Dad and Grace stayed for two days, went on their Malibu vacation, then came back for another two days as a very welcomed distraction. After my Friday class ended, we played LA tourists, stepped on the Hollywood stars, and even went on a movie stars' house bus tour. Poor Dad nearly puked when we took a helicopter ride over the city, which was loud and stuffy with hot, stale air but showcased amazing views of downtown.

Suppose I've now seen under DTLA and above it.

The best part was I got to know Grace Hightower as more than a distributor of handsome male genes. Her lack of a filter left her unaffected by my 'colorful language,' and at one point she shrugged her shoulders and promised she really liked Dad's dry personality. I wasn't entirely sure I believed her reasoning, that his bland balanced out her spice of life.

Personally though? Externally I'd composed myself again into a bitch who looked like she cared less, but I was still an internal, fucked-up, hot mess. My emotions flopped between embarrassment that Jake had witnessed my broken-down moments, to anger at my mother, to guilty over the fact I'd burned my brother's pictures, to just... fucking hurt.

For the first time since Jake himself took my virginity at fourteen, I wanted nothing to do with sex. The hormonal switch that always hummed on like a broken air conditioner unit somehow cracked and chugged to an absolute standstill.

I still physically retained my sensations of touch, but my body's sexual reactions were nonexistent. For once, I had zero drive or even a flicker of interest. My lady bits were as numb as my brain while the rest of my body went through the academic motions of college life.

Probably for the best because everywhere else is a hot fucking mess.

The UCLA-USC pregame hype, which escalated the entire fucking week prior to the game, felt like a giant magnifying glass had been shone on Jake. At the risk I delayed sorting through the personal shit Jake had been exposed to, I deflected myself into near nonexistence. In what felt like the first unselfish act I'd ever done, I stayed quiet, tucked my head down, and stayed as quietly anonymous as possible.

By the time Dad patted me on the back and Grace choke-hugged me goodbye at their LAX drop off spot, I found myself actually convinced and relieved that she really wanted nothing more from him than what he could actually give. More than once, my mind drifted back to her non-Mom promise, which I appreciated more than words expressed.

In my distracted state, I'd completely forgotten what day it even was. Of all reminders, it took one of Jake's fucking smugass billboards along the 405 before I remembered that today that today was Saturday, the day of the UCLA and USC game.

"We're late!" Li chirped out in a high, squeaky voice when I burst through our dorm door. "Where were you? I've been calling!"

"Phone's dead," I groaned quietly.

Curse words rushed out of my mouth in my flurried pace. My hands flew as fast as they moved as I changed my clothes and grabbed my USC jersey off its hanger. My phone sat on my desk, left behind in its charger as we both hurried out. If I'd coordinated better, then I could've picked up Mrs. H. from LAX but assumed, or more like hoped, that she'd gotten her own ride to the stadium. While I wasn't comfortable sitting with her, I had promised that I would escort a particularly cranky, old man for his moment of pregame recognition.

The parking spot Jake had secured me was still open as my car lurched into it, with slightly squealed tires and a soft gasp from Li when the seatbelts gripped into our chests. I turned to her and shut off the car. "Do you know where we're -"

"I'll be fine!" she assured me and hopped out. "Go!"

"Thanks," I called behind me and rushed over the parking lot, one hurried footstep pounded into the concrete at a time. In my haste, the faint echo of my car lock's beep reminded me that I'd forgotten the USC jersey that I'd planned to wear tonight, still on the back seat of my car where I'd flung it before I got in and hauled ass over here.

Maybe I'll grab it at halftime.

Thankfully, Earl's old, slow ass barely had moved when I rushed down the steps into the designated tunnel. He stood, half-leaning against the wall, with his nurse Maria giving him a lecture about vitamins. With quick steps, I joined his side and grabbed his elbow.

"Your ass is late, Angel," he rasped out, but clutched my forearm while his other hand grasped his cane and guided his steps forwards.

"Giving you a dramatic entrance," I teased back and enveloped my other hand over his. "Fuck, at your pace, we'll make it by halftime. Do I need to carry you on my back onto the field?"

"I'd be so lucky," he joked and smacked his cane into a few ankles on the way to the field. A smile creased my lips at the way a few annoyed glances dissolved at Earl's apologetic smile and served as a temporary distraction.

Old people are the best.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." A loud male voice boomed over the speaker system. "Please turn your attention to the tunnel, where a very special guest will flip tonight's game coin. Mister Earl Roberts is celebrating his fiftieth season ticket holder season for the University of Southern California. Mister Roberts, a Los Angeles native, is also a two-time Vietnam veteran and we proudly honor his personal service."

I titled my head back. "I didn't know that! You're holding out on me."

The ecstatic beam on Earl's face, almost childlike happiness he wore, and light that radiated out of his gray eyes rose tears up in mine. I swept them away with a flick of the tips of my free hand's fingers.

Damn old people.

Earl's eyes shifted to me and his bushy, gray eyebrows wiggled up and down. "Still have the uniform, Angel."

My soft laughs dissolved when my heart took over and pounded painfully in my chest with each slow step that led Earl towards midfield. The stadium was sold out past the seat capacity and the fans already present politely clapped for his longass entrance.

Even the standing room areas were jammed shoulder-to-shoulder with USC and UCLA fans who buzzed excitement even for the pregame activities. The game organizers must have anticipated Earl's slow movements because only the referee stood in our projected path. The dark-skinned man dressed in white and black vertical striped shirt and black pants saluted Earl from midfield.

Earl nodded, but only grimaced between a few wheezy gasps.

"Take it easy," I teased and squeezed his arm. "I'm not giving you mouth to mouth."

While we toddled across the thirty-yard line, loud cheers erupted from the crowd. My eyes lifted to both corners of the field, where representatives from each team entered from the opposite sidelines, with USC in white, gold, and scarlet and light blue and gold from UCLA. Their long, confident strides closed the distance gap with a pace at least three times faster than Earl's snail trail.

"Anytime you need that piggyback ride, just wheeze," I teased him, which earned me his cane playfully smashed straight down onto the middle of my right foot.

"And now..." The speaker system's voice boomed out. "Please welcome to midfield, the captains and representatives from the USC Trojans and UCLA Bruins."

Upon sight of the USC players, the buzz of my pulse drowned out the stadium's roars into background noise. Like before every game, Jake approached without a helmet. The bright overhead lights highlighted the dark brown waves and curls that framed his face. Unlike his normally stubborn chin lift, he kept it tucked down and his eyes tracked the steps ahead of him.

Fuck, he looks like a wet dream.

Ten days was too fucking long. Or was it twelve? Fuck, I don't even know.

By the way he ignored Griff and Evan's conversation around him, Jake seemed lost in his own thoughts. They each threw me a smirk but my attention stayed focused on number seven.

When his face lifted, the overhead lights cast shadows over his chiseled cheekbones and outlined the straight bridge of his nose and edges of his slightly flared nostrils. With the soft backlight of yellow, he took on an almost angelic glow, if it hadn't been for the sharp contrast of emotion that darkened his eyes.

I swallowed hard because that tortured look was totally my fault. I'd avoided all contact with anyone and everyone who pressed me about my mother because, fuck, I wasn't ready to go there myself.

And honestly, for the first time that I knew of... I wasn't interested in sex. My body's internal arousal that always cranked itself up higher the more I abstained felt like its pause button had been flipped on. I wasn't sure how but it was another bitter reminder of how little I felt like myself lately.

Don't get me started on the weakass emotions ravaging me at night when I should be sleeping.

My lips twitched at the corners, into the smile I wanted to give Jake but hesitated under the cold, standoffish vibe he radiated. His eyes tracked every step I took and darkened by the time we stood two yards apart.

I deserve that.

My chest squeezed painfully hard with the guilt that slowly cemented itself there as he approached. It was washed over by a rushed sense of panic that swelled up when I saw Ethan's cocky smile.

"You?" The corners of his lips curled up higher as he bent his head lower. My spine froze when he followed his murmured words up with a soft press of his lips into my right cheek. His kiss seared my skin but his words chilled the skin on the back of my neck, "Couldn't have scripted this better myself."

"Ethan -" I yanked my head back so hard that my neck pinched a nerve. The burst of pain drew my free hand upwards, where I cupped over the dull throbs, although really I wanted my fist smashed in his smugly face.

Smug and ugly, for the record.

"Aww, where's your UCLA spirit, firecracker?" he chided with a smugass grin and flash in his brown eyes. "Guess we'll see soon enough."

With a soft clap, my free hand cupped over my mouth. My eyes shifted sideways, to the murderous look that was now on -

Jake. Oh, fuck.

I'd been so wrapped up in my own personal shit that I hadn't told Jake -

"Why doesn't she love me back?" Jake's voice croaked out, not from where he stood four feet away but over the stadium's PA system.

Oh no. Fuck no. Not here and fuck, not now.

Murmurs of confusion and curiosity hummed through the crowd but I nearly drowned from the pulling under sensation that ripped through me. Our heads collectively turned to the video screens at the white column side of the stadium, where Jake's blurry form leaned forwards and his hands cupped his face.

My heart sank and I was surprised it hadn't plopped onto the field, that's how far it sank. My veins constricted and throbbed painfully.

No no no. Fuck no!

"Fuck, this... hurts," his voice haunted me with every garbled word that echoed out the speakers.

My initial shock melted under the swells of anger that licked at my stomach, pierced a ringing sound in my ears, and blurred the stadium around me into unrecognizable shapes and colors.

At the sound of snorts and quiet laughs, I turned my attention to where the UCLA players hid their reactions behind the fists over their mouths. Meade was sure as fuck lucky he wasn't among them but his number was too far away on the sidelines for my blurry eyes to recognize.

Instead, my eyes squinted into thin slits at Ethan and his so-called 'team leaders.'

Those assholes!

Jake, like his teammates, lifted their eyes to the video screens. Their shoulders moved as they shifted their weight from one foot onto the other but I watched in painful silence as Jake's eyes widened and cheeks paled.

"What the?" The referee frowned, then stepped back and spoke into his earpiece. What he said was swallowed up by the laughs that erupted and grew in volume the more Jake lamented his emotional confession.

Fuck, this should be private.

With heavy eyes, I looked up at him. Not surprisingly, his fists and jaw were clenched tightly shut, the tips of his ears were tinted pink, and a murderously dark glare cast over his eyes. They met mine, where his gaze softened slightly, like he waited for my reaction.

I had no idea what look I wore at that moment but a flicker of confusion appeared in his eyes and -

"Shut it off!" The ref barked out and, within ten more painful seconds of Jake's emotional confession, the whole PA system and screens clicked off with a hummed, static-filled sound.

Unfortunately for Jake, the laughs, taunts, and held up phones that recorded the prank continued. Through the clash of sounds that broke the silence, a lone voice, ragged with age but fired up with pride, croaked out next to me.

"Fight on," Earl rasped out, his eyes directed straight at Jake.

A stunned silence swept through and overtook the stadium, to where only the sound of the night breeze filled my ear. The light squeeze in my upper arm tugged a smile across my lips.

"Fight on!" Earl cried out louder with a slight crack in his voice.

The ref's mic must have picked up the sound because random shouts of the same two words verberated in response, burst out from random pockets of the stadium... with some colorful language directed at UCLA thrown in.

Over and over, the chants swelled, gained momentum and volume, then synchronized into a stadium-level rolling rote. Since my throat was dry and my voice shot to shit, my lips twitched along with the USC fans.

"Fight on! Fight on!"

Chills spread down the back of my neck and spine as the words took on a life of their own, exploding in volume and magnitude of their impact. Two simple words, one sense of solidarity, and all of it in support of Jake.

The look of awe on his face, mixed with relief, humility, and appreciation, was a beautiful sight. It was the sharpest contrast to the shame that washed through me and averted my eyes.

I hadn't warned him.

Earl snapped my attention back to him when he clutched onto my upper arm tightly, then looked over at the ref. "Let's throw the damn coin before my knees give out."

"Yes, Sir." He chuckled quietly and raised both hands. "Gentleman, captains, welcome to the ninetieth game between the University of Southern California and The University of California-Los Angeles."

"Ha." My hand squeezed Earl's. "You're older."

He huffed, well half-huffed, half-wheezed at me.

"Since we're at The Coliseum, The USC Trojan side of the official game coin," the ref flashed a coin up to both Jake and Ethan. "Is heads, while the UCLA Bruin is tails," he finished and flipped over the coin.

"Since UCLA is the visiting team, they will call heads or tails."

"Tails," Ethan called out, then flipped his eyes up to me.

Ugh, ass. I swear, if we weren't on national TV right now, his balls wouldn't be attached anymore.

I used more restraint than I knew I had in me not to flip up my middle fingers' own reaction to him.

With the ref's dark brown eyes on Earl, he instructed, "The coin is to be flipped up in the air, with no interference, and must flip at least once or the flip does not count."

"No pressure." I murmured to him, which earned me another half-huff. With a shaky hand, Earl took the game coin from the official's outstretched hand and flicked it high up in the air, which craned all our necks back.

"Hmmph," Earl smirked at me as the coin flipped over and over, then landed with the USC side up.

The ref bent over and announced, "The flip is heads, which means -"

"Receive," Jake interrupted with a straight, confident tone.

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "East end zone."

As the respective players extended their arms and shook hands, my eyes stayed focused on Jake. He and Ethan stood stiffly, then Ethan shot me a look and mumbled into Jake's ear. With a sharp smack of his hand into Jake's chest, Ethan winked one brown eye at me then turned his back.

I offered what felt like a pathetic smile but thankfully Jake outstretched his hand to Earl first, even though I now clung to the old guy tightly. My heart pounded harder, and all my pent-up frustrations of his butting into my family shit melted away with each step he took towards us.

The entire stadium blurred out of view when his eyes shifted and met mine. For one second, my skin warmed under his gaze and I realized how stupid I'd been with all my displaced anger. My weeks of silence, while intended as self-preservation so I hadn't lashed out at him again, must have looked beyond bitchy from his perspective.

Inside my mouth, my tongue dried and felt swollen three times its normal size. I parted my lips, then rounded them slightly into a mouthed out, 'sorry.' No sound came out, not even a breath, because, unfortunately, this wasn't the time and place for any other word.

My internal warmth turned into a chill that shivered my spine as Jake's eyes hardened and darkened until they looked like rich, dark chocolate and the corners of his mouth turned down. A faint pink shade flushed over his cheeks, the corded muscles in his neck squeezed with tension, and the glare in his eyes told me all I needed to know.

Jake was pissed.

And, deservedly, it was completely my fault.