The Long Game (Seattle Sentinels #1)

Chapter One

Tucker

I’m playing in the motherfucking Super Bowl!

The thought slams into me again and again as I grit my teeth, my body aching like I’ve been run over by a truck. Every yard, every second, I fight to stay present—my cleats digging into the turf as I replay it all in my head. This is it. If only we were doing better.

We’ve tried every damn play in the book—zone, belly, inside, outside. Nothing’s breaking through. Their defense is a goddamn fortress. I’ve had my bell rung more times than I can count tonight, and there’s this constant ringing in my ears, but I can’t stop. Not now. Not when we’re tied with nine seconds on the clock.

My muscles are sore, my lungs are burning, but the endorphins are high, pushing me through.

Then, the snap.

I bolt forward, legs pounding the ground, pain forgotten. It’s a fucking Hail Mary. The kind of play that either cements your legacy or haunts you forever. My heart races in time with my steps, linebacker to the left, strong safety to the right—both of them closing in like lions hunting their prey. I’m not just going to catch this. I have to make this catch.

I told our quickbooks, TJ Holloway, that he could bet the Super Bowl on it.

TJ Holloway lets the ball fly, and suddenly, everything falls away. The crowd fades. The lights blur. All I hear is my own breath, ragged and harsh, and my chest thumping wildly against my rib cage. Then Luca Benson's voice cuts through my thoughts— my best friend and the quarterback for our high school team. What he used to tell me before those Friday night lights.

Calm your thoughts. Imagine there’s an invisible string between your hands and the ball. It’s meant for you.

Time slows as the ball sails through the air, spiraling towards me. I jump up to make the catch. For a second, it feels like a dream—surreal, distant—until the leather smacks into my hands. The impact jars me back into the moment. My feet hit the ground again, and the world rushes in.

I spin on instinct, dodging a diving tackle, and twist out of another defender’s grip. The field opens up in front of me, and I pour every ounce of speed I have left into my legs.

The defenders?

They’re nothing but dust now. I fly past the end zone, the roar of the stadium hitting me like a tidal wave, rattling my bones.

I glance down at the ball still cradled in my hands—my heart pounding against my ribs—when suddenly, my teammates crash into me from every direction.

"Holy shit!" someone yells through their helmet, but I barely hear them over the deafening screams and cheers of the fans in the stadium going wild.

"We fucking did it!" I yell back, my voice hoarse as the weight of the moment hits me all at once. This is it. This is what I’ve fought for my whole damn life. The wear on my body, the hours of training, the endless grind—it all led to this. I feel like I’m floating, adrenaline surging through my veins, making me want to run a marathon even though I can barely stand.

Fireworks explode in the sky above us, and confetti rains down, so thick it’s like a blizzard. I never thought the stadium could get any louder than it did in those last seconds, but now it’s like the whole world is screaming with us.

WE WON THE GODDAMN SUPER BOWL!

My first thought?

I wish Lexi was here, standing on the sidelines, running towards me and jumping into my arms.

I see TJ Holloway's wife wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. And I know exactly what's missing and what all this is for.

It hits me that she's in the forefront of my mind when I just made the biggest career goal a reality.

The last time I saw Lexi Benson was six years ago, when I held her in my arms at her parents' lake house outside of Chicago. It was her eighteenth birthday. I’d driven nine hours straight from Ole' Miss to surprise her. We spent three nights together—nights that burned themselves into my memory, nights that changed everything.

But she was never really mine, was she?

I shake off the thought, blinking back into the present. This isn’t the time to get lost in the past. I’m on cloud nine. I just accomplished the dream of a lifetime.

More faces blur by me as teammates slap my back, coaches pull me into bear hugs, and strangers congratulate me like we’re family. I can barely believe this is real. I’m standing on top of the world, and I don’t think I’ll sleep for a week.

But beneath all that adrenaline, there’s a flicker of something else. So many people who I wish were here but aren't.

My mom who we lost to breast cancer when I was a kid…

And, Lexi Benson… the one who got away.

I keep glancing back at TJ. He confided in me earlier in the year that if we made the Super Bowl, he would retire tonight. After eight years in the league, he wanted to end it on a high note. This would mark his second Super Bowl and my first. I was disappointed to finally have hit our stride just for him to retire but I couldn’t blame the guy. He accomplished everything he wanted to.

I still have a dream that I plan to achieve before retiring: Win a Super Bowl with Luca Benson—playing on the same team. A dream we've had since first grade.

"My kids are getting older, Tuck. My oldest started peewee football and now that all the kids are in school and can’t travel, I see them so much less."

Sadie had gotten pregnant TJ’s first year in the NFL and his kids have known nothing but the open road. They had to move once due to a trade, uprooting their entire family when Sadie was eight months along with their second child. "I’ve had a good run. A longer career than most. If I get this second Super Bowl, I need to hang it up and spend the rest of my life doing what really matters—being with my wife and kids."

I couldn’t believe he was willing to walk away at the height of his career. It seemed crazy to spend our whole life chasing a goal only to give it up before it gives up on you. I’d always imagined that when I finally retired, it would be because I was forced out or got injured. TJ was going out with time still left on the clock.

After the ceremonies are over and TJ is voted MVP, he makes the speech in front of a stadium full of adoring fans…and a good portion of hateful ones, too. With his wife tucked under his arm and three small sons standing on the podium, he makes the speech I was anticipating but had hoped he’d reconsider once he had won another championship. How could he possibly want to walk away on a high like this?

It’s nearly one in the morning when a call comes in on my cell phone. I’ve felt several calls vibrate in my pocket since I left the stadium for the bar. I’ve ignored most of them. Now that things are no longer in a complete frenzy, I pull the phone from my pocket.

The name on the screen has my pulse kicking up again, the sounds of the bar fading into the background as I stare down at my phone. I swallow hard.

Lexi Benson calling…

My celebration rounds from friends, family, and colleagues didn’t feel complete, because the one person I want to hear from the most is trying to give us space.

"Lexi!" I say, with more enthusiasm than I planned.

My fingers tighten around the phone as I press it hard to my ear. My other hand comes up to block out the noise of the bar. I don’t want to miss a single word, my smile stretching wider at the sound of her voice than it did when I won a Super Bowl.

This is the first time I've heard her voice in six years, when I asked her to move to be with me at her family's beach house and she responded by asking for space.

"Oh, hi, I didn’t expect you to answer," she says softly. "I didn't mean to interrupt your celebration."

Like I could stop myself from picking up.

"You didn't. I'm glad you called," I say, wishing I could tell her so much more, but I can't risk her pulling away.

Memories flood back at the sound of her voice, dragging me back to that lake house—to her in my arms.

"Congratulations! I’m so proud of you, Evans."

My smile widens even further. The kind of smile that might hurt tomorrow.

"Thanks, Lex," I say, my voice a little softer.

"I always knew you’d do it but seeing it... impressive work, MVP."

"Hate to break it to you but I’m not the MVP. Did you turn the T.V. off early, because they awarded it to TJ Holloway?" I laugh, trying to keep it light.

"I might be a little biased. You’ll always be my MVP, Tuck."

My stomach flutters at her words, and I wish she was in my arms so I could kiss her. It’s the only thing that would top this night.

"How’s the Cayman Islands? Are you sipping a pina colada for me?" I tease.

"I don’t think this hotel bar serves pina coladas," she says, amusement in her voice.

"What tropical paradise doesn’t serve pina coladas? I guess you’ll have to change that when your firm buys the place."

"We won’t be buying this place. My dad doesn’t have any interest in buying a hotel in Los Angeles right now." She laughs uncomfortably, and my heart stops.

"You’re in LA? Right now?" My emotions clog my throat. She’s taking too long to answer. "Where are you?" I scan the room, already searching for the exit. Wherever she is, I need to be there. The high of the win is already fading, replaced by the hope that I'll finally get to see her again—after six years of "space".

She ignores my question.

"I can hear the party's still going strong. Enjoy yourself. I don’t want to hold you up. I honestly didn’t think you’d answer. I was planning on leaving a message."

I calm my voice or otherwise I know she won’t give me any more information if she thinks I’ll leave the party. I slowly say each word, pronouncing each one clearly.

"Lex, where are you staying? Is it safe?" I ask, knowing this will get her to open up. Lexi has always been the type to soothe others, to calm their nerves. Just like I expect, she takes the bait.

"Oh my god, Tucker! I’m staying at the Blue Diamond Hotel. No one is going to rob me here."

My heart nearly stops. The Blue Diamond is right down the street—six blocks away. The adrenaline pumping through my veins tells me I could run there in minutes without breaking a sweat.

"Hold on," I say, as casually as I can, slipping toward the door though my heart is pounding harder than when I scored the touchdown that won us the Super Bowl. I need to get to her. I need to see her standing in front of me to believe she really came to LA for me.

I catch the eyes of a few players and coaches, letting them know I’m stepping out.

Once outside, I start jogging, keeping my pace slow enough so she doesn’t hear it in my voice. I keep her talking, throwing her questions to keep her distracted. There are a few very specific things I need to know before I show up at her hotel.

"Are you here alone? You know how dangerous LA can be."

I know her parents are in town, and Luca is somewhere in the city. They all came to my game. They all texted to congratulate me. But that’s not really what I’m asking. I need to know if she’s with someone else— anyone else.

"No, my mom and dad are here. Luca and Brielle too, but they’re in a different hotel. I got lucky to get this one – a last minute cancellation. Arm and a leg, though. I had to pony up for the suite. I called, like, seven hotels before I found a room. I think they’re all staying in the same hotel as you…?" she trails off.

"Yeah, they are." I picked them up from the airport so that detail I’m sure of. I’m relieved to hear I won’t be passing Luca Benson in the hotel hallway before I try to pull a fast one on his sister.

"I can’t believe you didn’t take the Grand Cayman’s account. I thought that was important for the firm. Your dad mentioned it could have moved your career forward."

"And miss you playing in the Super Bowl? No way. Your win is bigger, Tuck." Her voice softens. "I just—"

I cut her off. "That’s not true. You’ve been working toward this promotion since middle school. Almost as long as I’ve dreamt of a Super Bowl win. This deal is huge for your career."

"You're right." She sighs, and I can hear the hesitation in her voice. "I just… couldn’t miss being here. I like to think I was on this rollercoaster with you. All the peewee games. Middle school football. Friday night lights in high school. We’ve all put in the hours to support you. Remember those elaborate glittery banners mom and I used to make for you and Luca?" She laughs and the sound warms me. It sounds like home, my home.

"My mom, my dad, Luca, your sister Sabrina, and your dad. This feels like a win for all of us. I didn’t want to be the only one left out. Just didn’t seem right." She sighs again, and something in her voice makes my chest tighten. Maybe she’s about to say something more, something I need to hear. Maybe showing up at her hotel won’t be as crazy as it feels.

Since my breathing is getting heavier from running, I quickly mute the phone and let her keep talking. I should take it easy, but I can't slow my steps—My pulse is racing at the thought of seeing her again, after all this time apart.

"I ran into Sabrina last month. She said she was set to come, and I was feeling left out. Did you know she’s helping me look for a house?"

I unmute for a quick reply. "Uh-huh."

"Are you okay, Tuck? You sound a little out of breath."

I make it through the hotel doors and walk up to the concierge.

"Yeah, I’m fine. How's Lilly," I ask, knowing Lexi loves to talk about her best friend.

"She's doing good. Did you hear she moved to Hawaii for her now-ex-boyfriend? Now she's married to a billionaire who she met on the plane ride over."

I take a look around.

It’s a nice hotel, although I’m not surprised. Lexi grew up with her parents traveling first class in every sense.

Luckily, the concierge recognizes me right away.

"OH SHIT! Hello, Mr. Evans!"

Thank God, a fan. This should be easy.

"Are you staying at our hotel this evening? We’re booked full, but we always have a few suites held on reserve for just an occasion." He clicks away on his computer, searching for a vacancy.

"No, thank you. I’m looking for my friend’s room," I say in a low voice, double-checking my screen to make sure I put the phone back on mute. I don’t want to tip her off. "Lexi Benson."

"Oh, sir…we’re not supposed to give out guest’s room numbers." He matches my whisper.

I give him the best I'm-not-a-stalker smile that I can muster and try again.

"Damn, her phone died before she could give it to me. Any chance you could make an exception?"

I try flashing my brand-new Super Bowl ring as if all pro ballers should be trusted… not. But it works.

He clicks away again at his computer and reads off room number 8206 – the eighth floor. I hightail it to the elevator just in case he changes his mind and calls security.

As I get on the elevator, Lexi yawns. "I’ve been talking your ear off for the last thirty minutes. Why didn’t you tell me to shut up? I’m sure you have better things to do."

"No Lexi… I really don’t," I say as I near her door. I take a deep breath, praying I get the happy reception I’m hoping for and not a slammed door in my face. Or worse, it’s some other guests’ room by mistake. Knocking on a stranger’s door at almost two in the morning won’t fair well for me, Superbowl ring and all.

I knock quietly as it’s too damn early to be waking the neighbors.

"Oh my gosh, there’s someone at the door," she gasps. "No one knows I’m here."

"Don’t open the door then. Look through the peephole first. If it’s a crazed lunatic, call security on his ass," I say as I hear her footsteps coming closer and closer to the door.

"Tucker! You’re freaking me out. It’s probably just the front desk dropping off pillows or something. I’ll let you get back to your adoring fans but thanks for answering. I’m so unbelievably proud of you, Tucker."

I smile, the nerves in my chest calming just a little. I end the call, and the door creaks open—Lexi’s still holding her phone to her ear, her face confused for just a second before her eyes meet mine.

"Thanks, baby. That means a lot," I say, stepping inside.

Before she can respond, I cradle the back of her neck with one hand, pulling her close as the door shuts behind me with a soft thud.

Then she murmurs the words I need to hear. "I was hoping it was you."

I plant my lips against hers—pulling her body up against mine.

I move us backwards slowly, until we hit the wall on the other side of the room that leads to the bedroom of the suite.

Her body responds to me instantly, loosening up and melding against mine. Her hands find my shoulders, her heartbeat racing almost as fast as mine.

She’s wearing nothing but tiny boy shorts and a camisole—definitely not what I’d approve of her wearing when she opens the door to a stranger. But lucky for me, it’s exactly what I was hoping she’d be wearing for me.