#jen004

It’s not the loss that bothers him. Hell, it’s not even the red card. Grayson’s a Fox, and he’s not a good one—those things aren’t new. No one made him throw down his racket and put up his fists anyway. That was his own faulty wiring, and truth be told, he knows he’d do it again. He can argue that it was better for him to get a card than Elior, but in the end, Grayson’s selfish. The Jackals gave him an excuse, but he’d been itching for a fight the moment he’d stepped out onto that court. 

It’s only in the comedown that it sinks in. The inevitable red card means he won’t be playing in their next game—the game his dad’s coming to. That’s what bothers him. 

Dubois is a long way from Palmetto. It’s always been hard for his dad to take trips, and harder still when Grayson’s already gone for school, unable to help out around the ranch. Truth be told, he’d been shocked when his dad agreed to come to Parents’ Weekend this year. They’ve never seen eye to eye about Exy, but somewhere, deep down, he’d dreamed of playing well next time around—making his dad proud. 

But Grayson blew it. Already. His dad’s going to travel all this way to see Grayson sitting on the fucking bench. He’s got no one to blame but himself though, and it’s a familiar feeling.

Greensboro isn’t crowded, but it still feels claustrophobic right now, especially in a hotel full of Foxes. Grayson’s only in his hotel room for a few minutes before the restlessness sets in. He wants a cigarette. He wants another fight. He wants—something. Cities make him homesick in the worst way, even if it’s mostly for a version of his home that only exists in his head. 

Somehow, that translates into him dragging Jen out to the closet park he can find. It’s not nature, not even close, but even carefully groomed lawns are better than concrete and metal buildings right now. He shoves his bruised knuckles into his jacket pockets, glancing sidelong at them. The silence feels heavier than normal, because he knows they’ve got better things to do instead of trailing behind him here. It’s late, and the park is empty, and he’s just—furious at himself. Because, of course, it all comes back to anger in the end. Anger at himself, anger at everyone else. There’s a reason why throwing punches on the court feels so goddamn satisfying, even if it always leaves him hollow in the aftermath. 

None of that is Jen’s fault though, so he clears his throat. He’s off kilter tonight, and this isn’t their usual interaction. They spend time together in stables, on trails, and he’s used to being more in control around Jen. “Rough game,” he says, and even his attempt at apathy can’t hide the extra bite in his tone. “Sorry they booed your team at halftime. I think that was our fault.”