22. Lucas

"Okay, Mikey," I say to one of my kids as we huddle next to the makeshift football field behind the Project Renewal building. "This is the last play of the game. We've got the ball and it's the fourth down. Your job right now is to protect Kevin so we can make a touchdown and win."

I pause to look at my quarterback. "Kevin, you're going to throw a pass to Chase, and then Mike is going to make sure nobody on the other team takes him down before he can let go of that ball. Everyone got that?"

Mikey nods, wide-eyed. "Yes, Coach." I smile and clamp him on the shoulder pads. I bought all the equipment they'd need and donated it to the shelter so they'd be protected while playing.

Mikey's one of the bigger kids we're working with here at Project Renewal, but he's better behaved than most and listens the best. I liked him immediately.

I guess I also have a soft spot for him because we've suffered similar traumas. His family only just moved here to the city about eight months ago and there was some kind of an electrical fire in the house his family had bought. Damn thing burned to the ground, and his parents are having a miserable time dealing with the insurance company. The company is arguing that they didn't get all the premium payments so they won't pay for a hotel. The family doesn't have the money to shell out for a hotel while they battle for a settlement, so they've been staying here during the week and traveling to Columbus each weekend to stay with relatives.

It's a shit situation. I've spoken to Mikey about it a few times. He was shy to tell me details at first, but over the past couple of weeks, he's opened up with me. Even at twelve, he's pretty mature. He's told me a lot that whatever they lost doesn't matter, as long as they have each other. If I didn't like him before I heard that, I definitely loved him after it.

The rest of the offensive line nods and mumbles that they understand. This is the first time we're facing off in a scrimmage, and I get the feeling these kids have a lot of angst and stress to unleash. But I can tell the structure of the game is what they crave the most.

I know exactly how they feel. I want to jump right in and do the same instead of feeling it fester deep in my gut like a genie in a sealed bottle.

Jase has avoided me like I've got the bubonic plague. We had a bye week this past Sunday, so no football game to attend, here or away. I keep chewing on thoughts of him talking to Gabe after our last win. His signature scowl was nowhere to be seen, and I actually witnessed him smile. Like, really smile, not one of those bullshit ones where he's sneering at you behind it.

I wanted to know what brought the light to his face that day, but he made it clear that he has no interest in sharing a damn thing with me.

A cool chill whips over the back of my neck and my head snaps up, eyes narrowing as I scan the opposite side of the field.

My eyes lock on Jase's for a long second. I want to flip him off. I want to yell at him that he's a fucking coward for hiding behind his asshole fa?ade. I want to hate him.

But more than any of that, I want him to kiss me again like he did that day a couple of weeks ago at my house. I want him to ruin me all over again. I want so many things that involve Jase.

But it won't happen. He made a choice to dip his toe into something he thought he might like. Turns out, it didn't do it for him.

I didn't do it for him, and damn, that still stings like a bitch.

A knot of anger lodges in my chest.

Is it because I've never been rejected and don't know how to handle it?

Or is it because I've never really cared about the guys I've been with enough to even worry about rejection?

I stare at him a little longer, knitting my brows when a flicker of longing glitters in the depths of his blue eyes. It's fleeting and lasts only a second or two. But I see it, and fuck me if it doesn't make my pulse punch a hole in my throat.

"Boys, you're looking great out there!" Evelyn's chipper voice cuts through the noise in my head.

I yank my gaze away from Jase's.

No matter what he feels, he'll never do a damn thing about it. And that's a realization I have to accept.

I force a smile at Evelyn. "They're doing really well."

She laughs. "Of course! They have one of the best coaches! Now let's see what you've got."

I grin at the guys and clap Mikey on the shoulder. "You guys have got this. We ready?"

"Yes, Coach," they yell. Red-faced and shivering, they run onto the field. I blow the whistle and they get into their line. Jase sends out his team to face off against us.

I turn to look at Evelyn. "Did everything come?"

Her eyes shine bright in the afternoon sun. "It's all here. They're going to be so excited when they see it all."

A bunch of the kids don't have cold weather gear or real sneakers, so I ordered a bunch of items after getting sizes from Evelyn. Lots of Under Armour, North Face, and Nike. Evelyn said a bunch of the kids get made fun of at school because of all the hand-me-downs they wear. They have it rough enough with their living situation, so I figured it was an easy way to put smiles on their faces and give them some confidence.

I catch Jase's eye again. "Good," I murmur, still distracted by the coach of the opposition who's walking around in a tight black t-shirt that hugs every cut of muscle on his broad chest. His jeans are loose, hanging low on his hips, massive red and black Air Jordans on his feet. And from what I've seen, felt, and deep-throated, what they say about guys with huge feet is fucking true.

Blowing into my hands, I let my gaze travel over the rest of him. He didn't bother with a coat even though the weather is brutally cold this afternoon. He must have ice for blood. His messy hair is covered by a baseball cap, the stubble on his face now longer after not having shaved in a couple of weeks, just the right length to rub deliciously against my skin.

Goddammit.

I scrape my hand over my face.

He's the fucking enemy. I have to stop thinking about him like this… or at all, actually.

I just have to ride out the rest of this punishment. Letting out a frustrated breath, I grit my teeth and think back to what happened at the stadium the other day with that asshole, Trevor. I've got enough bad press to worry about; the last thing I need is to provoke Trevor into exposing what I did.

What we did.

He's already threatened me once, and damn him for having something like that to hold over me. Fucking asshole.

I can't really blame him. I made a choice. A fucking stupid one, but I did it anyway. And now it can blow open and make my rookie career crash and burn to the ground.

I'll be out on my ass if he follows through on his threats.

Squeezing my eyes shut for a second, I take a few deep breaths. They slice at my throat like icicles. Enough bullshit. This is about the kids.

I clap my hands and cheer on my team. Then I blow the whistle again. Kevin is hiked the ball and jogs backward, searching for Chase. He launches his arm backward, ready to hurl a spiral. Mikey's face pinches with panic. He darts toward Thomas, one of the linebackers on Jase's team. Thomas is damn fast and huge for a sixth grader. He tears up the field in pursuit of Kevin, kicking up grass and dirt with every step.

The ball just about leaves Kevin's hand when Thomas leaps at him, ready to tear him down like a dilapidated building hit by a wrecking ball. But before Thomas makes contact, Mikey rushes him, pummeling him to the ground.

Chase stumbles as he leans forward to catch the ball. He staggers left and right but manages to dart into the area set up as the end zone. He spikes the ball when he scores and the guys all crowd around him, cheering and smiling and being a team.

I run over to where Thomas lies, seeing Jase run toward us out of the corner of my eye. "You okay, bud?"

Thomas groans. "Yeah, but damn, Mikey. Thought we were friends."

Mikey smirks and holds out a hand to Thomas, who grabs it and jumps up off the ground. They smack each other on their helmets and go back to their respective sides of the field, leaving me and Jase alone together, awkward as fuck.

A hint of cinnamon hits my nostrils when Jase snaps his gum.

"They're doing really good," he says after a beat.

"Yes."

We stare at each other, me shivering in my North Face jacket, him in fucking short-sleeved fabric Saran Wrap. The only area on his body that's really protected from the cold is that cast, now covered with colorful signatures of the kids.

"I'm sure Hoffman is happy."

I ball my fingers into tight fists. "I don't really give a damn if he is or not. The kids are happy and that's all that matters."

He doesn't even stick his free hand into his pocket. Is his blood fucking hot lava, for Christ's sake?

He's quiet for a long-ass minute, like he's contemplating something.

But me continuing to stand here is torture, and not just because of the cold.

There's a lot I want to say, but why? It'd be wasted breath. Besides, if I know Jase, he'll do something else to upset the apple cart, and it'll be his third strike. Hoffman has made it clear he wants Jase off the team. One more little fuckup should do the trick.

I haven't known Jase for long, but he's always toeing the line. Shouldn't be long before he crosses it again. Let him fuck with some other team, some other heart.

I'm done.

When I finally turn to walk away, he clears his throat. "How, um, how are you doing?"

I whip my head around and fire off a glare at him. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

He gives a half shrug. "I saw that dickwad Trevor talking to you after the last home game. Looked kinda contentious."

I narrow my eyes. "That's a big word for you. Careful you don't choke on one of those."

His eyes darken, half-shadowed by the brim of his hat. "Why are you being an asshole? I'm trying to talk to you."

I zip my jacket higher and stuff my gloved hands into the pockets. "First of all, my conversation with Trevor is none of your damn business. And second, we're way past the point of having friendly exchanges. You said it yourself, we're stuck together. And like you've shown me over the past couple of weeks, you have no interest in talking to me. So just go back to your team. They've obviously got a lot of work to do before the scrimmage next week."

His lips stretch into a tight line.

Loud voices tear into the air and I flip around to see where they're coming from. Evelyn waves her hands overhead at us.

"Lucas, Jase, come over here for some pictures." Her sunny smile stretches from ear to ear.

My brows furrow. What the hell is happening?

A group of people gather around the kids, snapping pictures of them goofing around. A bunch wear badges on lanyards around their necks.

I don't bother to look back at Jase. Instead, I make a beeline for Evelyn and pull her aside. "What's going on?"

She clasps her gloved hands together. "Oh, isn't it wonderful? The press is here to cover a story of both of you working with the kids. It will be such great publicity for the shelter and maybe welcome donations because of your philanthropy!"

"Did you call them?"

She shakes her head. "No, I believe it was Reed Hoffman who gave them the information. He's starting a partner shelter that will work closely with Project Renewal, and he just made another sizable donation, so perhaps it will inspire others to do the same." She pats me on the arm, then walks over to the reporters.

A bubble of anger rises in my chest, damn close to bursting. "What the hell is all this?" Jase asks, stopping next to me. "I thought they were just gonna send the press in for the actual games, not just show up randomly during an afternoon. What the fuck are they doing here now?"

"Seems like Hoffman is forming his own shelter. A nonprofit that he can use as a tax write-off, no doubt to bury his billions. And I guess he didn't want to wait to get started with collecting donations."

"Scumbag," Jase said darkly.

"These kids aren't fucking publicity props. We're not here to make Hoffman look good. This is about us giving back to the community, which should never be used for publicity purposes in the first place. He fucking used us to get press for himself and whatever he has planned for his organization. He sent us here to make him look good." I rake a hand through my hair. "Not because he gives a damn about rehabilitating our images or the team's."

"And when we're finished…"

Jase doesn't need to finish his thought. His words hang in the air.

We both know that if the Crusaders don't make it to the playoffs, there's a good shot one or both of us won't be back for the following season. He won't need us anymore.

A pang assaults my chest. I need to call Rex and find out what the hell is really going on with this situation. Maybe he can put out some feelers to some other teams. I can't be left holding my dick at the end of the season when Hoffman"s finished bleeding us dry for his own purposes.

"Fuck this shit." Jase stalks past me and stops next to a few reporters. I follow because the vein throbbing in his neck tells me he's about to do something really stupid.

"This isn't a photo op," he growls at them. "We're here to hang out with the kids. There's nothing to report. We do this for the kids and for Project Renewal. We don't give a damn about getting publicity for it."

"Well, maybe you don't, Mr. Maxwell, but others definitely do."

My spine stiffens when Trevor appears behind the reporters wearing a black full-length coat. "You're here on behalf of the Cincinnati Crusaders, and fans want to know why." He flashes his fakest smile. "They'll love you even more for it."

Jase's nostrils flare. "Doing good for other people is just that. It doesn't come with expectations or strings or price tags."

Trevor steps closer to him, raising his voice so the reporters can hear everything. "You come with a very high price tag, Mr. Maxwell. And your last stunt cost the organization a lot of money. So you'd better believe that doing good will come with very high expectations."

In my periphery, I notice one of the reporters holding her phone out. My throat tightens. She's taking video.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I push them both to the side and position myself in front of the girl's camera, lowering my voice so only the three of us can hear my next words. "You got what you needed, Trevor. And now we're done. Respect these kids and leave them alone. We're completing our service. That's all anyone needs to know. Unless you're so much of an exhibitionist that you need to have your name associated with all the good we're doing?"

Trevor's face tightens, his expression stony. "You think you're going to get away with speaking to me like that? Have you forgotten already, Lucas?"

My stomach wrenches. Another scene in front of all these people will tarnish any chances I have of getting an offer from another team. So I swallow the words I really want to say and?—

"Leave him the fuck alone," Jase hisses, edging in closer.

"Don't do it," I mutter. "It's not worth it."

"I don't know what upper hand you think you have, but that shit doesn't matter here." Jase's jaw twitches and he inches closer to Trevor, outweighing him by about fifty pounds of hard muscle. He could snap Trevor in half by blowing on him, for Christ's sake.

Trevor's lips lift into a nasty smirk. "You want to hit me, don't you, Maxwell? I can see it in your eyes. Do it. Please. Take the shot. I will fucking ruin you."

Jase's breathing hitches, that pumping vein about to explode.

"You're pathetic," Trevor seethes. "Living in the shadow of your brother, the all-star. You know you'll never be anywhere as good as him, and part of you is afraid that if… when… you do get cut, nobody will want you because they know it, too."

Jase's eyes flash with rage.

Trevor laughs and steps back. "Pussy," he mutters. "You're really going to let me stand here and say that shit without defending yourself?" With a roll of his eyes, he turns away from us and motions to the reporters to follow him and Evelyn back inside.

"I'd love to tell you a little about our work with Project Renewal and how we will partner going forward."

And they all follow him like he's the goddamn Pied Piper.

Jase stares at Trevor's back, his face drained of all color, his eyes dull and void of any sparkle. I've never seen him look so defeated.

"He's a fucking prick." I put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "You know he was just goading you. The guy is a total jackass who doesn't?—"

Jase turns to look at me, his expression completely deflated. "He was right. About everything. I'm not stupid. I know what people say, what they think."

I swallow hard. "Screw them. They don't know who you really are."

He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. "And you think you do?"

"Yeah, I do." Taking a deep breath and ignoring all the blaring alarm bells ringing between my ears, I step closer to him. "I just wish you could accept that guy."