Chapter Ten
Carter
Game day.
The energy in the locker room is electric, all testosterone and adrenaline and pre-game rituals. Tank’s blasting music from his phone. Derek’s doing his usual pacing, headphones in, eyes closed. Marcus sits in front of his locker, perfectly still, hands folded, centering himself.
And I’m trying not to think about Olivia.
Failing spectacularly.
It’s been three days since that dinner. Three days of careful professionalism. Of standing just a little too far apart. Of conversations that stay safely within the bounds of work. Of text messages that say everything and nothing at all.
Olivia: Good luck today. You’ve got this.
Me: Thanks. You coming to the game?
Olivia: Press box. Part of the job.
Me: See you after?
Three dots. They appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Olivia: Maybe. Depends on how the media wants to spin things.
Translation: depends on whether we can risk being seen together.
I shove my phone in my locker harder than necessary.
“Easy there, Storm.” Derek drops onto the bench beside me, grinning. “You trying to break it or just pissed at the world?”
“Neither.”
“Uh-huh.” He leans back, studying me. “You’ve been wound tight all week. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just focused on the game.”
“Bullshit.” His grin widens. “This is about the pretty PR lady, isn’t it?”
My jaw tightens. “Drop it, Thunder.”
“Oh, it’s definitely about her.” He laughs, loud enough that a few guys glance over. “I knew it. That night in your office when the lights came back on, you two looked like you’d been caught with your hands in the cookie jar.”
“We were reviewing talking points.”
“In the dark. Standing real close.” He makes a kissing sound. “Sure, man. Totally professional.”
I turn to face him fully. “Derek. Drop. It.”
Something in my tone must register because his smile fades slightly. “Shit, you’re serious about her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” He shakes his head, voice dropping lower. “Be careful, Storm. I know Olivia’s hot and smart and all that, but Mark’s watching. The press is watching. One wrong move and they’ll crucify both of you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He stands, grabbing his helmet. “Because you’re looking at her like she hung the moon, and she’s looking at you the same way. And everyone’s going to notice.”
He walks away before I can respond, leaving me there with the truth of his words settling heavy in my chest.
Coach Fitzgerald’s voice booms across the locker room. “All right, listen up!”
The music cuts. Everyone turns.
“Today, we play the Chicago Engines. They’re three and two. We’re four and one. They want to prove they belong in the top tier. We’re going to prove they don’t.” His gaze sweeps the room, landing on me. “Storm, you’re our leader out there. Show them why.”
“Yes, coach.”
“Defense, we need you fast and mean. Offense, execute. Special teams, no mistakes. And remember—” He pauses, letting the tension build. “This game isn’t just about today. It’s about showing the league who we are. Now let’s go take what’s ours!”
The room erupts. Bodies surge toward the tunnel, helmets banging together, voices rising in a unified roar.
I grab my helmet and follow, letting the energy carry me forward.
But as we burst onto the field and the crowd’s thunder washes over us, my eyes find the press box.
And I know, I just know, Olivia’s watching.
The first half is brutal.
Chicago came to play. Their defense is aggressive, their quarterback mobile and smart. We trade touchdowns, field goals, three-and-outs. By halftime, we’re tied at seventeen.
In the locker room, Coach Fitzgerald tears into us. “That’s not championship football! That’s sloppy, lazy, undisciplined football. You want to win? You want to prove you’re the best? Then play like it!”
He singles out players, calling out missed blocks, blown coverages, stupid penalties. I sit quietly, letting his words wash over me, replaying my throws in my head. Two good. One nearly intercepted. One I should’ve hit Derek in the end zone but overthrew by inches.
Not good enough.
When Coach finishes, the room is silent, tension thick enough to cut.
“Second half,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “We execute. We dominate. We win. Understood?”
A chorus of “Yes, coach!” echoes back.
As we file back toward the tunnel, Marcus falls in step beside me. “You okay, man?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You seem… distracted.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Let’s just win this thing.”
But he’s right. I am distracted. Every time I line up, I think about Olivia in that press box. Watching. Analyzing. Probably writing notes about how I need to stay focused.
Get your head in the game, Storm.
The second half kicks off, and I force everything else out. Just me, the ball, and my team.
We drive downfield. I hit Derek for a fifteen-yard gain. Tank bulldozes through for another seven. Marcus catches a slant for the first down.
Then I see it, the safety cheating up, leaving the corner one-on-one with our fastest receiver.
I call an audible. Derek looks at me, nods. He knows what’s coming.
The ball snaps. I drop back. The pocket collapses fast, but I step up, eyes downfield.
Derek breaks free.
I throw.
The ball spirals through the air, perfect rotation, perfect arc. Derek tracks it, hands extending, and—
Touchdown.
The stadium explodes. My teammates mob me, pounding my helmet, shouting. But all I can think is: Did she see that?
We’re up twenty-four to seventeen.
Portland answers with a field goal. Twenty-four to twenty.
Four minutes left.
We get the ball back, and Coach calls for a conservative drive. Run the clock. Get a first down or two. Make them burn their timeouts.
But on second and seven, I see the defense stacking the box.
I audible again.
“Storm, what are you doing?” Tank hisses.
“Trust me.”
The snap. I fake the handoff, roll right. The linebackers bite. Marcus slips into the flat, wide open.
I hit him. He turns upfield. One juke. Two. He’s got nothing but green grass ahead—
And he’s tackled at the five-yard line.
First and goal.
Two plays later, I punch it in myself on a quarterback sneak.
Thirty-one to twenty. Three minutes left.
Chicago scrambles, but our defense shuts them down. The clock hits zero. Game over.
We win.
The locker room is chaos. Music blaring. Champagne spraying. Bodies crashing into each other in celebration.
I let myself get swept up in it for a moment, grinning as Derek pours water over my head and Marcus shouts something incomprehensible about the play-calling being brilliant.
But beneath it all, there’s only one thought:
I need to see her.
After the media interviews, where I give the standard answers about execution, teamwork, and taking it one game at a time, I shower and dress quickly.
My phone lights up.
Olivia: Great game. You were incredible out there.
Me: Thanks. Where are you?
Olivia: Heading to my car. Media wants a statement on the altercation in the third quarter.
There’d been a scuffle after a late hit. Nothing major, but the kind of thing that makes headlines if we don’t get ahead of it.
Me: Can I see you? Just for a minute.
Three dots. Then:
Olivia: Carter, we talked about this. We have to be careful.
Me: I know. Please. Just one minute.
A long pause. Then:
Olivia: North parking garage. Level three. Five minutes.
I’m out the door before anyone can stop me.
The parking garage is nearly empty. Most of the crowd’s already left, the post-game rush thinning to a trickle. I take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with exertion.
Level three. I scan the rows of cars and spot her immediately.
Olivia leans against her car, arms crossed, tablet tucked under one elbow. She’s wearing dark jeans and a Dragons pullover, hair pulled back in a ponytail. Professional. Untouchable.
Except for the way her eyes soften when she sees me.
“Hey,” I say, stopping a few feet away. Keeping distance. Being careful.
“Hey.” She shifts, uncrossing her arms. “That was a hell of a game.”
“Thanks.”
“The audible in the fourth quarter—gutsy.”
“Or stupid, depending on who you ask.”
A small smile. “It worked.”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretches between us. The fluorescent lights hum overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a car engine starts.
“Carter,” she says softly. “Why did you want to see me?”
“Because I couldn’t not see you.” The words come out rougher than I intend.
“Because I just played one of the best games of my career, and the only thing I could think about was whether you were watching. Whether you were proud of me. Whether—” I stop, dragging a hand through my still-damp hair.
“I know we’re supposed to be careful. I know this is complicated.
But I needed to see you. Just for a minute. ”
Her expression shifts, something vulnerable flickering across her face. “I was watching.”
“And?”
“And you were incredible.” She takes a step closer. Then another. “You were confident and smart and… God, Carter, watching you out there, it was like watching someone in their element. Like you were born to do this.”
“I was.”
“I know.” Her voice drops. “And knowing that your time doing it is running out, that every game could be one step closer to the end… it made me realize something.”
My heart hammers. “What?”
She closes the remaining distance between us, and suddenly we’re inches apart. Her perfume, something light and clean, fills my senses.
“That life’s too short to play it safe all the time.”
And then she kisses me.
It’s not tentative. Not careful. It’s months of tension and days of restraint and three separate almost-kisses finally breaking free.
Her hands slide up to my neck. Mine find her waist, pulling her closer. She tastes like mint and coffee and something sweeter I can’t name. The kiss deepens, her body pressing against mine, and I forget where we are. Forget every reason this is a bad idea.
All I know is her.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Her forehead rests against mine, eyes closed.
“That was—” I start.
“A mistake,” she finishes, but she doesn’t pull away.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I should mean that.” She opens her eyes, and they’re bright with unshed tears. “Carter, this is everything I said we shouldn’t do.”
“I know.”
“If anyone sees—”
“I know.”
“Your career, my job—”
“Olivia.” I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. “I. Don’t. Care.”
“You should.”
“But I don’t.” My thumb brushes her cheek. “I don’t care about the risks. I don’t care about what people will say. I don’t care about anything except this. You. Us.”
“There is no us,” she whispers, but even as she says it, her hands tighten in my shirt.
“Isn’t there?”
She closes her eyes again, and a single tear slips free. I catch it with my thumb.
“I’m terrified,” she admits.
“Me too.”
“What if we ruin everything?”
“What if we don’t?” I lean my forehead against hers again. “What if this is the best decision we’ve ever made?”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But I know that I haven’t felt this alive in years. I know that when I’m with you, I’m not just Carter Storm, quarterback. I’m just… me. And that’s enough.”
Her breath hitches. “Carter—”
“Tell me you don’t feel it too. Tell me this kiss didn’t change everything. Tell me you can walk away right now and not look back.”
Silence.
Then, so quietly I almost miss it: “I can’t.”
Relief floods through me, so intense it’s almost painful. “Then don’t.”
“But—”
I kiss her again, softer this time. A promise. A plea.
When we part, she’s crying in earnest now, and I don’t know if it’s from fear or relief or both.
“We have to be smart about this,” she says. “No one can know. Not yet.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, Carter. If Mark finds out, if the press gets wind of this—”
“We’ll be careful. I promise.”
She laughs wetly. “Your promises aren’t very reassuring, Storm.”
“Fair.” I smile, brushing another tear away. “But I’m making it anyway.”
For a long moment, we just stand there, holding each other in the fluorescent glow of a parking garage, the weight of what we’ve just done settling over us.
“I should go,” she finally says, but she doesn’t move.
“Yeah.”
“Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel like taking a risk is worth it.”
My chest tightens. “It is. I promise.”
She pulls away reluctantly, and I let her go even though every instinct screams to hold on tighter.
“Goodnight, Olivia.”
“Goodnight, Carter.”
She slides into her car, and I watch her drive away, taillights disappearing down the ramp.
When she’s gone, I lean back against the concrete wall and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Everything just changed.
And for the first time in my life, I have no idea what happens next.
But I can’t wait to find out.