Chapter 21

The last dayof fall term coincides with our final game before Christmas. It means we have a full house. What better way to start the winter break than taking in a Bears game, followed by multiple parties tonight?

Tomorrow, campus will be a ghost town. Only our team, those students who, for whatever reason, don’t plan to go home, and locals will be sticking around. Fortunately, local residents tend to fill out the crowd when we have a game during the winter break. This year, though, we won’t be playing at home on the twenty-sixth.

After midmorning training today, Bentley and I met up with his folks for a light lunch. Honestly, I’m still pinching myself, struggling to get my head around how incredible they’ve been.

Once Bentley told them he’s now a married man—with the bombshell that I’m his husband—they started talking about home renos and adding on an extension to make life easier should we move in with them next year after college.

Not only that, Lauren—my mother-in-law—has been in touch with my mom, and we’re all playing big happy families on Christmas Eve and heading to my folks’ place to celebrate our first holidays together.

“Your head in the game?” Bentley’s nudge at my side has me snapping my attention from my phone to him.

We’re in the locker room, waiting to head onto the court. What I should be doing is getting in the zone. What I am doing is looking at house prices and rentals close by his parents’ place and figuring out what kind of cash I need to be earning to eventually get a place of our own.

Not that their offer isn’t incredible. But no way do I want them to do work on their house and spend money on it for us. It’s all just a little too much.

“Yeah.” My nod is weak, and Bentley knows it.

He leans into me a little, saying, “I explained that their offer is incredible, but I’ve told them no. It’ll all be okay. For now”—his knee knocks into mine—“let’s focus on giving everyone out there a reason to celebrate tonight, yeah?”

There’s no denying him. His smile is wide, his gaze steady.

At the upturn of my lips, he squeezes my knee and stands. “Now, listen to your music. We’re heading out in two minutes.”

I jam my EarPods in, hitting Play on my music app. “Lemon Pepper Freestyle” fills my ears, and I bend my head forward and close my eyes. I focus on the beat more than the lyrics. My pulse settles as I draw in a breath.

It’s gonna be a kick-ass game.

I crack my neck side to side and rub my hand over the back of my head, focusing on the texture of coarse hair from the fresh fade. Feet appear before me, just like they do every single game since playing for Brixham.

One more deep breath and a steady exhale, and I’m ready. My gaze connects with Bentley’s. The slight curve of his lips is the same one I’ve spent almost four years focusing on for just a beat before I stand.

“Ready?” His voice is steady, familiar.

“Fucking A.”

And then we’re moving, making our way onto the court as Dean, fully decked out in his mascot gear, is dancing his giant, furry bear butt off, getting the crowd revved up. The room is electric tonight. Our colors span the majority of the crowd, chants and cheers already blowing the roof off.

This game is being televised. Several cameras are set up. With this being my fourth season in, they’re no longer a distraction. Most of the time, I forget they’re there.

We warm up, shooting hoops, practicing passes, our team surrounding each other, working as a unit. The usual five of us are starting tonight, just the way I like it.

I wonder what it’ll be like next year, switching on the game and watching the Bears, a new starting five taking the mantle. It’s wild. A year from now, our lives are going to be so different, which is absolutely not what I should be thinking about right now.

Kieran calls us over, and we huddle close. “Bears, listen up. Bentley, Leon, I need you both locked in from the get-go. Bentley, I want you driving that offense. Ty, you’re our defensive anchor—shut down anything that comes your way. Let’s set the tone early and show them what we’re made of. Break!”

We take our positions, anticipation filling the air, and the adrenaline kicks in. The ref blows the whistle, and the game begins with a lightning-fast pass from Bentley to Kieran, who sinks a three-pointer.

The crowd erupts in cheers, electrifying the atmosphere twofold.

And we keep moving, not stopping.

With each possession, we execute our passes and shots with practiced precision, feeding off the energy of the crowd and dominating the court.

The game is fast. I barely have time to wipe sweat from my eyes as the Pythons push hard.

“Sammy.”

The moment I hear Kieran, I’m moving to center court. The Pythons have possession. We’re winning by nineteen, and their mistakes are piling up. Dodging left, then right, I intercept, immediately passing to Bentley. More points, and the crowd goes wild.

As the game intensifies, Leon’s relentless. His presence on the court is a sharp-as-hell thorn in the side of the opposition’s forward. The guy’s red in the face, getting pissed. I hang back, holding my line, ready to intercept when I get the chance.

A second later, Leon captures the ball. I move, ready to make myself available just as the forward lunges at Leon, his arms flailing in an attempt to dislodge the ball.

That or the guy’s taking up some dickish dance move I’ve never seen before.

The ref’s whistle pierces the air, signaling the foul. Again. Immediately, the forward, a guy with short dreads, scowls, muttering a curse.

I snort, raising my brow and shaking my head. The dude seriously doesn’t want to piss off this ref. Donnie isn’t known for suffering fools.

We move immediately as soon as play continues. Undeterred by the occasional shoves and frequent whistle blows, we press on relentlessly.

“Time-out.”

It’s from Coach.

“You think we’re going to be entering a scene from Fight Club or something soon?” I chuckle, side-eyeing the dark expressions the Pythons are shooting our way.

Leon’s at my side. “They weren’t this bad before, right?”

Ty shakes his head. “It’s their new captain. The guy’s a prick.”

I angle a look over my shoulder, realizing it’s number 2, the forward who fouled Leon earlier. Well, one of the countless fouls made against him, and that’s just in fifteen minutes of play. “You know him?” I peer back at Ty.

“He’s a prick on social media.”

My brows shoot high. His school lets him get away with that? “A prick how?”

“Team, gather around,” Coach instructs, preventing Ty from answering. “Bentley, I want you supporting Leon.”

Glancing around with a frown, I wonder what Coach’s play is. I go to look back at him but pause when I notice Tiller’s face of thunder. He’s pissed.

“Yes, Coach.” Bentley’s tone is grave, and fuck if understanding doesn’t slam into me, probably ten minutes too late.

The fuckers are targeting Leon. The hell?

“All of you, keep the ball moving, keep driving forward. With us moving Bentley, I need you to shift positions and fill in that gap, Sammy.”

“Absolutely, Coach.” Conviction, hot and bitter, races through my veins. How the fuck I missed the focus on Leon, I don’t know, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

“Leon, a word.”

Leon nods and steps to the side with Coach Maple. Their heads are close, their conversation low.

“Did you hear what he called Leon?” Bentley’s voice startles me from trying to lip-read whatever Coach is saying to Leon.

My pulse thumps heavily as I make eye contact with Bentley. Intensity burns brightly in his gray eyes. The tic in his jaw takes me by surprise, immediately putting me on high alert. “Fuck no. What?”

“Talking shit about him and Tiller. Spouted words that need to have him pulled off the court, fined, and given a broken nose.”

My brows dart high just as Bentley blanches. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. You know I’d nev?—”

My gut twists even as I squeeze his arm. “It sounds like he’d deserve a broken nose, and I know you wouldn’t.” I loathe violence, but I understand the draw in situations like these.

Relief softens his gaze, and he expels a breath.

“Come on, hotshot,” I say. We need to get back on the court. Now isn’t the time for us to lose our focus. “We’ve got a game to win and pricks to put in their place.”

We get moving, the teams taking the court and getting right back into the thick of things.

Time seems to slow down as the Pythons keep pushing, just shy of fouls or away from the ref’s focus.

The forward is talking shit again, this time out of earshot of the ref. Donnie’s dealing with a foul several feet away.

It’s when number 2 sneers at Leon as he walks on past that I open my mouth, unable to keep a lid on it. “Man, if you have enough energy to keep spouting the crap you are, it’s no wonder you’re losing so spectacularly.” I shake my head at him, not holding back my disgust. “If you threw that energy into playing a clean game, just maybe you wouldn’t all suck.”

The narrowed glance he shoots my way is full of loathing. I bounce my brows at him and follow up with a wink, focusing on Ty and the ref.

The game continues, and one thing’s clear—Bentley sticking to Leon, ensuring he isn’t fouled, is pissing the Pythons off. Another layup from Leon, and the crowd cheers. Bentley jogs past me, and we high-five. The sound of the ball hitting the polished floor refocuses me a hundred percent.

I get moving, looking to intercept, but number 36 manages to pass the ball to one of their players. My gaze snaps to the left, following its projection. Bentley’s close by, between the basket and number 19.

One thing to know about my husband, he’s like a shield, all broad shoulders and strong arms. He jumps high to block just as the forward appears out of nowhere. He’s under him, his shoulder hitting Bentley’s gut as he seems to balance in the air.

Blood drains from my face as the hit changes Bentley’s trajectory. He spins and flips. I can’t blink. Can’t look away. I can’t even move as he crashes to the floor.

I have no idea what hits first, his head or his hand, but the bang reverberates around my brain like I’ve been hit in the head by a heavy plank.

“The fuck!” I holler, already moving, fucking charging.

I don’t know where to look, where to go. Acid burns my stomach, anger red-hot and turning to fire in my veins when the forward simply glances down, a sneer of indifference on his face.

I’m going to fucking kill him.

“You piece of shit.” I slam into him with my arm, shoving him away. He staggers back, his gaze snapping to mine. “You?—”

“Sammy.” Kieran wraps an arm around me, his voice at my ear somehow cutting through my pulse that’s pummeling my brain and the uproar from the crowd. I go to shrug him off. His “It’s Bentley” stops me in my tracks.

The blood drains from my face as I spin on my heels. My knees weaken, the acid already swirling in my stomach intensifying.

“Bentley.”

Kieran lets me go, and I’m moving.

The ref and Ty are by Bentley’s side. Lacey, the athletic trainer, red bag in hand, reaches Bentley before I do.

I slam to my knees, wide-eyed and with ice in my veins. Bentley’s prone form is at a slightly awkward angle.

“Bentley.” My voice trembles. My hands itch to reach out and touch him, but I’m too terrified. “Bentley.” I lift my head, looking at the assistant coach. “What’s wrong with him?”

Ignoring me, Lacey’s checking his pulse, head low and staring at his chest while listening for Bentley’s breaths.

The hell…? Is he checking if he’s breathing? Why the fuck wouldn’t he be?—

His “Shit” shoots fresh panic like a bullet to my heart. His fingers move to Bentley’s mouth, and I watch on, dizzy, as he pries Bentley’s mouth open, shoving his fingers inside.

“What are you doing? What’s?—”

“Got it.”

What the hell has Lacey got? I want to shove his hands away, but even in my panic, I know something is seriously wrong, and whatever Lacey is doing, he’s helping Bentley.

“We need to move him onto his back. Where’s the backboard?” Lacey whips a look over his shoulder. I follow the movement. Two EMTs are racing this way.

I jerk at the touch on my arm, my whole body trembling.

“We need to give them room,” Ty says, his words barely managing to penetrate the thick fog of fear shrouding my mind.

“Room for what? To do what? Why the fuck aren’t his eyes open?” I demand, my words choked with fear and frustration.

My gaze darts back to Bentley, lying so still on the backboard, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the handheld respirator they’ve put over his nose and mouth. The sight of his unmoving form sends another wave of nausea crashing over me, and I stagger backward, barely able to stand.

“Please,” I beg, turning to Ty with desperate eyes. “Please tell me he’s going to be okay.” But even as the words leave my lips, I fear the answer. The uncertainty, the helplessness, threatens to suffocate me as I cling to the thin thread of hope that he’ll open his eyes. That he’ll be okay.

The EMTs start moving. I’m close on their heels.

Coach Maple appears out of nowhere, and I go to dodge around him, refusing to let Bentley out of my sight. “We can meet them at the hospital.”

I shake my head. “Not a fucking chance. I’m going in the ambulance.”

“His parents are here. His mom or?—”

I don’t stop moving as we reach the exit, shouting, “No.”

“Sammy, I know?—”

The doors of the ambulance open.

“Why aren’t they giving him oxygen?” Panic surges forward as I wonder why they aren’t squeezing the bag.

One of the paramedics looks my way. “He’s breathing on his own now. He’d bitten his tongue and it started to swell, blocking his breathing.” He focuses on the gurney, turning his back to me.

“I can come in the ambulance, right?” Everything’s hazy through my damp eyes, but I see the second EMT shoot a look over her shoulder.

“We can allow one person. You say his parents are here?”

“That’s right. They’re just coming now,” Coach confirms.

“Not a fucking chance he’s going anywhere without?—”

Coach Maple moves to my side. “We’ll be right behind the ambulance.”

I’m already shaking my head.

“Sammy needs to go.”

I sag at the sound of Bentley’s mom’s voice. When I glance her way, her red-rimmed gaze connects with mine, and I nod.

Coach grunts at my side. I coax my attention to his, finally making eye contact. He doesn’t look pissed, maybe a little frustrated at my stubbornness. When he looks at me, his features soften.

I part my lips to say thanks, maybe to ask what’s happening with the game—even though I don’t actually care. Instead, the words “Bentley’s my husband” spill out. “Wherever he goes, I go, Coach.”

Coach’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth slightly agape. For a moment, he seems at a loss for words. His gaze shifts from me to Bentley, who’s being loaded into the ambulance by the EMTs.

Finally, Coach clears his throat, his expression softening further. “I had no idea,” he murmurs, his tone carrying a mix of sympathy and understanding. “Of course you should go with him.”

He gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning to Bentley’s parents, his voice firm as he assures them, “I’ll make sure you get there safely.”

As the female EMT beckons me toward the ambulance, I steal one last glance at Coach, grateful he’s rolling with this. Then my eyes are on the man I love. The beeping heart monitor settles my mind.

The rhythm is steady.

The paramedics also said he’s breathing. The oxygen mask must just be making it a little easier on him.

They’re all good signs. It’s what I focus on as the sirens wail and we race down the street.

“Why isn’t he awake?” The question catches on the lump in my throat.

The EMT in the back with me doesn’t glance my way as she continues strapping Bentley’s wrist. “It looks like he took a knock to his head. Either a possible concussion or being without oxygen for a little while is the likely reason.”

“But he’ll wake up?” The click as I swallow is loud.

This time, she looks at me, compassion in her gaze. “He’s in good hands, and once we’re at the hospital, we’ll know more.”

So that’s a “no fucking idea,” then?

A shaky breath tears from me as I watch her work. As she’s finishing up, I ask, “What’s wrong with his wrist?”

“A possible break. Maybe a bad sprain. It’s swollen.”

I wince. Bentley’s going to be so frustrated. At least it’s his right hand, so he’ll still be able to sketch away at his designs.

“It was a tough game out there tonight,” she says.

A humorless snort escapes. “That’s one way of putting it.” The whole team needs kicking out of the association for the shit they pulled tonight.

Jesus. I lean over, arms on my knees as I hang my head low. I drag in a shaky breath, trying to stop the dizziness from encroaching.

“You doing okay there?”

I manage a “Yeah” before sucking in another lungful of air. I know what this is: an adrenaline crash. After a few seconds of deep breaths, I manage to center myself. Now is not the time for a meltdown.

Bentley needs me.

Lifting my head and straightening my back, I peer over at Bentley’s motionless form. He’s wearing an oxygen mask, his chest rising and falling every few seconds. The EMT monitors him carefully. Bentley’s wrist has been strapped, and he’s still unconscious.

I rest my palm on his bare leg. Warmth seeps into my cold, clammy skin. It’s reassuring, calming me a fraction more. “How much longer?” I ask.

She peers out the front window before saying, “Three minutes.” Her gaze stays on me for a beat, a gentle smile forming. “When we get there, you’ll need to go to the emergency desk and give details.”

I part my lips, ready to argue, but she pushes on.

“They won’t let you back there while they’re checking him over. Plus, he’ll likely go straight for a CT scan.”

CT scan?The thought stops any complaint close to escaping.

“Your coach said he’d make sure your husband’s parents arrive safely, so you won’t be by yourself for long. As soon as the doctors have information, they’ll speak to you, okay?”

Numbly, I nod. “Thanks,” I croak as the vehicle slows.

Before the doors open, she squeezes my arm. “Listen, his vitals are good, yeah?”

An unsteady breath rushes out of me. “Okay, yeah.”

And then we’re moving.

It’s hard not to follow the gurney, almost impossible to let Bentley out of my sight. The ache in my chest threatens to cut off my breathing, but I can’t let it.

Fuck.

Sucking in a lungful of air, I head to the emergency desk and give the receptionist as much information as I can. By the time she asks for his medical insurance, I sag in relief when Bentley’s dad reaches my side, taking over.

“Let’s go sit.” Lauren wraps her arm around me. This dot of a woman holds me up, and Christ, I’m grateful. Before we sit, I wrap my arms around her. Her small frame shudders in my embrace.

“The EMT said his vitals are good.” Conviction coats my tone. “He’d stopped breathing because he’d swallowed a tooth on top of his tongue swelling up.” I clench my jaw, blinking away the tears of what could have happened.

I swear, Coach Lacey saved not only Bentley’s life on the court but mine too. I’ll be forever in his debt.

“But he’s going to be okay.” I press a kiss on the top of her head, then release her into Fred’s arms when he joins us, Coach Maple at his side.

Coach sits next to me and angles to look my way. “You doing okay, kid?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Just need him to wake up and be okay.”

His large palm squeezes my shoulder.

Tears are close to strangling me. I refuse to break, not now. Distracting myself, I ask, “The game…?”

“Canceled.”

Shock has me sitting upright and looking more fully at him. Sure, Coach is here, but the assistant coaches remained. Plus, canceling midplay…? “Seriously?” I’ve only seen that done twice in college basketball in the time I’ve been playing.

Obviously, Bentley’s injuries are serious and will have shaken the team, but?—

“They had to get that forward, Carlisle, off the court, and the rest of the team too. The Bears fans kind of lost their shit.”

“For real?” It’s likely I should be horrified, but fuck if I’m not proud. Carlisle’s foul was the most deliberate attack I’ve ever seen in my years on the court and as a fan.

“Coach Lacey texted, letting me know security and the police had to be called. Everything seems to have calmed down, but the team required an escort off the campus. The footage is being reviewed by the College Athletics Board. I suspect the consequences are going to be pretty major, for the team as well as Carlisle.”

I take in his words. While anger still sits heavily in my gut, it appeases some of the need to scream and lose my shit.

“The rest of the team are almost here.”

I nod, grateful my friends will be by my side.

“I need to warn you, Sammy,” Coach starts, his hand moving back to my shoulder, capturing my attention completely. “You know the game was live. The footage is going to be everywhere, so do not look at it, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” I swallow bile. Just the thought of seeing Bentley crashing to the ground is enough to have my vision blurring. The memory is already seared into my mind. I don’t want another reminder.

“There’s more.” His voice drops lower, quieter, putting me on high alert. “When we were all outside and the EMTs were getting Bentley ready for transport, one of the camera crews was there, recording.”

My nose twitches in distaste. Again, that’s nothing I want to watch. “Yeah, okay, thanks.” I frown when he doesn’t let go, his gaze completely focused on me.

I’m missing something.

“What is it?”

Coach’s lips stretch thin and tight. Discomfort settles on his face. “You told me you and Bentley were married, and the camera was pointed directly at you.”

Oh shit.Yeah, I definitely missed something.

Cameras were the last thing on my mind at the time. Sure, I knew there were multiple bodies around us, but I didn’t pay a lick of attention.

“It’s fine.” My attempt at being blasé falls flat. The sympathy in Coach’s expression confirms it.

Immediately, thoughts of Trevin lodge in my brain, but it’s not like he has free and easy access to any media inside. My pulse hammers loudly in my head.

There’s nothing to be done now. My fear, what’s kept me rooted in the need to keep our relationship quiet, is still there, but at the moment, I have to focus on Bentley being well. Once I know he’s going to be okay, then I can freak the fuck out and figure out what I need to do to keep Trevin as far away from Bentley as fucking possible.