7. Callum

My heart hadn”t stopped poundingsince Addison had said those chilling words.

The look on his face had said so much. He”d been afraid.

And now I was too.

I’d thought nothing would be able to make me stop thinking about how I’d woken up this morning, unexpectedly in Addison’s arms while he felt me up. Or the way disappointment had rushed through me when he’d rolled away.

I guess it had been a while. Who knew a big, strong guy like Addison could feel so comfortable wrapped around me… so arousing too.

I swallowed, annoyed that I was thinking about it again.

It had been nothing but a sleep-induced accident and there were more important things to deal with right now.

My gaze raked the stadium. It was practically sold out. There were people everywhere, cheering, talking, clapping. I didn”t even know who I was looking for and I certainly wasn”t going to spot anyone, unless they were holding up a sign that said, ”Addison Kelly”s stalker.”

The whistle blew. I looked out at the field, heart rate skittering up another degree when I saw the ref throwing a flag.

I could feel the tension thickening on our side as the ref moved the offense back five yards.

How had that happened? I’d only glanced up at the crowd for a minute, but it didn’t look like they’d moved—or at least Addison hadn’t. He wasn”t playing well, and the Jacksonville audience was delighted their home team had the upper hand. I didn”t exactly blame Addison, but he had to get it together.

I could hear Coach shouting into Addison”s earpiece.

“Focus!” he was bellowing.

I looked up at the huge screens, catching the replay and wincing at the slow-motion moment as the play started but Addison didn’t, causing a delay in the game. Shit. We’d only needed a few inches for third down.

Something was circled on the screen—what looked like a bright red dot from a laser pointer flashing on his helmet. Weird. Had someone in the crowd been trying to distract all the players, or Addison specifically?

It wasn’t the first time that someone had tried to sabotage the opposite team. I’d heard of people bringing laser pointers to games before for that very reason and I got how it would be distracting, especially considering that Addison was already on edge.

Furious, Coach Oliveira marched over to me, catching my gaze as he pulled the mic away from his lips.

“Be ready,” he said, his eyes drilling into mine. “This might be your lucky day.”

Oh shit.

I stood up, adrenaline surging through me.

He was already walking away, shaking his head.

I couldn”t sit down again. I was too anxious as I watched the game commence.

Addison spent a minute speaking to the guys. Even from the sidelines, I could see the tension in his body.

“You’ve got this, Addy,” I found myself murmuring.

They started again; he took the ball. I recognized the play at once. Danny, our wide receiver was moving, almost in position but one of the Jacksonville edge rushers made it through the defence and he was heading straight for Addison.

In that split second, there were a few options. Addison could throw the ball and hope that Danny got there in time to catch it. He could throw it away. Or he could run, pivot and try something new.

He threw the ball.

I watched it arch through the air, heading toward Danny, but before it got very far I knew there was no way in hell that ball was landing on the field.

Sure enough, Danny ran for it and even managed to catch it, but just out of bounds.

I grimaced, watching havoc ensue. The crowd erupted, cheering at our loss and the team looked pissed.

Addison did too.

He kicked the ground and gesticulated while he spoke into his helmet to Coach Oliveira who looked stressed to high hell.

After a minute, Addison seemed to calm down enough to listen to whatever Coach was saying.

I chewed my lip anxiously, watching as they regrouped.

They were in a tight spot out there with no yards gained or lost after that last failed throw. It was fourth down now. The choices were to pass or run.

My hands were sweating with anticipation. I knew that I would pass, but I wasn’t a running quarterback the way that Addison was. He could go either way.

And to think it could have been an easy sneak for Addison, but now he had to run a play.

They got into position, but Addison was still saying something to Coach.

“Come on,” Coach said, standing close enough to me that I could hear the agitation in his voice. “Get started.”

I swallowed, realizing that Addison was standing there, looking a little lost, delaying the game again.

“Come on, Addison,” I murmured under my breath.

I knew if he got pulled from the game, I should be happy to get my chance, but it didn”t feel right. I didn”t want it to be because Addison was dealing with a fucking stalker and couldn”t concentrate.

He turned his face up, toward the crowd, searching it and my heart clenched. Any second now, he’d be forced out for the rest of the game.

“Addison!” Coach shouted and that seemed to shock him into motion even though he wasn”t ready.

He began the play, but it was all wrong from the get-go. He took the ball, but immediately he hesitated. He didn’t seem to remember what he was going to do and froze.

He didn”t even notice what was happening around him. That was clear when he didn”t so much as move or brace for the tackle that hit him.

The entire crowd made a sympathetic ooh when he was thrown to the ground, hit from a three-quarter angle and flattened.

I didn”t know why I knew Addison was hurt, but a bad feeling was ringing alarm bells straight into my ears, impossible to ignore. My stomach was in knots as I watched, waiting with bated breath while the linebacker got off him.

I was right.

Addison didn”t get up.

I could see that he was awake, but he was too far to see his expression. Instead, I turned my gaze up to the screen, watching in horror at the look on his pain-stricken face, and the unnatural angle that his leg was sitting, directly at the knee.

“Fuck,” I gasped as the entire stadium of people groaned in sympathy.

Instinct told me to run out there, to help him, but the medical team was already on the field.

I”d seen people get hurt before. A friend of mine in college had suffered a career-ending injury right in front of me at practice once.

That didn”t make it easier. It made it harder because all I could think was no.

Not Addison. Not another phenomenal player ruined by one bad day.

It felt like it took forever for him to be moved onto the stretcher. In reality, the timer showed that it only took about ten minutes by the time he was being wheeled toward our side of the stadium.

As he neared, I didn”t stop myself from going to him.

They had put his leg in a brace and his neck in one too. He was alert, but his eyes looked dazed with pain, and he was breathing hard, his jaw grit.

“Addison.”

The second I said his name, his eyes fixed on me, and he reached toward me.

I took his hand, gripping it tight.

“You”ve got this,” he said, his voice gruff.

Reluctantly, I released him as they pulled him away.

“They’re taking him to the hospital,” Coach told everyone.

He looked downright depressed when he turned to me, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to happen,” he said. “But it’s your chance. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

He turned to the rest of the team.

“Give Cal your full support guys, let’s see if we can come back from this.”

That didn”t feel like it was even remotely possible.

Yeah, Addison had been distracted, but now I was too.

The pressure as I turned and saw the entire team looking at me, depending on me, was like a fifty-pound lead weight on my shoulders.

But I”d done this before. It had been my life for most of, well, my life.

Heart racing, I pulled my helmet on, already shaking the fear and worry off as best I could.

I had played through college deadlines, breakups with girlfriends, Papa”s illness and passing. I could handle keeping a clear head just because my teammate got hurt... even though I realized now that Addison felt like more than just a teammate.

This was my time to shine, as Papa would have said.

Holding my head high, I walked out onto the field, ready for my first-ever professional game.

The guys came around me in a huddle, ready to support me. I went through the details, translating Coach”s suggestion of what to do. No one argued, a couple of them patted my back as we broke apart.

“You got this,” they told me, and I thought maybe I did.