Chapter 15 Theo
FIFTEEN
THEO
“Let’s turn it up!” I yell to the offense as they take their places at the line of scrimmage. “We’re still in this!”
We’re trailing Dallas by nine points with forty seconds left on the clock.
While we’re technically still in it, we need a really big play right here to even have a chance.
We’re starting at our own thirty-eight-yard line, leaving more than half the field between us and the end zone.
After we score, we’ll need to recover the onside kick and get back into field goal range.
To top it off, we only have one time out left.
Things are looking bleak, even for me. But I refuse to give up on my team.
Maddox scans the defense, pointing out the Mike linebacker so that our running back, Wesley Rhodes, knows who he’ll be responsible for. This drive will consist of all passing plays, so Wes will essentially be an extra blocker, hopefully buying our quarterback enough time to find an open receiver.
“Red, seven! Red, seven! Hut!” Maddox shouts through his mouthguard, and the ball is snapped into his waiting hands.
He rolls back, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Emmett and Jett, who are both reliable targets.
Em manages to blow past two defenders, slanting toward the sideline just as the ball is fired in his direction.
My pulse speeds up, my entire body going still when I see that the pass is a touch high.
But Emmett does what he’s known for, jumping up and catching it with ease before hauling ass out of bounds.
The entire stadium erupts, and I release the breath I was holding, cheering loudly as they quickly return to the huddle. The last play ate up about thirty-five yards and gave us a fresh set of downs, but there’s still work to do.
Unfortunately, the next play doesn’t go as planned.
The defense blitzes, giving Maddox no choice but to throw the ball away so he doesn’t take the sack.
With the clock stopped and thirty seconds to go, the offense regroups, plotting their next move.
But it all gets turned upside down the moment the center makes the snap.
As he always does, Maddox drops back several steps, creating enough room to let the play develop.
But it’s not enough to escape the Sharpshooters’ star pass rusher, Jeremiah Mooney.
He lowers his shoulder, using his massive legs to push our defensive lineman back in a hurry.
By the time Maddox realizes what’s going on—that it’s a bull rush—it’s too late.
He tucks the ball into his chest, bracing for impact as he’s taken down to the ground, both men piling on top of him.
The next down is an even bigger disaster when Dallas blitzes, two of their biggest linemen planting Maddox on his ass before he can throw the ball away.
I can hear his frustrated growl all the way on the sideline, my expression twisting with sympathy as I watch him stand and yank a clump of grass from his facemask.
“Time out!” Coach Hendricks yells, signaling to the referee.
A loud whistle blows, and the clock stops, allowing the offensive coordinator some time to devise one final play.
I don’t envy him one bit right now. It’s fourth down.
If we don’t get into the end zone here, the game is as good as over, and he’ll be the least popular guy in Cleveland for an entire week.
As amazing as our fans are, they’re also relentless.
Maddox breaks the huddle, leading everyone back to the line of scrimmage as he gets in shotgun formation.
Dallas is expecting the pass, so this will give him an extra second or two to not only read the defense, but also to find an open man.
The place is electric, boisterous cheers and howls echoing in the air as he leans in, attempting to project his voice enough for our guys to hear.
“Beaver, eighty! Beaver, eighty! Set, hut!”
The ball is snapped, finding his hands quickly as the receivers shoot forward like rockets.
Learning their lesson on the last successful play, they’ve got Emmett completely covered, rendering him useless.
He tries to break free, but they don’t allow it, leaving Jett and our rookie receiver, Champ Carson, as the only other options.
Jett makes it into the end zone, raising an arm so our quarterback knows he’s open.
Maddox sees it, firing the pass just as Jett slants inward, losing his defender.
He’s all alone, barely even having to reach for the ball as it drops down and lands right into his waiting hands.
Cheers tear through the stadium, Renegades fans going wild as an instant replay flashes across the Jumbotron above.
“Fuck, yeah!” I shout in celebration, my fists shooting above my head.
This is the shit that makes me love the game.
One minute, you’re behind, hope fizzling out as the clock gets closer to zero.
The next, you turn things around, and the win you thought was impossible is suddenly back within your grasp. It’s fucking exhilarating.
I congratulate my teammates, all of us looking on as the extra point goes right down the pipe. All we have to do now is recover the onside kick, make one big play, and score a field goal. Then, victory is ours.
Our kicking team takes the field with just twelve seconds left, readying themselves to make the play.
My heart feels like it’s in my throat as I await the whistle, saying a silent prayer that we get the ball back.
Statistically, it doesn’t look great, with only a six percent success rate in the league.
But we’ve been defying the odds since this team began.
If anyone can do this, the motherfucking Rock City Renegades can.
In an instant, our kicker’s cleat connects with the football, players from both teams taking off in its direction as it bounces across the turf.
The moment it reaches the required ten yards, bodies are flying, the loud sound of helmets ricocheting off one another filling the air.
Both sides push and shove, diving on top of the ball in a giant pile and fighting for possession.
The sharp shrill of several whistles cut through the atmosphere, the entire stadium waiting with bated breath as Renegades and Sharpshooters are pulled up one by one.
At first, I think we got it. I’m seeing a lot of white jerseys at the bottom of the pile, an indication that they were able to secure the ball as it was skittering wildly across the grass.
But all the hope I was holding onto vanishes into thin air when the ref signals, pointing toward Dallas’ end of the field.
Fuck.
Losing is never easy, especially in front of a home crowd, but this one feels a million times worse. We fought so hard, making a huge play when everyone thought it was impossible. But there’s always next Sunday, and we’ll be back with even more to prove.
“Good game, man,” Maddox says, reaching out for a fist bump. “Liv and I are having a few people over for the prime-time game if you and Finley want to swing by.”
I pretend to consider the offer, knowing damn well it’s not happening.
She’s been fighting a sinus infection since Tuesday, and she needs to rest. Her doctor prescribed an antibiotic a couple of days ago, which has been working, but she’s still not a hundred percent.
All I want to do is get to the locker room, take a shower, fulfill my media obligations, and get home to her.
“I’ll let you know,” I reply, deciding that I’ll mention it to Fin later. We can go if she’s feeling up to it, but I have a sneaking suspicion that she’ll choose to stay in. That’s what I’m hoping for, at least.
It’s been six long days since I tasted her, and every second has been pure torture. We’ve cuddled and kissed, even slept together in my bed a couple of times, but that’s where it ended. I’m hoping that if she’s really feeling better, maybe we can pick up where we left off on Monday.
I’m pulling into my garage just short of two hours later, my heart galloping with excitement as I hop out of the truck and head inside.
You’d think that after having her here for so long, I’d stop getting butterflies every time I walk through the door, but they never seem to go away.
If anything, they only get more intense as the days pass by.
I’m trying to play it cool because I don’t want to scare her, but I’m fucking crazy about Finley, and I don’t see those feelings fading anytime soon.
“Mama, I’m home!” I shout, a bright smile blooming across my face when Boner scurries into the room, his tail swishing back and forth wildly with excitement.
“Hey, buddy. Did you have a good day?” I ask, kneeling down so I can greet him properly.
I scratch his head, allowing him to kiss and sniff until he loses interest and trots toward his water bowl.
I stand as he laps away, my brows furrowing when I enter the living room and see that it’s completely empty.
There isn’t a single light on, only what’s left from the setting sun filtering in through the windows.
“Fin?” I say, looking around. She’s normally in front of the television at this time, snuggled up on the couch while she awaits my arrival. It’s too early for her to be in bed, although with her being sick, she could’ve opted for a late nap.
Anxiety plucks at my nerves like guitar strings, nagging at me to go upstairs and check on her. I’m sure she’s perfectly fine, but my protective instinct seems to get stronger every day, and I know it’ll drive me crazy if I don’t see for myself that she’s safe, comfortable, and happy.
Quietly, in case she’s asleep, I ascend the staircase, turning toward Finley’s bedroom when I reach the landing.
Soft music fills the air as I approach, my stomach settling a bit when I see that her door is open about halfway.
A dim, warm light pours out onto the hallway floor, telling me that the small lamp near her bed is the source.
I expect to find her reading or scrolling on her phone when I peek inside, but the sight I’m met with is far more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.
It causes me to freeze right where I stand, every breath being stolen from my lungs as I stare in awe.
My mouth is dry, jaw hanging slack and nearly touching the goddamn floor because holy fuck. She’s perfection.
Finley stands in front of the full-length mirror with her back facing me, the most exquisite reflection of her naked body completely visible as I watch from the shadows like a peeping Tom.
She’s fresh from the shower, her skin a shade of light pink that tells me just how warm and relaxed she is.
A soft white towel lies in a heap at her feet, and a stack of clean clothes is piled on the dresser beside her.
I should leave. I should give her the privacy she deserves. But I may as well be nailed to the floorboards when she flattens her hands on the outsides of her silky thighs, because there’s not a chance I’m going anywhere. I don’t think I could move a muscle if I wanted to.
I can’t tear my eyes away, keeping them locked onto her fingertips as she drags them upward, tracing over the supple curves of her hips.
My cock thickens in my sweatpants when she moves higher, skimming her swollen belly.
I’m so fucking turned on by this woman, and it’s only heightened when I see how pregnancy has changed her body.
Continuing, she blazes a path up her torso, keeping an agonizingly slow pace.
She stops to draw gentle circles around the outsides of her breasts, causing me to almost choke on my own tongue as her nipples begin to pull tight from the featherlight touch.
My heart pounds like a drum, my entire body trembling with desperate desire.
I mindlessly palm my growing erection, giving one firm—and virtually ineffective—squeeze to take the edge off.
I’m fucking burning for her, my mouth watering uncontrollably as my gaze falls like a magnet to the smooth, bare mound between her thighs.
I swear, I can practically taste her, memories from the way she came against my tongue still fresh in my mind.
The reminder of her sweet pussy has me biting down on my fist to stifle a groan, but it rolls up my chest anyway—and in an instant, I’m busted.
Shit.