Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Chase
The locker room is charged, every member of the team fired up for today’s rivalry game against Oregon.
Music blares all around, the bass rattling the bench beneath me as I tape my wrist, only adding to the booming excitement. Laughter and chaos bounce off the walls, and I soak it all in with a fucking smile.
Today, I’m locked in. Ready.
Determined.
“Let’s go, baby!” Brady slaps a helmet against the locker beside mine, grinning like a madman. He starts dancing, shimmying his hips and bumping up on me, snaking an arm around Mason’s neck, and yanking him in when he tries to slip by.
The three of us laugh, popping up and jumping with the beat of the song, singing out the chorus, and the rest of the locker room joins in, turning the place into a mini fucking concert.
It’s electric and the blood in my veins pumps a little faster.
We’ve already warmed up, gone over the game plan for today more times than I can count, run it into the ground this week, and it’s sharp. We’re sharp.
And me? I’ve never been more ready.
That’s the thought that stays with me as we hit the tunnel, running out in a haze of smoke and flashing lights, emerging on the other side of the giant shark’s mouth.
The crowd goes insane, fists pounding, feet stomping, every seat in the house taken for this, and I smirk at the thought.
Brady bends at the knees, roaring into the air as we take the sidelines, waiting to get things going.
I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, and then Mason is in front of me, hands slapping on my pads.
“You feelin’ it?” he shouts.
“More than ever.” My mouth quirks. “You?”
He chuckles, shaking his head with a grin. “You’re gonna light it up out there, man. I can feel it.”
So can I.
My fingers flex at my side, the hairs on my neck tingling, and I spin around.
I find her instantly, moving quickly down the stairs that lead to the railing.
Helmet in my hands, I run over, hopping up just as she takes the last step.
She reaches me, breathing a little quickly and cheeks flushed. Beautiful.
Mine.
Her forehead presses to mine, and she closes her eyes a moment, then those baby blues open, locking with my gaze. “You got this, Trouble,” she whispers, her warm hands pressing to my cheeks, my number painted across hers, and everything around us blurs. “I’m so proud of you.”
My throat thickens, but I smile. “Thank you, baby.” I kiss her quickly, and it’s like a supercharge straight into my damn chest.
“It’s showtime.” She grins.
“You bet your ass it is.”
Paige laughs lightly, and I hop down, my eyes snapping past her.
There. Section One, first row. My dad points at me, holding Deaton on his hip, my friends all around him. I raise my hand in a short wave and his face breaks out in a grin, and he lifts Deaton’s hand to wave back.
An unexpected, sudden warmth fills my chest.
One day, maybe it’ll be my little guy in the stands watching me play from my dad’s lap.
My lips twitch and I nod, winking at Paige before jogging back to the sidelines, my team ready and waiting.
Mase is on the field as captain. The coin is flipped and Oregon is set to kick off.
I chuckle to myself, glancing at my coach at the exact moment he turns toward me.
He tips his head, and I tip mine back.
He chose not to defer the ball to the second half for me.
Because now our offense is hitting the field first. I am hitting the field first, and this game? The game plan we worked out all week at practice?
It was built around me. For me.
Today, I’m the weapon.
I’m not just going to show these scouts what they came to see.
I’m going to blow their fucking minds.
And I do. Down after down. Minute after minute.
The crowd is wild. The roar of the packed stadium vibrating through the turf beneath my cleats. Sweat slips down my spine, my temples, but I don’t feel it. I’m in too deep.
Locked in.
I line up, checking with the ref, and wait for the motion.
Mason taps his heel and I shift. The ball is snapped, and I dig my cleats in, arms pumping as I run my route.
My hips shift, the safety picking up speed, but it doesn’t matter.
The ball is already dropping into my hands just before he lands the hit.
We roll, and I pop up with ease.
“Don’t look so smug, Harper,” the guy spits. “Still a lot of game left.”
“Looking forward to it.” I chuckle as I drop the ball, moving back to my side of the line.
Twenty-five-yard gain and yet another first down.
All. Damn. Day.
We’re running a no-huddle, so I line up. Smirking at the punk who ran his mouth, fire in his eyes, but it doesn’t matter.
I’ve got fire in my fucking soul.
Mase calls the snap, and I dig my cleats in.
There’re three on me, but I stay focused, kicking my speed up a gear.
The ball is released, and I watch as it spirals closer and closer.
They jump, but I’ve run this route with this guy a hundred times, so I know right away that they’re a split second too early—but I’m not.
The ball lands in my hands, and I pull it in, tucking my shoulder as I brace for the impact I know is coming.
There’s a moment of pause, and then the crowd explodes. My name rings from the announcer’s box yet again, and my teammates swarm, jumping up to bump my shoulders.
Touchdown Sharks, my second tonight and it’s still the first half.
I run off the field with my team, and Brady lifts me off my damn feet, barking like the wild man he is.
I tear my helmet off, heart in my throat and pure fucking thrill pounding behind my ribs. I grab some water, looking up into the stands, wanting to share this with her.
She’s on her feet, just like I knew she would be, hands cupped around her mouth, screaming god knows what but it’s got me laughing anyway.
My girl.
My lungs burn in the best way, adrenaline spiking impossibly higher, but then I catch sight of someone else. Right there, someone I didn’t expect to see here.
Prescott.
He’s standing just off the aisle in some high-end blazer and slacks like this is just any other business dinner.
Like he belongs here as he talks to someone.
I can’t see their faces at first, but then the angle shifts and my stomach drops.
He’s shaking hands with my dad. Smiling, all practiced and polished, perfectly placed.
Something thumps in my chest.
Why is he here and what is he saying to my dad? How is he introducing himself?
“Harper!”
My head yanks toward the sound of my name, my receiver coach throwing his hands out in the familiar what the fuck motion.
I force myself not to turn back to the crowd, pulling my helmet back on and snapping it into place as I wait for the ref to blow the whistle, signaling first down AU.
I jog out, heart hammering harder than it should.
I line up, tune everything out, and focus.
The ball is snapped, and I take off, but the corner beats me off the line. Mase releases and I watch it, extending my arm. The ball skims my fingertips, hits the turf, and then bounces out of bounds as the final second ticks down. It’s halftime.
Fuck.
My teeth clench around my mouthpiece. I don’t bother going back to the sidelines but jog straight into the tunnel, down the long hall, and into the locker room.
I slam the side of my fist into the metal once, twice, before a few others come through the door, pulling their gloves or helmets off, their shoulder pads following.
I drop down on the bench in front of my locker and let my shoulders fall back against it.
Mason and Brady aren’t far behind, wide smiles on their faces.
“Holy shit, man, you might break the fucking record tonight.” Mase sits down. “The league record!”
My smile is half-assed and forced, and Brady’s hand yanks back.
“Yo, what the hell?” He sits beside us. “Tell me you’re not trippin’ on that one pass.”
I lift a shoulder, blowing out a breath. “Sometimes you only get one pass at the next level.”
“Bro.” Mason chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re killing it out there and that was my bad. Relax. We’ll go back out there and show them even more. The ball is yours every single time if you’re open, man. I got you.” He nods.
“I know, thanks, brother.” I hold my fist out, and he presses his against it.
I close my eyes to just breathe a minute, sitting at attention when Coach comes in and starts running things back, making last-minute adjustments, and nailing down the goal for the second half based on the first one.
“Harper!” he calls at the end.
My shoulders tense, and I brace for it. “Yes, Coach?”
His glare smooths, a slow grin forming as he starts to laugh. “Good fucking job out there, son. Keep handing them their ass.”
The weight of failure falls away with his words. He doesn’t think I fucked up.
It was just one play.
I smile. “Yes, Coach.”
Someone grabs my shoulders and a few start catcalling, the mood lightening instantly, and fuck, I can breathe again.
Someone whistles low from across the locker room. “Yo, Harper!” Fernando shouts, jerky stick hanging half out of his mouth. “You didn’t tell us your girl’s a real-life Paris Hilton.”
I chuckle, half distracted as I swipe a towel over the back of my neck. “What?”
Fernando hops over the bench, making a show of sliding his ass down this one, grinning like a fool. “AU Inquirer posted last night: Looks like we’ve got a future billionaire on campus, Sharks.”
I’d have missed it if he didn’t read it, because my eyes are instantly drawn to the image they shared of her.
She’s wearing a soft-blue sweater and jeans, walking across the quad, the giant Avix University on the building right behind her.
The shot’s a bit of a side profile, her hair blowing, face turned just enough to catch her devastating smile.
It’s wide—so wide there are little creases beside her eyes.
I know the exact moment this picture was taken. That smile?
It was all for me. She was looking right at me.
The corner of my mouth twitches up, slow and smug, and my teammates start to laugh.