwing my duffle bag at me, causing it to strike me in the stomach, "Jace, your stupid jokes are going to do nothing but piss me off," she is definitely still mad at me for yelling at her, "I don't want you to get sick. Change out of your wet uniform so you don't." She tells me, putting her hands over her eyes to give the illusion of privacy.
Once changed, I clear my throat and Clary slowly lowers her hand, letting out a loud sigh. Without another word, she walks towards me, and I sigh, closing my eyes, preparing for her to yell at me, or poke me, or lash out on me. I deserve it. Rather, she lets out a loud sigh, opening her good arm, and wrapping it tightly around me, pulling me flush against her in a hug. I squeeze my eyes shut as I wrap my hands around her waist, emotions welling up in my chest as her good hand makes its way to my hair, stroking it softly, "I'm sorry about your dad." She tells me, her lips against my shoulder. I can't bring myself to respond, rather, I tuck my nose against the top of her head, breathing her in as I allow her to comfort me.
Our moment is interrupted as Clary's phone begins to ring against her back pocket. She makes no move to answer or silence it, rather she allows it to move into her voicemail, "That could be important." I point out to her, "I don't care." She responds softly, her hand still making its way through my curls. I sigh in contentment, feeling my body relax under her touch. The room falls silent again, I swear it is quiet enough to hear my heart beating.
The moment is once again ruined by a cell phone ringing, but this time, it is mine. I let out a moan of protest, letting go of my little redhead, and reaching for my phone. I furrow my brows as Luke's name pops up on the caller ID, but I answer the phone anyways, bringing it to my ear, "Hey Luke." I greet him.
"Is Clary with you?" He asks, and I tighten my lips in confusion, "Yeah, why, what's up? How did you know Clary was with me?" I ask him and I hear him scoff on the other line, "Put me on speaker." I oblige.
"Hi Luke," Clary greets me, her hand finding my bicep and gripping it roughly.
"Listen, I know this is probably not what you wanted to hear right now, but I got some news about Seelie. I don't know much, but I know that Seelie paid her way out of her suspension and the DQ was pulled off of her record. So, for her, the fight basically didn't happen, and her coaches are already trying to reschedule a fight with you." Luke tells me and Clary's eyebrows shoot up, "Yes." She says, "No." I repeat, giving her a stern look.
"We can talk about a rematch once you heal. My bigger concern is where she got the money to cover this fight, and where she got the orders to fight illegally." He says; Clary swallows a lump in her throat, "You think someone paid her to hurt me?" She asks, but it comes across as more of a statement.
"Maybe, listen, come into the gym tomorrow and we can talk about this, just don't think about it too much, alright?" Luke says sighing, "I got stuff going on, I'll see you tomorrow." He clicks the phone off before either of us get the chance to respond, "You can't fight her again." I tell her, narrowing my eyes at her.
"You don't get to tell me what to do," she narrows her eyes back at me, a sickening sweet smile pasted on her face.
"But as the voice of reason, I feel obligated to put my input in." I point out and she rolls her eyes, "Does the voice of reason beat the shit out of people on the regular or is tonight a special occasion?" She teases me, and I scoff, "I liked you better when you didn't talk." I point out and she chuckles, putting a hand lightly on my cheek, "I'm taking a shower, you go lie down and stay quiet, yeah?" She asks and I nod- not fully registering what she's saying because of the way her thumb is rubbing my cheek. no matter what she asked me to do, I'm sure I would've agreed.
"Ok." She lets go of me, heading towards the bathroom. I flop back onto Clary's bed, my eyes trained up on her ceiling fan.
