43. Chapter 43
Chapter 43
TEAGAN
We’re only ten minutes into the game when Coach puts me in.
I have no idea what the hell he’s thinking, or maybe he’s not thinking and that’s the point. His eyes are glazed over, like he drank a fifth of whiskey. And he’d have to be drunk to put me on the field with Chance because being on a football field with him is the last place I want to be.
I want to rip his heart out with my bare hands. Break his ribs. Punch him in the nose. Gut him with a blade like he gutted me outside Coach’s office.
But I can do none of those things.
Instead, I’m supposed to run and block and evade and catch the football as if my world hadn’t been turned upside down just minutes ago.
Fuck. That.
I barely glance his way as he calls out the play. It’s a passing play in which I get the ball. Any other game, I’d be thrilled. I love an opportunity to score. Love the thrill of outsmarting my opponents and taking the ball home, but I feel nothing. No joy. No anticipation. Only a heaviness in my chest I can’t shake.
I crouch low at the line of scrimmage, my eyes fixed on Chance as I await the snap. He hikes the ball, and muscle memory takes over while my mind reels.
I explode off the line, my legs pumping as I run for the goal line, surging past defenders. My focus narrows and I turn in time to see Chance ready for the throw. But instead of putting my hands out and readying for the ball, all I can think about are his hands—the same ones clutching the football—touching Lane, pleasing Lane, holding Lane.
Time slows and I close my eyes as a fresh wave of pain rips through me.
How long were they together?
Would they still be a couple if she hadn’t gotten pregnant?
Did she love him?
Does she still?
And why? Why, why, why, a million times why?
Why did she lie to me?
Chance’s arm snaps back and the ball flies, but I’m too distracted.
My feet and arms are full of lead.
I’m late as I shift my stance and reach.
My vision files away the blur of maroon and white—a defender—coming straight for me.
I tell myself to pivot but I’m too late.
Something crashes into my side. My hip explodes and my legs fly out from under me. I’m airborne—weightless—floating like a feather through the air until the moment I hit the turf with bone-jarring force.
My head slams on the ground. Teeth rattle.
Pain explodes in my back like a cannon, strong enough to outpace the throbbing ache inside my chest.
I cry out and try to roll on my side for relief, but I can’t.
I can’t fucking move.
It’s my last thought before the world goes dark.
CHAPTER 43
LANE
I hate myself a little more with each passing second as I try and focus on the game. All I have to do is get through the next few hours, and then I’ll make Teagan listen. I’ll find a way to explain myself that he can understand.
He has to understand; he just has to.
Teagan takes the field, and my pulse skips a beat.
I watch as they hike the ball and Chance takes his time setting up for what I think is going to be a pass to him.
But something goes terribly wrong.
Teagan stops.
He pauses when he should be moving his feet.
It’s as if his mind is elsewhere.
Panic seizes my chest as the ball leaves Chance’s hands and soars through the air. It flies toward Teagan just as he finally shifts, positioning himself to catch it, only it’s a fraction too late because the defender is already there. And just as the ball is within reach, he plows into Teagan with the force of a freight train.
My heart stops as the defender’s helmet hits him hip high.
Teagan’s feet fly out from under him, his body launching to the ground at an unnatural angle.
He falls backfirst with an impact that reverberates through the stadium.
I yelp and hold my breath, waiting for him to get up, but he doesn’t.
I count the seconds that pass. Far too long for him not to be immobile.
“He’s not moving,” I say out loud. “Why isn’t he moving?” I scream.
Medics take the field while all players—both ours and the opposing team?take a knee. Everyone else in the stadium goes quiet as the medics get to work, and still, Teagan does not move.
No, no, no, no!
I stand, craning my neck to see, as if it might somehow change what’s in front of me. Blood pounds in my ears like a herd of buffalo, drowning out whatever the announcers are saying over the loudspeaker.
I cover my mouth with shaking hands, muffling a moan.
Get up.
Get up.
I repeat this mantra in my head as if I can make him move out of sheer will.
The EMTs shout, cutting through the sound of my pulse, and suddenly, I hear everything in wild technicolor.
The sound of a siren.
My father screaming as he runs onto the field with his assistant beside him. The low murmur of fans around me as an ambulance appears, taking the field and parking just feet from Teagan’s prone form.
Wait.
I need to see him. I need to.
My eyes fill with tears as I race down the stands, pushing my way through fans and spectators, all of them watching with bated breath.
I take the stairs quickly, as fast as my feet will carry me, which still isn’t fast enough when I push through a throng of onlookers surrounding the fence in front of the field. “Excuse me. Out of the way!” I dodge another person. “Move. Fucking move!” I cry.
I’m not gonna make it.
I break through the crowd, and icy fingers grip my chest at the sight of Teagan strapped to a board as they load him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.
Shoving at the gate, I try to get through, but security stops me with a beefy arm to my chest. “You can’t get onto the field ma’am.”
I ignore him, pushing and clawing at his arm. “That’s my boyfriend!”
Another guard comes to help restrain me, but I fight him, too. “My father is the coach. Please,” I wail as tears clog my throat. “I need to go with him. He’s hurt. He needs me,” I cry.
The guard wraps his arms around me from behind, pinning my arms to my side while I try to shake him off like a madwoman. “Ma’am. You need to stop!”
“Let go of me! Let go. I work here, and he’s my—” The words die in my throat as the ambulance pulls off the field, and I fall to my knees, a keening sound erupting from my chest while the sirens blare in my ears.
And all I can think is, this is all my fault.