Chapter 30
BECK
It’s game day. The stadium is louder than normal today, everyone hungrier for a win after taking the loss last weekend.
Trying to keep my mind focused on the game ahead and not thinking about the time I’ve spent with Sophie over the last few days, proves to be more difficult than I thought.
New images pop up whenever I see her, forcing my pulse to kick up a bit.
Or when she bites her lip in concentration sending my mind right off the rails.
Something is happening. I just don’t quite know what yet.
I roll my shoulders beneath my pads, helmet secured, and my mind focused as I bounce up and down on the sideline with my team, ready to get this show on the road.
The crowd roars as the announcers’ voices blare through the speakers, but over the noise, I hear her.
Sophie.
Her voice is easy to pick out now, high and clear above the cheer squad’s chant, like she’s pouring everything into it. I glance down the sideline, just for a second, and there she is. Ponytail swinging, cheeks flushed, a smile taking up her entire face.
My heart starts pumping a notch higher than normal, but I know it has nothing to do with the game, and everything to do with the pretty blonde whose focus is right on me.
Logan knocks into me, a knowing smirk on his face. Before I have time to say anything, the whistle blows, pulling my thoughts back to the field.
It’s game time.
The first quarter is a grind—three-and-outs on both sides. I read their tight end twice, shutting down their short-yardage attempts. In the second, they start leaning on their run game. Bad idea.
We line up third and four, their running back eyeing the left gap. I adjust my stance, weight balanced forward. The QB snaps, fakes right—
I’m already moving.
I cut through the B-gap, slip past their guard’s lazy hands, and meet the back two yards behind the line. He goes down hard, the crowd erupting before the whistle even blows.
When I push off him and glance up, Sophie’s on her feet, arms raised, yelling like she’s the only person in the stadium. She catches me looking and beams. I can’t help the small grin that tugs at my mouth before I jog off the field.
The second half is cleaner. We control the tempo, forcing them to throw deep, and I break up a slant on third down that has Logan chest-bumping me like we just won the Super Bowl. By the fourth quarter, we’re up by two scores, and all that’s left is to shut the door.
Final drive. Thirty seconds. They’re desperate, throwing quick outs to the sideline to stop the clock.
They line up trips right. I shift with the motion, reading the quarterback’s eyes. The snap comes, and he tries to hit his slot receiver on a short post—
I jump the route.
Helmet to chest. The ball pops loose. Our defense piles on top of it before they can recover. Our ball. Game over.
We win 28–17. The field floods with players and students as the band blares the fight song. Helmets come off, adrenaline surges, and I’m scanning through the blur without meaning to.
Then I see her.
She’s weaving through the crowd toward me, still in her uniform, hair sticking to her forehead from cheering. Her smile is wide, her eyes locked on me like I’m the only one here.
Before I can think, she launches herself forward.
I catch her by the waist, lifting and spinning her once. Her laugh cuts through the noise—bright, breathless—and it hits me dead center. For a heartbeat, it’s not the roar of the crowd I hear. It’s her.
When I set her down, my hands don’t fall away immediately. They stay at her waist, fingers pressed against warm fabric, like they don’t want to let go. Her hands rest lightly on my shoulders, and suddenly the world tilts just a little.
She’s close. Closer than she’s ever been. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes shining, lips parted from laughing.
And then it hits me—sharp, clear, unshakable.
I want to kiss her.
Not just some vague idea of it, but really kiss her. Feel the curve of her smile against mine, taste the leftover sugar from whatever candy she inhaled at halftime, slide my hands up her back and pull her all the way in.
The thought catches me off guard. Hard.
“Nice tackle, Harrison,” she says, still smiling.
“Nice cheering,” I shoot back, trying to sound normal when my pulse is doing anything but.
She rolls her eyes, but her grin lingers. Her squad calls her back toward the tunnel, and she takes a step away. The space between us suddenly feels too wide.
I watch her jog off, chest buzzing in a way that has nothing to do with the game—and everything to do with the fact that, for one wild second, I wanted to close that space and feel her lips against mine.
I take the stairs two at a time, throwing a hat over my still damp hair, the low thump of bass getting louder with each step. The house is packed—shoulder-to-shoulder in the living room, kitchen overflowing, someone already trying to crowd surf in the hallway. Typical night after a win.
But my eyes aren’t looking for the party. They’re looking for her.
I scan the room automatically, ignoring the claps on the back and quick “hell of a game, Harrison” from teammates. I don’t see her yet.
“About damn time,” Logan says, sidling up next to me with a red cup in hand. He’s got that look—the one that says he’s about to stir the pot for fun. “Thought you were gonna brood in your room all night like some football-playing Batman.”
“Funny,” I mutter.
He grins. “Seriously, though—great game today. That stop in the fourth? Beautiful.” He claps a hand against my shoulder, solid and proud.
Then his grin turns sly. “And let me guess…you’re not down here for the drinks.
Or the music. You’re scanning the room like a bloodhound for a certain blonde cheerleader, aren’t you? ”
I give him a flat look, but he just laughs.
“Bro,” he says, leaning closer like we’re sharing state secrets. “It’s fine. You caught the feeling bug. Happens to the best of us. I, for one, am glad you finally admitted it to yourself.”
“I didn’t—”
He cuts me off with a raised brow. “Your face says otherwise. Go get your girl.”
I should tell him he’s wrong. That she’s not my girl. That this whole thing started because of Zach and a lie in front of her parents. But my eyes are already wandering back to the crowd, searching.
And then I see her.
She’s just come through the front door, hair loose and a little curled at the ends, wearing dark jeans and a soft sweater that makes my throat tighten. She’s laughing at something one of her friends says, her eyes scanning the room like she’s looking for someone too.
My pulse kicks. I shift like I’m about to move toward her—
And then a voice cuts through the noise.
“Yo, Logan!” one of the linebackers calls from across the room. “Couple of girls from CSU just showed up.”
Logan goes still. Like statue still. His jaw tightens, his entire energy shifting from playful to ice cold in a blink.
“Where?” he says flatly.
“Kitchen,” the guy says.
Logan doesn’t even glance at me. He sets his cup down on the banister with a dull thud and stalks off toward the kitchen, all business.
I watch him go for half a second, brow furrowing, but then my attention is called back to the gorgeous girl still standing next to the front door, sweater slips off one shoulder like it’s been waiting all night for the opportunity to mess with my head.
She’s laughing at something Ava says, head tilted, eyes bright.
And before I even realize I’m doing it, my feet are moving in her direction.