Bound and Blitzed (Knoxville Coyotes Football #4)

1. Avery

Chapter 1

Avery

“She looks beautiful,” Mom murmurs beside me, lifting a flute of champagne to her lips. “I love seeing her this happy.” She pauses to sip her bubbly, but her eyes remain locked on my sister Raia.

“Me too,” I agree. It’s the truth. Raia beams with joy as she gazes at her fiancé—my best friend and teammate—Cohen Campbell. While I wasn’t ecstatic to learn they were dating a year ago, my feelings had more to do with their lying about it than anything else.

The truth is, Raia and Cohen are perfect together. If I had to pick a man for my sister, there are none better than Cohen because I know he’ll honor and love her. Similarly, my sister has never been as confident, happy, or settled as she is with Cohen’s engagement ring sparkling on her ring finger.

They’re giddy and in love in a way that I’ve yet to experience. As I take a sip of my own champagne and glance around the room, overflowing with Cohen’s and my Coyotes football teammates, Raia’s soccer teammates, our family and friends, I realize that I’m becoming the odd man out.

Cohen and Raia are tying the knot.

West and Nova have the sweetest baby girl.

Hell, even Talon, our kicker, is over the moon with his girlfriend, our Coach’s daughter, Leni.

Raia’s and my cousin Anna moved on with Raia’s ex-boyfriend Brooks. And her friends from boarding school are all here with dates.

It’s just me who is riding solo.

I may have a reputation for always having a flavor of the week, but I haven’t had anything real—meaningful and substantial—in years. Not since I broke up with my high school girlfriend Mila by cheating on her in a scandal that broke her heart, sent waves through our small community, and made me question my own self-worth. Yeah, I was young and, sure, Mila was going through a lot with mourning the loss of her parents. I justified it since we had grown apart and I had been planning to end things even before her parents’ accident.

But I handled it all wrong. And what kind of man does something like that to a woman—to a person—he claims to love?

Once we broke up, Mila lost her job with the Coyotes. And me? I somehow came through the other side as America’s Sexiest Man Alive. On the outside, things looked perfect, but internally, I drowned in guilt and shame for years.

Hell, some days, I still can’t look in the mirror.

I’ve tried to make amends. I cleared the air with Mila and wished her well as she moved on with hockey hotshot Devon Hardt. I strived to have stronger relationships with my parents and Raia. To be a better friend to Cohen and a strong leader for my teammates.

Yet I’m still alone. Still searching for something. Someone .

I sigh and polish off my champagne. Taking Mom’s empty glass from her hand, I say, “I’ll be back with refills.”

Mom smiles at me. “You look handsome, too, Avery.”

I snort. “You don’t have to say nice things to me. This is Raia’s night.”

Mom dips her head. “I know. But I hate seeing either of my babies struggle.”

I turn away before I say anything else. Is that what I’m doing? Struggling?

And leave it to Mom to recognize it while we’re in a room full of loved ones celebrating.

Shame nearly chokes me as I head to the bar. What does that say about me? I’m struggling while my sister is floating on cloud nine. It’s fucking gross.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Grandpa quips as I step up to the bar.

“Could say the same to you, old man.”

He snorts and indicates to the bartender that he’ll take another scotch. “And a pinot grigio,” he adds.

I lift the two empty flutes of champagne and the bartender nods, setting to work.

“Look how her eyes sparkle,” Grandpa sighs, smiling at Raia. “She’s practically overflowing with happiness.”

“They both are,” I confirm, noting the goofy grin on Cohen’s face as his brother Cooper clasps his shoulder.

Grandpa glances at me, his gaze thoughtful. “You know, I always thought it would be you and Mila tying the knot.”

I clear my throat. My family, while incredibly disappointed in me after I cheated on Mila, still had my back. Even that, their forgiveness, Mila’s forgiveness, burns. It expands my self-contempt and multiplies my regrets.

Grandpa shakes his head, thanks the bartender for his scotch, and slips a folded twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar. He takes a drink and smacks his lips together, before saying, “Not everyone is cut out for this.” His eyes track the room. “Marriage, kids, the white picket fence.” He shrugs but I hear the disappointment in his tone.

He thought I was cut out for it. Hell, he’s the ultimate family man. The one who still dances in the kitchen with Grandma and buys the laundry detergent brand she likes—even if it costs over three dollars more than the competition. He came to most of my football games and Raia’s and Anna’s soccer games when we were growing up.

It cuts that he doesn’t think that I’m a man who could fill shoes like that. And even worse, I know he didn’t say it to hurt me. He said it as a throwaway comment. As a consolation .

I nod as he wanders off, stopping to press a kiss to Grandma’s cheek and pass her the pinot grigio.

Turning back to the bartender, I thank him, stuff another twenty dollars in the tip jar, and move to find Mom.

I approach as she laughs with her sister, my aunt Karen.

“Here you go,” I say, passing them each a flute of champagne.

“Oh, thank you, Avery.” Aunt Karen grins. “Your mother was just telling me about the venues Raia and Cohen are considering. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding!”

“It will be,” I agree.

“Hey, man,” Talon says, smacking a hand on my back. “Come tell West about your stalker.”

“You have a stalker?” Aunt Karen gasps, clutching the pendant pearl that hangs around her neck.

“Avery,” Mom chides. She lifts her eyebrows as if to say, why didn’t you tell me?

“It’s harmless.” I flick my wrist. “A joke more than anything.” I give Talon a look as I turn away from my aunt and Mom.

He mouths sorry as he grimaces.

“Talon said this chick showed up at open practices,” West laughs as I join him, Talon, and Leni.

“Have you seen her around since then?” Leni asks, frowning. She just got out of a terrible situation with an abusive ex and I hate that this topic might be triggering for her.

I shake my head. “She doesn’t give off strange vibes. Maybe stalker was too harsh a label,” I backtrack. “I just keep seeing her in my building, the lobby, the gym…the neighborhood. And the way she looks at me…”

“She wants you?” West guesses.

“The opposite actually,” I clarify. “It’s like she’s…studying me.”

Talon snorts as West laughs.

West shakes his head. “Man, you live a strange life.” He glances over his shoulder and grins when he spots Nova. “I’m relieved those days of trying to figure out women’s minds are behind me.”

“Same,” Talon agrees, snaking an arm around Leni’s waist.

She leans into him and sighs contentedly.

I wish I hadn’t given my champagne to Aunt Karen. Right now, I could use the alcohol. Hell, I could use something stronger.

“Anyone want a drink?” I offer, gesturing toward the bar again.

“Nah, I’m good.” West lifts his full beer.

“Go now, before they begin toasts,” Leni says.

Nodding, I dip out of the conversation and return to the bar.

“Another champagne?” the bartender guesses.

“Give me something stronger, man.”

He offers an understanding, knowing look and pours me the same scotch that Grandpa’s drinking.

I take a swig of the amber liquid and enjoy the burn on the way down. Then, I turn toward the front of the room as a fork clinks against a glass.

My sister is holding a microphone and Cohen stands beside her, his arm around her waist, his hand on her hip.

“Hi, everyone!” Raia says, giving a little wave. The chatter dies down and all attention turns toward Raia and Cohen. “We want to thank you so much for coming tonight to celebrate with us.”

“It’s our bye week!” one of my teammates—I think Gage Gutierrez—hollers. “There’s no place we’d rather be!” Yep, definitely Gage.

The crowd laughs.

“True,” Raia agrees. “Cohen and I are so grateful to all of you for being such important parts of our lives.” As she continues to thank their families and friends, I note how close people huddle together.

Couples. Longtime friends. Family members.

I remain beside the bar, apart from the group. Always apart and yet somehow, viewed to be at the center of things.

It’s a strange feeling. A head trip really.

Everyone looks at me and thinks I lead this glamorous life. Quarterback for the Knoxville Coyotes. Avery Callaway, Sexiest Man Alive.

But in reality, I’m lonely. Some days, I’m just going through the motions. Most days, I’m fed up with my own bullshit.

Just once, I’d like someone to expect more of me.

Not in football or my career, but in life. Personally. As a man.

As I glance around the buzzing ballroom, I hate that none of those people are present in this space.

They all keep giving me a pass.

And I don’t deserve it. I haven’t in a long, long time.

I’m exhausted when I reach the front door to my condo building. Around me, downtown Knoxville bustles. The Uber driver stalls at the curb, and I lift my hand to let him know he can take off.

As he drives away, I watch the taillights of his Tesla grow faint. Dropping back my head, I stare up at the condo building. I live on the seventh floor and note how dark my apartment looks. I didn’t leave a light on. It’s not welcoming or beckoning. In fact, right now, I don’t want to take the elevator up and sit in the empty space. Alone.

Shaking my head, I try to brush off my mood, my restless energy. Instead of entering the building, I walk around the corner. There’s a neighborhood bar that’s never too busy or too quiet. It’s a hub for the locals who live in this area as well as a welcoming place to grab a pint for the random tourists that venture in.

I slip inside Sal’s Sports Bar and breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll grab a beer, watch whatever sporting match is on television, and let the chatter of strangers wash over me. Then, I’ll go home and crash.

I’m about to take a seat at the bar when I see her. Or, rather, hear her.

Her cell phone is pressed to her ear, and she speaks in clipped, rapid Spanish. Her tone borders on frantic and I note how her fingernails—short, clean, and unpolished—tap on the bar top.

Long, slightly frizzy curly hair. Blue-green eyes that normally brim with curiosity and right now appear panicked. A cute smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. And the most shapeless sweater I’ve ever seen hang off a woman’s frame.

It’s my stalker.