Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Growing up, my mom used to silently root for the underdog, even when it wasn’t us. She’d feel bad when we’d face a team that didn’t score a single touchdown while we popped off with many. I used to think it was sweet, an endearing quality from a mom who knew what it was like to see her kid’s team mourning a loss.
Now I wonder if that was all part of her facade. Fake sympathy. Fake happiness.
Fake love.
I’m never getting fucking married.
“Dude.” Brady elbows me and I snap out of my thoughts, looking his way. He jerks his head to the left and I find Coach glaring at me.
Shit.
Did my professor finally tell him I was kicked out of class for “cheating”?
How do I explain that I wasn’t? Will he even believe me if I try?
I blow air out of my cheeks as I jog over, and the crease between his brows only deepens. “Coach?”
“I called your name three times. Where’s your head at?”
“I’m good, Coach.”
“No, you’re not.” This is when he tells me I’m fucked. “Take a minute. Helmet off, get some water. Ten minutes to game time. I don’t need to tell you this is a good opportunity for you to shine. Yards, yards, yards. Understood?”
My relief is instant. “Yes, Coach.”
“Go.”
I unclick my chin strap and tug my helmet off, surprised by how much I’m sweating already.
Good. If Professor Michaels didn’t say anything by now, I think it’s safe to say he won’t.
One less thing to worry about.
I drop my helmet to the turf at my feet and take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. I snag a water bottle and close my eyes, wetting my head and face before pulling in a light breath.
If it weren’t for my mom, my dad would be here right now, sitting beside Mason’s and Brady’s dads. He wouldn’t be stuck at home, wishing he could come watch. The single most important thing to that man, if you asked him at any point in my life, has always been being there for me. And now he can’t be because the woman who was supposed to love him, love me, ruined everything.
To my horror, pressure builds behind my eyes, but I clench my jaw to force it back.
I’ll fix this for us, Dad. Give you back everything you’ve lost.
Fuck, I’m supposed to be calming myself, getting in the game, and I was perfect. I’m always good when I hit the field, but looking in the stands and seeing the parents of my best friends, their proud smiles staring back at all three of us… I don’t know, man. This is the first game they’ve been able to come to this year, and it’s messing with me.
Come on, Chase. Don’t fuck this up. Get a grip. Fucking focus—
A sharp whistle catches my attention, and my head snaps up.
Somehow, it knows right where to go—sixty-yard line, four or five rows up.
I lock onto a dark-blue sundress and long blond hair, both her pinkies stuck in the edge of her lips.
How could such a tiny thing make such a piercing sound?
Paige smiles, her hands going up and lifting the heart-shaped sunglasses to the top of her head.
She holds my gaze, amused, and then she claps her hands three times.
I frown, and she does it again, her brow lifting.
It takes a moment, but then a broken chuckle slips free, and I shake my head.
Her hands go to her hips, and she tips her head.
Jesus, she’s serious.
I sigh, trying to school my expression. I really don’t have time for this right now.
My shoulders fall, and she lifts her arms again, clapping three times, only slower, all our friends looking at her curiously. Their gazes following her line of sight to where I’m standing, but I don’t shift my attention their way. I’d bet Mason’s mom is eating this up.
Paige gives a slow nod, as if encouraging me, and I swallow.
Fine, all right. What could it hurt?
A long breath leaves me and I shake my head in thought. “What am I grateful for in this moment?” I whisper to myself, panic slipping in when I can’t find anything.
Shit.
It’s not working.
I can’t do this.
I lift my arms as if to say, I tried. She frowns, stepping down the stands, bringing herself a little closer even though she’s still so far away.
Paige’s lips move, but I have no idea what she’s saying, and my ears start to ring.
But then she claps three times, pointing to her right.
My eyes move that way, landing on the Johnsons, Lancasters, Cameron, Payton, and of course, Little D. My family by association.
My family by choice.
Instantly, my mind returns to my dad, and while my chest squeezes in his absence, something else settles within me. I can’t name it, but I’m afraid I’ll lose it if I look away from the tiny blond thirty or so yards away.