Blitz Replay (Desert Football #3)

Chapter 1

ONE

ELI

“Hell yes, we’ve got this, boys.” I slapped McCarthy, a defensive end, on his helmet as we stood in the tunnel, ready to rush the field. The season opener pitted us against Northern Arizona University, a rivalry nearly as fierce as the one against the University of Arizona.

McCarthy gave me a toothy grin from behind his facemask. “Damn right we do.” He hopped on his toes as the guys in front sprinted toward the field, each of their names resounding through the loudspeakers.

I glanced behind me at Casey Carter, our quarterback, as my pulse thrummed in my ears. He’d been on fire at camp this year, probably because he'd found the love of his life. A slow smirk spread across my lips. Someday maybe it would be my turn.

With a clap on my shoulder pad, McCarthy sped off. “Come on, it’s time.”

Holding my head down, I pumped my arms and raced after him. I was in great shape this year. I’d put on an extra twenty pounds over the summer and had increased my speed at camp.

As the tunnel opened to the field, booms and pops filled the air along with the cheering fans as fireworks shot out of canisters at the corners of the field and the Jumbotron screen filled with a bursting sun. The September evening’s heat tingled my skin, and sweat already dripped down my back.

My body hummed with electricity as I rushed through our open row in the marching band, playing our fight song. It was the start of my senior year, and the next year, I might live my dream on an NFL team. But I’d always remember my time here, the guys who’d become my brothers. The Desert Dogs.

“Eli Dawson, Linebacker,” the announcer said over the loudspeakers, and the stands erupted in cheers.

I wasn’t as popular as some of the offensive line guys, but students knew me. Mostly for my work in student health services with the LGBTQ helpline.

Jogging toward the corner of the field, I raised and dropped my arms along with the other guys. Everyone was pumped for this game.

The Spirit Squad lined up with their pom-poms smashing over their chests in time with the drum corps’ beat and shouting, “Go Devils!”

With a smile breaking across my face, I pumped my fist, my gaze catching on him, standing between female cheerleaders, smiling and smacking his pom-poms. No fucking way.

As my jog slowed to a walk, my arm dropped and my jaw fell, my chest clenching as if readying for a tackle. Stopping, I stared. I couldn’t help myself. I hadn’t seen him since high school, after our…horrible fucking breakup. Wren Lewis. The only man I’d ever loved.

His brown bangs bounced, falling to his cheekbones, and those striking grey eyes of his looked straight ahead. Was he purposely avoiding me?

Blinking a few times, I collected myself. He had to have heard my name. What the hell was he doing on the cheering squad? He’d been a gymnast, not a cheerleader.

“Dude, what are you waiting for?” Carter gave my back a gentle shove. “Get over to the bench.” Barking out a laugh, he jogged in front of me and twisted. “Focus. We’ve got a game to win.”

“Yeah, right.” With a shake of my head, I jogged toward the bench. Maybe it wasn’t really Wren, just a guy who looked exactly like him. If I were to play my best, I’d have to remember that.

No, it was Wren. My fucking eyeballs couldn’t stay off him the whole game and now, I was sure. I glanced at the clock. We had a little over five minutes left in the first half. I’d missed a few tackles, and I knew coach would ream my ass when we got into the locker room.

With Casey working his magic, we were ahead by at least a touchdown.

I squirted Gatorade into my mouth as the offensive line jogged off the field and special teams took over for the kick.

Our defensive line coach, Coach Simmons, stepped to me, holding an iPad to his chest. “Dawson, I’m counting on you to stop the run this time around. Think you can do that?”

With a scowl, I glanced at him. Apparently, the ass-reaming would start now. “Yes, Coach. Not a problem.” I had to focus and do my damn job. So what if Wren mysteriously appeared on the cheering squad? Our story had been over years ago.

As NAU’s offense lined up across the field on its own twenty-yard line, I ran across the grass and took up my position behind the rushers.

The NAU quarterback made his calls and handed the ball to his running back, who sprinted and sidestepped toward the center of the field.

As an NAU guard rushed me, I shoved him to the side and blew past him, my sights set on the runner. I had to take the fucker down.

The runner spotted me and pivoted, tucking the ball into his side.

“Not so fast.” With a swivel, I swung my arms out, my fingers landing in the collar of his jersey. Fuck, can’t get a foul. I freed him, and my gaze caught on Wren, watching with wide eyes and shouting at me, his hands cupping his mouth.

I sped up, and McCarthy came out of nowhere, snatching the runner around his hips and tackling him to the ground.

The running back rolled away, hopped up and threw the ball to the ref. Looking me square in the eyes and with a lop-sided grin, he said, “You’ll never catch me, big boy.” He strutted toward his huddle.

“Fuck.” Planting my hands on my hips, I hung my head. I should have taken him down.

“Dude, that was close.” McCarthy patted my back. “What’s up with you? That should have been a no-brainer.”

“I know. My game is off tonight.” Because my fucking ex from high school, the one I wasn’t man enough to keep, was standing on the sidelines watching my every move. I ambled to the line for another round. Fuck this. I had to pull my head out of my ass.

We’d squeaked out a win, and I lingered in the shower's spray well after everyone had left, mulling over my shitty performance. If Wren were on the Spirit Squad, I’d have to deal with his presence. I had too much riding on this season to let him affect my game.

After shutting off the water, I padded out and dried off, then wrapped the towel around my waist.

“Hey.” Malik Thompson, our first-string running back, stood next to me, his muscled frame filling out his team athletic gear. His brown hair fell across his forehead, and his brown-eyed gaze met mine. “What happened to you out there?”

I scoffed. “Nothing.” I strode toward the lockers. I knew he’d want a better explanation than that. But hell, do I tell him the truth? “I played like shit, is all.” As I passed the long mirror over the sinks, my brown eyes, covered by wet strands of my almost black hair, stared back at me.

Following, he said, “You looked so good at camp, like the best I’ve seen you.”

Stopping at my locker, I dropped the towel, slipped my briefs up my legs and took inventory of the remaining guys. Only a few, and thankfully no one else from our house, but Malik. “Well, can’t always have a great day.”

“Come on, Dawson. You can talk to me. We’re Desert Dogs, remember?” He pulled on my arm, making me face him.

“Yeah, I know.” I pulled my athletic shorts on and shimmied into my shirt. I had to tell him. But would it open a whole can of worms? “My ex somehow appeared on the Spirit Squad.”

“You have an ex?” His brows snapped up, and his wry grin curled his lips. “I’ve never seen you with a boyfriend.”

“He…” I huffed a sigh and sat on the bench, throwing my sneakers and socks on the floor. “He was my high school boyfriend.”

“Okay.” Sitting beside me, he patted my thigh. “What happened, Eli?” He furrowed his brow. “Obviously, seeing him was upsetting.”

“How about we have this conversation over a beer?” I slipped on my socks and shoes and rose. “Four One Four Pizza?” It was our usual hangout if we didn’t hit the gay bar, and who knew where Tex had run off to. I grabbed my duffel.

“Sure.” He stood. “I’ll follow you.”

After leaving our duffels in our cars, we strolled the short distance down Mill Avenue to the pizza, beer and karaoke bar.

With my hands stuffed in my pockets, I glanced at the cars creeping along the road and the students milling about in the heat or rushing into the many restaurants and bars lining the sidewalk.

As I looked up, my gaze caught the glass skyscrapers in the distance. There were more of them every year. At some point, downtown Tempe might rival downtown Phoenix with all these buildings.

Malik had kept quiet on our walk.

Biting my lower lip, I peeked at him, his steady presence lumbering beside me. He knew this was serious, since my game had been affected.

He stopped at the glass doors to the bar, tucked inside a two-story brick building. Holding the door open, he said, “After you.”

“Thanks.” I strolled inside, and the aroma of pizza and stale beer hit my senses. College students packed the place as usual, most with pitchers of beer on their tables and some with the remnants of pizza.

A girl butchered a Taylor Swift song in the center of the bar while another girl stood beside her, probably for support.

“Back booth?” Malik narrowed his eyes at me.

“Yeah.” We weren’t here for the festivities, and the back booths were always open.

I ambled across a yellow floor with red paint splatters and past dark walls with song lyrics sprawled across them in chalk.

The last time I was here with Malik, Casey’s car had broken down in front of a repair shop where he’d met his current boyfriend. What a lucky guy.

I dropped into the booth with Malik falling in beside me. After the server took our beer order, I faced him, propping my elbow on the table and resting my cheek in my hand. Might as well start from the beginning. “The new cheerleader’s name is Wren Lewis. He was my first and only love.”

Malik parted his lips. “Seriously?” As the server dropped off our pitcher, Malik thanked them and poured two beers.

“Tell me what happened.” He slid a beer to me while shaking his head.

“This story has got to be good. I mean, you’re the guy we always go to for advice, and here you’re the one needing it. ”