Chapter 1
NATALIE
ONE YEAR AND ELEVEN MONTHS LATER
I t wasn’t just loud…it was apocalyptic.
The kind of roar that made your ribs buzz and your brain short-circuit.
A sea of orange and white screamed from the stands, like they'd all decided to collectively lose their minds in unison. Tennessee’s colors bled into everything: the field, the stands, the shirts, the painted faces, and apparently the bra the girl a few seats down was wearing like she thought ESPN might zoom in for a halftime segment titled “Spirit Gone Wild.”
“Get it together, Davis! My grandma could make that throw, and she’s blind in one eye!
” My voice cut through the noise like a rogue trumpet blast, drawing a few laughs and more than a few glares from the die-hard superfans around me, decked out in full body paint and beads like this was Mardi Gras in Knoxville.
But I had no regrets.
Parker Davis, golden boy of the college football world and my best friend Casey’s personal Ken doll, was currently playing like he’d forgotten what team he was on…and somebody had to hold him accountable.
If these people were really diehard fans, they would be yelling, too .
Maybe a little heckling would light a fire under their asses.
Jace, Tennessee’s star wide receiver and Parker’s best friend, somehow heard me out on the field. He turned his head, giving me a salute and a smirk so obnoxious it should be illegal.
Casey nudged me with her shoulder, her cheeks pink from the cold—or maybe secondhand embarrassment from how bad her fiancé was playing. “Is your grandma really blind?”
“No,” I said, straightening up and crossing my arms. “But they need me out there, so I’m trying things out.”
“They definitely need you,” she muttered, and I side-eyed her.
“Are you being sarcastic? Because I’m a critical component of Tennessee’s game-day strategy, I’ll have you know.”
“Of course,” she said with a grin. “You’re their secret weapon.”
“Exactly. You may be Tennessee’s lucky charm on account that Parker Davis can’t breathe unless you are in the stands,” I continued, gesturing vaguely toward the field. “But everyone knows that I’m like the unofficial mascot. If they lose this game, it’s because I didn’t yell enough.”
“Or because you insulted every offensive starter,” Riley, Jace’s fiancée chimed in, appearing next to us with a hot chocolate that looked like it had more whipped cream than liquid.
“Constructive criticism builds character,” I said solemnly.
“You sound like the coach I had for my one and only year of swimming,” Casey said, sipping from her water bottle. “She once told me to channel my inner dolphin and then screamed when I didn’t shave a second off my time.”
“Dolphins are overrated,” I said. “Do dolphins have SEC rings? No, they do not.”
Casey just shook her head, her smile soft. She had that look she always got when Parker was on the field, all gooey and dreamy, like she wasn’t freezing her ass off right now with the smell of hot dogs wafting around us .
I was also freezing my ass off, I hated hot dogs, and I did not, in fact, have a hottie out there on the field waiting for me.
But I had been raised a Tennessee fan from birth, and these kinds of games were the ones we lived for.
“You haven’t told me yet what you’re doing for the holidays,” Casey said suddenly, her tone a little too casual, like she was trying to sneak it in past my defenses.
“Oh wow, is that Ophelia over there warming up for halftime?” I asked in a bold attempt to deflect, pointing at a completely random person who looked nothing like our friend—and was also very clearly holding a nacho tray.
Casey raised an eyebrow. “We both know that’s not her. And now I feel like you’re avoiding my question on purpose.”
My happy mood immediately dropped ten degrees. All the good juju I’d felt after that five-yard gain abruptly disappeared. “Oh, you know,” I said vaguely, doing a little jazz hand like that would cover my tracks. “This and that.”
“‘This and that?’” Riley asked, raising an eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” I said with a grin. “This. That. The other thing. Possibly a covert mission to the North Pole. The usual.”
Casey didn’t look convinced. In fact, she started to look suspicious, like she was two seconds away from dragging the truth out of me with an interrogation lamp and a clipboard. “Nat…”
“I’m staying on campus, okay?” I said, cutting her off before she could suggest something sweet, like inviting me to spend Christmas with her, Parker, and his ridiculously hot brothers. “I’ve got projects. Plus, I hate Christmas anyway.”
I added that last part really fast as I popped some red-and-green Nerds Gummies in my mouth, hoping the sugar could neutralize the emotional vulnerability I’d just spewed.
Before Casey could say anything, I reached over and popped some in her mouth, too, just so I could delay whatever she was about to say.
Casey choked and sputtered for a second before she remembered she knew how to chew, and we watched as Tennessee finally got a first down.
The crowd surged, and I nearly forgave Parker for being tragically mediocre this quarter.
“You hate Christmas?” Casey finally said, sounding genuinely horrified, like I’d just confessed to hating puppies or stealing from the Girl Scouts.
“Hold that thought for one second, Case,” I said before cupping my hands around my mouth so my voice could be louder. “Hey, Thatcher, did you forget how to catch, or are you just morally opposed to touchdowns?”
“That was a hard catch. He had two defenders on him!” Riley said indignantly.
“No excuses. Play like a champion,” I muttered.
“Did you get that from Wedding Crashers ?” Riley drawled.
“They got it from me,” I mumbled around another handful of gummies.
“So,” Casey said, turning back to me as Tennessee lined up again, because evidently my angel baby of a best friend could not take a hint.
“Are you going to explain the Christmas hatred? I feel like that’s a betrayal of everything I know about you.
You wear sparkly boots. You own an Advent calendar with perfume samples.
You basically are Christmas in human form. ”
“Because I’m blonde, enjoy Starbucks every day, and shop at Target like it’s a full-time job? That’s so judgmental, Case. I happen to be very against the glitter of commercialism, actually.”
She snorted. “You literally love commercialism.”
“It’s still profiling,” I muttered back.
Her expression softened, and I could see the gears gently turning in her head, already planning how to fix me with some kind of cinnamon-scented-candle holiday intervention.
I had to redirect. Fast. Casey was a fixer, a nurturer, the kind of person who probably couldn’t hear someone say they hated Christmas without deciding it was her personal mission to make them love it.
“So,” I said loudly, pointing at the field. “Think Parker’s gonna pull off this Hail Mary, or are we all gonna die cold and disappointed?”
She blinked, startled out of her planning of Operation Holiday Healing, and turned back to the game.
“He’s got this,” she said firmly, her voice full of that unshakable faith she had in him.
I leaned back in my seat, watching her watch him. For all her blushing and shyness, Casey had a steel core when it came to Parker. It was nice seeing her like this. Happy. Very different from the quiet, sad girl who I’d roomed with for part of freshman year.
But me? I was going to spend Christmas exactly how I wanted: alone, on campus, with no mistletoe, no eggnog, and no made-for-TV miracles involving hot cocoa and emotional breakthroughs. No pretending the holidays were merry and bright when, for me, they never really had been.
Because Christmas time was when my biological father had left. Second grade. A tree still standing in the living room, lights blinking like they hadn’t gotten the memo. He walked out of the house, and he never came back.
I stopped believing in Santa and fathers on the same day.
So if anyone needed a Hail Mary, it was me. But it wasn’t coming from a quarterback.
I’d ruined my chance at that kind of happiness a long time ago.