28. Jeremiah

Chapter 28

Jeremiah

T he roar of the crowd is hyping everyone up, a roar of cheers and chants reverberating through the stadium. But there's an emptiness to it, a hollowness that seeps into my bones. Lincoln's absence is a gaping void, his energy and swagger missing from the sidelines.

I catch a glimpse of him in the stands, but it's not the same. He should be out here with us, leading the charge, not relegated to the role of a spectator because of some bullshit accusations.

"Blackwood! Defense!" Coach's voice cuts through the clamor, a sharp command that has me surging forward.

My gaze drifts to the row of seats directly behind our bench again, Oakley, my girl, sitting ramrod straight with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she gnaws at her plump lower lip.

Iris is next to her sandwiched between my brother and my girl, leaning back with one arm slung over the seat beside her. She murmurs something to Oakley, and my bunny gives a small nod, her ponytail swishing with the movement.

Just seeing her settles something inside me. She's here for me. With me. No matter how crazy shit gets, that's what matters. I've got two quarters to go, and I need to block out Oakley's stalker, Lincoln's assault charges, and how the fuck am I going to help fix either one?

Gritting my teeth, I force my focus back to the game. Can't let distractions fuck with my head right now. We need this win, and I need to be locked in.

The whistle blows, signaling the start of another play. I tear my eyes away from Oakley, forcing myself to re-focus. Graham is in position across from me, giving me a subtle nod as we line up. Coach has him playing tackle since Lincoln is out. We aren't winning this game on our offense. We have to cinch it with the D.

Hike.

I launch myself into the fray, cleats biting turf, every sense strung tight. My breath comes in ragged pulls, and I can tell—this is the play, this is the moment where everything tilts.

Bodies collide with a sickening crunch of pads and helmets.

Then it happens—a crack of pads, the gasp of the crowd, and a sudden, searing pain that rips through my leg like a goddamn train off its tracks. Pain is no stranger; it's an old friend, but this...this is something else.

"Fuck!" I hit the ground hard, my hand instantly flying to my thigh, fingers probing for damage. Shouts and whistles blare around me, but it all fades into a dull roar.

I grit my teeth, trying to push through it, but there's no mistaking the raw agony that tells me I'm gonna be benched the rest of this game .

"Eighty-seven, you okay?" The ref's face swims into view above me, concern etched into his weathered features.

"Does it look like I'm okay?" I snap, sarcasm a weak defense against the frustration boiling up inside me.

Gritting my teeth, I start to push myself upright. But a meaty hand clamps down on my good shoulder, holding me in place.

"Stay down, JB." The gruff voice of Coach cuts through the chaos. "We're getting you looked at."

I open my mouth to protest, but he silences me with a glare. Grinding my jaw, I force myself to nod again. No point arguing when he uses that tone.

Footsteps approach, and I glance up to see the team doctor kneeling beside me. His mouth is moving, but I can't make out the words over the pounding in my ears. I catch the gist though—up you go, to the locker room.

Graham helps haul me to my feet, keeping a steadying grip on my good side as we make our way off the field. I glance over my shoulder at the stands, at Oakley watching me with those big blue eyes, her brow furrowed with worry.

Our eyes lock, and I give her a reassuring nod. Mouthing ‘I'm fine. This is nothing.'

Those words are meant for her, but they're just as much a reminder for myself. I've played through worse. Shaking it off, I turn my focus forward again.

My leg screams with each step, but I push through, leaning on my brother to help me in this fucking tunnel.

The locker room is mercifully quiet when we enter, the door swinging shut to block out the roar of the crowd. Graham guides me over to one of the benches and eases me down onto it .

"I got it from here," the doctor says, already pulling out his stethoscope and other gear. "Thanks, Graham."

I stare at my brother, not saying a word, but his slight nod tells me everything. He gets it. Gets me. And more importantly, he gets what Oakley means to me. Because if anyone touches a hair on her head, there'll be hell to pay. And not even the old man would be able to rein in the hurricane I'd unleash.

Doc lays me down on the table and one of his assistants comes over and they work my fucking game pants down so he can prod at my thigh and as soon as he does, I grit my teeth against the flare of pain.

"Looks like you took a good hit out there," he mutters. "We'll get some ice on it, but I want you to hit the showers first. Rinse off and change out of those clothes."

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off with a shake of his head.

"You're not going back out there today. Not with that leg. You're too important. So rinse off and I'll take another look before you head out."

Clenching my jaw, I give a terse nod. He's not wrong. There's no way Coach will let me back on the field after that hit. Not with so little time left in the game, anyway. It's not worth the risk of further injury.

The sound of the shower is a welcome relief as I step under the steaming spray. I tilt my head back, letting the heat soak into my aching muscles. Grabbing the soap, I work up a lather and start scrubbing away the sweat and grime.

"Jeremiah!"

The shrill cry cuts through the rush of water, and my head whips around at her voice.

I barely have time to react before she comes barreling through the door, eyes wide and frantic as they find me. A member of the stadium staff is hot on her heels, face pinched in disapproval.

"Miss, you can't be in here! This is the players' locker room!"

But Oakley pays him no mind. She crosses the space in a few quick strides and reaches for me, her small hands roaming over my chest and arms as if to reassure herself that I'm in one piece. I step out of the spray so she doesn't get all wet.

"Are you okay, baby?" she breathes, those blue eyes searching mine. "I saw you go down and I…I got so scared."

The panic in her voice, the genuine concern etched across her delicate features. It's like a soothing balm on my riled-up soul. She's really fucking worried about me.

My arms come around her without thought, pulling her against my damp skin in a fierce embrace. She melts into me with a shuddering sigh, her fingers clutching at the muscles of my back.

"I'm okay," I murmur against the top of her head, breathing in the sweet, familiar scent of her shampoo. "Just a little banged up, that's all. No one can touch me now that I have you back, bunny. I know what it's like to live without you, and because of that nothing else could ever hurt me."

"You're sure?" She pulls back just enough to look up at me, eyes searching my face. "You went down so hard, I thought…"

Her voice cracks, and I tighten my arms around her, a low rumble building in my chest.

"I'm sure, baby. It'll take more than that to keep me down for long."

"Miss, really, you need to leave." The staff member tries again, tone growing more insistent. "This area is off-limits to?— "

I cut him off with a look that could cut glass, holding Oakley closer as if to shield her from the intruder's words.

"She can be wherever the fuck I am," I growl, low and dangerous. "Don't let me catch you speaking to my girl like that again."

The man's eyes go wide, but he doesn't argue further. With one last disgruntled look, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the locker room.

Letting out a long exhale, I turn my attention back to Oakley. She's watching me with surprise and fuck, that's definitely love. I'll never get tired of seeing that.

"I love it when you call me your girl," she murmurs, one delicate brow arched.

I smirk, leaning in until my lips are a breath away from hers. "Just how wet did that make you?"

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I can't stop my gaze from dropping to trace the movement. "Not at all."

"Liar."

"Where does it hurt?" There's a tremble in her question that I feel down to my bones.

"Here." I point to my thigh, then up to my chest. "But mostly here when you look at me like that."

The words are barely out before I'm kissing her, hard and hungry. She rises up on her toes to meet me, kissing me back with eager desperation. My hand slides up into her hair, cupping the back of her head to angle her how I want.

We're both panting when we finally break apart, chests heaving. Oakley blinks up at me with hooded eyes, lips parted and slick from our kisses.

"Ahem."

The doctor's pointed cough shatters the moment, and I turn to glare at him over my shoulder. He's got one brow raised, looking distinctly unimpressed.

"If you two are done?" He gestures to the exam table behind him.

Grinding my teeth, I give him a curt nod. Right. I still need an official diagnosis.

"Everyone out," I growl, turning my glower on the few scattered staff members still lingering by their lockers. "Give us some privacy."

They don't need to be told twice. In a matter of moments, the locker room is empty save for me, Oakley, and the doctor.

"Up on the table," the older man instructs with a sigh. "Let's get you checked out and iced."

Oakley steps back, giving me space as I ease myself up onto the padded vinyl surface. She hovers nearby, worrying at her plump lower lip.

The doctor works in silence, prodding and manipulating my leg through a series of tests. I grit my teeth against the flashes of pain, but otherwise don't make a sound.

"Well, it's not broken," he declares at last. "Just a sprain or contusion. You'll need to ice it and take it easy for a few days."

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off with a look.

"That's not a suggestion, Blackwood. You push it too hard, and you'll be out for weeks instead of days. So take the rest while you can get it."

Grumbling under my breath, I nod my reluctant agreement. He's not wrong. I know if I try and push too much it'll only end up worse in the long run.

"Good." He pats my good shoulder. "Now get dressed and get out of my locker room. You're done for the day."

Swinging my legs over the side of the table, I get down and make my way over to my locker, limping to avoid putting too much pressure on my left leg. Oakley trails behind, her presence a comforting warmth at my back.

I tug on a clean pair of joggers, then reach for a t-shirt to pull over my head.

"You about ready to head back out there?" I ask, keeping my own voice casual despite the way my pulse is kicking up a notch. "Watch two of my brothers finish demolishing these chumps?"

Oakley's tongue darts out again, swiping slowly across her full lower lip. "Lead the way."

I don't need to be told twice. Reaching for her hand, I tug her close and head for the door that will take us back out to the sidelines. I only stop and grab an ice pack so I can kill two birds with one stone.

As we emerge from the tunnel, the sound of the crowd washes over us in a wave of noise and energy.

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, I pull her snug against my side. She nestles in easily, that plump lower lip caught between her teeth in the most delicious way.

I may be out the rest of the game, but now I get to sit with my girl and watch the sport I love even if I can't play it right this minute.

Somehow, I'm perfectly fine with the outcome.