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27. Sam

Chapter 27

Sam

“ O kay, guys, Arizona has some weakness in their defensive line, so if we keep our focus on the field, we’ll be good as gold today.” Coach Taylor points to me. “Hartley, make sure they stay away from Baxter. Nobody gets through that line, got it?”

I nod, half-listening to the plays Coach scribbles on the whiteboard while we’re in our pre-game meeting. The eggs I shoveled in this morning churn in my stomach. But as my mind trips back to what happened at my parents’ house last night, I know it’s not the stress of the game that has me in knots.

It’s Brixton.

He couldn’t get out of the house fast enough last night, leaving me with some cryptic words and that pained look on his face. It wasn’t until I confronted my parents that I realized what drove him away.

Fucking trash talking the guy when he’s only a few feet away. What the hell were they thinking? I love my parents but they don’t know when to back off and let me live my own life. They cling tight because of what they almost lost but enough is enough. And of course, above all else, they’re Team Jack. Always have been. Nobody else has a shot against him in their eyes.

I bring a hand to the back of my head and massage my stiff neck. I tossed and turned all night, tormented by Brixton’s deflated expression and hating the fact that I was partly responsible for causing him more pain.

Yeah, he’s made mistakes but who the hell on this planet is perfect?

Something Chase said while we were getting dessert ready keeps chewing on my brain.

“He’s trying to heal himself. I don’t know why he’s trying to do it on his own. Maybe he doesn’t have a supportive family like we do. But he’s trying. He’s a good person who wants to do good for others.”

It’s exactly what I see in him, too. Especially after all the time he’s spent at Play It Forward with James. He’s excited to be there, happy to help, and always ready to pitch in.

Just like tonight.

I know he’ll be in the stands with the kids even though it’s probably the last place he wants to be. Jack will be at the game with my parents and I’m sure Brixton knows it.

The thought of him being made to feel less than really pisses me off. That familiar protective instinct flares up in my chest. I can’t stand the thought of him hurting any more than he already has. And it kills me that I opened him up to it.

“All right,” Coach says and claps his hands. “Let’s get ‘em.”

The guys jump up, pumped for the game since we’re so far ahead in our division. The playoffs are within reach and the win is ours tonight. We just need to take it.

I walk over to my locker and finish suiting up. Bryce stops next to me.

“I hear Jack has been spending a lot of time at Play It Forward. Anything I should know? Is there trouble in rocker paradise? Is the fake relationship over?”

I roll my eyes. “Come on, you know it was a publicity stunt. It was never gonna be a long-term thing.”

“Especially not after the press conference.” Bryce shakes his head. “Talk about digging your own grave and then jumping right into it.”

“He’s going to be fine,” I say stiffly, slamming my locker shut.

Bryce wraps his right wrist. “Why do you even care? You’re off the hook now, right? He goes off the deep end, you guys part ways. It’s a win-win, yeah?”

The eggs rumble in my stomach again.

“Yeah. Big win,” I mumble.

“The guys in the band are pissed,” Bryce says, lowering his voice. “Between us, they’re looking to replace him.”

My eyebrows fly up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Bryce holds up his hands. “Hey, don’t kill the messenger. It’s not final, but that’s what I heard from Jase.”

Lane is their cousin.

Shit.

And after last night…

I scrub a hand down the front of my face, my pulse nearly punching a hole in my throat.

“I know you wanted to help him,” Bryce says, paying a hand on my shoulder. “But some people are just beyond help. You can’t save everyone, Sammy.”

I walk toward the tunnel for kickoff, my feet heavier and heavier with each step. Feels like I’m wearing cement blocks instead of cleats. The game starts after the coin toss and instead of looking at the field, my eyes scour the stands near the box where the kids normally sit for home games .

“Hartley, look alive out there,” Coach yells from the sidelines.

The first few plays are rough. Arizona’s offense is giving us a hard fucking time today and now it’s fourth down. We group together in the huddle. I sneak a look up at the stands while Bryce is calling the play. He nudges me.

“You got this or what? We’re gonna go for it.”

I nod, not having heard a damn thing he said. “Yeah, yeah, let’s do it.”

We get into position. Austin hikes the ball to Bryce, who jogs a few steps backward. I’m ready to bolt forward for a run play when Bryce fakes a handoff to Baxter, the running back.

Shit.

I’m too late.

One of the Arizona defensive ends drives through the gap and tackles me to the ground.

The whistle blows.

And my fucking knee is on fire.

Bryce runs over to me and gets down on his knee. “What the fuck was that? You knew the play. How the hell could you let that asshole pummel you like that?”

I sit up and stagger to my feet, wincing when I start walking toward the sidelines.

Coach Taylor rips me a new asshole as soon as I’m in earshot.

I pull off my helmet after the verbal lashing and sink onto the bench, trying to ignore the searing pain shooting down my leg.

Goddammit. That was a royal fuckup on my part.

The team doc, Rich Abrams, helps me into the training room and tapes up my leg.

“That could have been a whole lot worse,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “It’s not like you to snooze on a play. You feeling okay?”

Since being sick with guilt and regret probably doesn’t qualify as an answer to the doc’s question, I nod my head.

“My bad. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. Because a tear will ruin the rest of your season.” Rich smiles. “And we need you for the Super Bowl.”

I force my lips upward. “Right.” I hobble back to the sidelines and watch the next play go right down the shitter. Arizona scores and Coach Taylor turns so red, I’m a little afraid his head is gonna spontaneously combust.

We get the ball back. I jog onto the field and get into position.

“Knee alright?” Bryce says.

“Yeah. It’s good.”

“Okay, guys we’re gonna run Eagle 26 Swing,” Bryce says. “Scat, scat.”

We nod and break, getting into formation with two receivers, me, and two running backs. We’re running a screen pass, which means my ass better work hard to keep the wall in place so Baxter can hustle that ball into the end zone.

Bryce gets the ball and passes to Baxter. I’m protecting the line of scrimmage, keeping my eyes on one of the Arizona defensive linemen. I rush him, twisting my leg and stumbling into one of their linebackers as the lineman slips past and tackles Baxter behind the line of scrimmage.

I crumple to the turf, my leg in flames. Clutching my knee, I roll over, teeth clenched in agony. I crack open my eyes under the stadium lights, flashes of color blurring my vision. Coach Taylor runs onto the field with one of the EMTs and Dr. Abrams. I hear them murmuring to themselves and I don’t like it .

“What is it?” I gasp once we’re back through the tunnel and in the exam room.

“It might be a tear, but we won’t know for sure unless we get an MRI.” Dr. Abrams exchanges a look with Coach Taylor.

“What does that mean for the rest of the season? Can I still play?” I clutch the sides of the table to pull myself up.

“If it’s a tear, you’ll need surgery. We can’t say until we get to the hospital.”

I collapse backward and fling an arm over my face. “Fuck. I can’t miss the rest of the season.”

“You need to take care of yourself,” Coach says. “Nobody is making any decisions right now. We’ll make the arrangements and get you to the hospital.”

“My family…” I start to say then trail off.

Coach pats me on the arm. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” They leave me alone with my thoughts, the only sound is the air intermittently blasting through the vent overhead.

I lie still as a corpse because it’s the only way to control the brutally vicious pain assaulting my lower body. Cracking every one of my knuckles does nothing to calm me. I blow out short, sharp gasps, wishing to God the doc had shot me up with something to numb my brain.

Fuck, that pain is a vicious bitch.

Someone knocks on the door. My shoulders relax. Finally, someone is getting me the hell out of here?—

“Hey.”

My eyes fly open. “How did you get back here?”

Brixton walks into the team room. “Security let me past. I guess they know about us,” he says in a joking voice.

“I want to laugh but it hurts too fucking much,” I rasp. “Where are the kids?”

“Sofia was able to come after all. She’s got them right now.” He takes a few steps toward me, his eyes dark with concern. “What did they say?”

I shake my head. “Nothing yet. I need an MRI to rule out a tear.”

“Shit,” he mutters. “Sounds like it hurts.”

“It’s torture,” I whisper.

He moves closer still and runs his hand down my arm where it hangs off the table. “I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“I will be,” I say.

“Good.” His eyebrows knit together. “I shouldn’t have run out last night. It wasn’t right to leave you like that.”

I lift my arm and take his hand. Lacing my fingers with his, I tug him close. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

He stares at our hands like he’s mesmerized by the connection.

“There are reasons why I don’t open up to people, why I shut everyone out. But you…you won’t let me. You keep banging on that wall, trying to break it down.” A hint of a smile lifts his lips. “You’re the first person I want to tell when something good happens. I haven’t had that in a long time.” He chuckles. “Haven’t had a bunch of good stuff to share, either, but that’s another story.”

“If I’m laid up for a while, I’ll have time to listen,” I say.

He squeezes my hand and then the door slams open again. I choke on a breath and Brixton jumps backward, startled.

Jack and my parents run into the room, barely acknowledging Brixton. He backs away, a sad glimmer in his gaze as he watches them hover around me.

I know they’re worried but all I want to do is scream at them to get away from me. Because all I want right now is the guy loitering by the door. I want him next to me, his hand wrapped in mine, his eyes locked on me, glimmering with whatever crazy emotions have bubbled up between us over the past week.

I want his hunger, his passion, his fire, his desire.

I want everything.

For those few fleeting minutes when we were alone, the pain wasn’t as horrible.

Not nearly as horrible as the thought of him walking out of my life forever.

But the realization hits me like a lead weight to the chest.

I never really did have him. For as much as he wants to open up, he just can’t.

And I don’t think that will ever change, no matter how badly I want it to.

“Don’t worry, babe. You’re going to be fine,” Jack says, running a hand through my hair. “I’ll stay with you and make sure you have everything you need.”

But instead of his words comforting me, they wrench my gut.

And when I twist my head toward the now-empty doorway, a piece of my heart shatters in my chest.

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