Playing for Keeps (Sandusky Jaguars #8)

Chapter 1

HANNAH

Just like every morning, the loud buzzing of my alarm pulled me from my slumber, destroying my peaceful serenity.

Rolling over, I slammed my palm over the top of the snooze button.

I needed just five more minutes. Pulling the cover over my head, I sighed, snuggling back in my spot.

The idea of starting the day was a dread for me; I knew what it would be like, what would come that night.

I wished for a way out of it, an excuse I could use for any reason.

I had a headache. Maybe I lost my keys or fell and hurt my ankle.

Hell, I would lie and say I started my monthly if it would get me out of my promised activity that night.

I knew better, though; I was kidding myself; nothing would get me out of my promised obligation.

That night was the opening night of football season, and the Sandusky Jaguars took the field.

Not that I was a huge football fan; I hated the sport, the players, pretty much everything about it, but I didn’t have the luxury of pretending it was just another sport I could not watch.

I was born in Sandusky, yet I didn’t grow up there long.

I didn’t grow up in one place, for that matter.

Nope, I wasn’t an army child; I was the only daughter of a football coach who was excellent at his job and highly sought after.

From elementary to junior to high school to college, I was shuffled with my family as he advanced through the ranks.

One team after the next, he won title after title and made a name for himself.

I was proud of him and honored to be his daughter; it was glorious to watch him shine on the field.

However, sharing him with the press and football players made me a little jealous and mega resentful.

They got a side of him I never did. He loved me, and I loved him; however, it’s hard to ignore the critical parts of my life that he missed to cater to the needs of players that he would end up leaving seasons later for another batch.

Traveling from one state to the next, only known as the coach’s daughter, got a little much.

Men are using me to get free access to the games.

Girls pretending to be my friend, under the illusion that I had a hookup with the players.

It was not a happy conversation with my parents when I announced I would return home and start my own life.

I promised to watch the games on TV constantly, and I kept my promise.

However, independence was something I needed and deserved.

It was hard at first, but I found an apartment with my childhood best friend, Marty, and got a job with her at the local bar and grill, Hail Mary.

I became known simply as Hannah, and I loved it.

Then he secured the head coaching position with the Jaguars, a team well-known in the world of football.

They had won many titles and possessed some of the highest-paid players with the skills to match.

You’d have to be living under a rock not to know that, especially in Sandusky.

My father had hit the major league; he had come back home, and just like that, I was once again the coach’s daughter.

As the five minutes ended and the loud buzzing of my alarm clock tore me from my thoughts, I heard my bedroom door fly open, with a loud bang against the dresser positioned next to the doorframe.

“Girl, get your ass up,” Marty demanded as she ripped the cover from over my head and hit my alarm off.

Grunting, I sat up and pressed my back against the headboard of my bed, my gaze shifted to my best friend as she took her place next to me. “I have no desire to get out of this bed.” I declared. “I feel like I’m coming down with something.” I continued with a fake cough.

Marty shook her head with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’re fine. Now get up, I want to go get a new outfit before the game.”

“You realize you’re not going to meet any of these players, right?”

“You don’t know that.” She snapped back instantly with a smile. I loved Marty, whose real name was Martha, but she refused to answer when called it, though she was delusional if she thought I wanted to be anywhere near the players.

“As soon as that game clock hits thirty seconds till the end, I’ll be heading toward the door,” I admitted, though I knew she thought I was kidding.

Not sure why, though, since I’d been very vocal on my distaste for the game, the environment, and the players.

I had worked so hard to gain my freedom from it, so to be thrust back into it, and at this level of the game, I felt violated, and all my hard work was pointless.

“You’re ridiculous.” She scoffed and stood, moving from the room. “Get your ass up and get ready.” She yelled.

All my life, Marty had been the best friend anyone could ask for.

Even when I moved away, we kept in contact by any means, even the handheld snail mail route.

She and I had no secrets; she was a sister to me, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

She knew that. She’d always been a football fan, a Jaguar fan through and through, even before my father became the coach.

Though the best seats she could ever get were in the nose bleeds, so I understood the excitement she had going to the game, getting the VIP treatment, just being with me.

For that, for her, for my father, for my mother, I would suck it up and put my best face on.

Stepping from my bed, I walked with a slow, sluggish step to my bathroom, pulling my hair up in a messy bun.

Placing my hands over the edge of the sink, my gaze lifted to my reflection.

I could do this. I reassured myself. Forcing a smile to my face, I rolled my eyes and shook my head with a spin to the shower.

Turning on the water, I ran my hands under getting the temperature just right, my thoughts moving to the press.

I needed to avoid them, not because I was shy but because I knew nothing of my father’s team.

Not a single player by name or face, just the basic information that Marty had told me.

How bad that would reflect on my father, I wondered. Bad.

The ding from my phone turned my attention back to my bedroom.

With a smooth stride, I picked the device up from the nightstand, my eyes falling to the word mom stretched across the screen.

I wish I could have been surprised by the text, but I wasn’t.

My mother and I had an even more strained relationship than my father and I; her full attention was always on him and his needs.

She was the picture-perfect Stepford wife.

I loved them both, but I once wished they had thought of what I wanted more than the stupid sport.

There was no good morning. No, how are you?

Just short and to the point instructions on arrival time, where to park, and, more importantly, how to access the box.

With a simple thumbs up, I tossed the phone on the bed and made my way back to the bathroom. Let's get this over with, I thought.