Chapter 6
I drop into the recliner with my iPad balanced on my thigh, a glass of water beside me. I’m worn out. The screen glares back at me, making my eyes pinch as I play the films I was supposed to watch yesterday. I didn’t touch them then—Honey had my full attention, and I don’t regret that for a second.
She finally said yes to coming over, which meant Operation: Honey, I Shrunk the Distance could finally come into play. She’s close to saying yes, I can feel it. That’s why I slipped a key into her hand after the third orgasm last night. It’s just a little incentive.
I want to give her unfiltered access to my life, because that’s exactly what I want from her, and even though I’m exhausted and can barely keep my eyes open, the thought of her here every day, happy and settled, makes it worth it.
Coach Summers' notes flash across the screen in angry red wording: EVANS - WATCH YOUR FOOTWORK ON OPTION PLAYS. TOO PREDICTABLE ON THE HANDOFFS.
I rewind the clip again, watching the third quarter against Southern Collegiate.
More specifically, the option read that should've gone to Sebi but somehow got picked off. There it was—my left foot pointing exactly where I was throwing, telegraphing the play before it happened. Rookie mistake. Well, damn. That’s the kind of shit I haven't done since high school.
Another clip starts. Fourth and two against Rome U. DECISION MAKING TOO SLOW. REESE WAS OPEN FOR 3 FULL SECONDS.
I grimace, watching myself hesitate, nearly getting sacked before forcing a throw to Dax that fell incomplete. Coach was right; Reese had been wide open on the cross route. How the hell did I miss that?
As if I don’t have enough to concentrate on, notifications flash at the top of my screen. New messages. Texts, emails, DMs. It’s 2 a.m., and the world still can’t manage to leave me alone.
Gritting my teeth, I swallow down the urge to throw my iPad across the room. Not because of the messages. I can handle those. It’s just that I don’t think Honey can, and that’s what’s really chipping at me. Knowing that the life I want might slowly be chipping away at the one thing I need.
Her… us.
I yank down the notification bar, swiping them away when an appointment reminder pops up.
3p.m. Tuesday: meet Hailey
I flick that away with my thumb. As if I could forget that.
Then I check my emails, stopping when I see my mom’s name on the top of a message. Her name is enough for me to take notice because I know this isn’t about football. It’s about Connecticut and the ticking time bomb known as Ella and Tiff back home.
I click open the message and scan it quickly, my jaw tightening with each line.
Zach,
Tiff's attorney called. The Nicks are pushing for full custody hearing next month instead of in June. They're claiming “emergency circumstances.”
Call me when you can.
Love you,
Mom
My stomach drops just thinking about Tiff. She was supposed to be here by now. That was the plan. The dream—but dreams are for people who can afford them, and right now, we're up against a goddamn army with bottomless pockets and no conscience.
The Nicks family wants to bury her in court until she’s out of money and has signed away any rights Ella will have to even know who her father is.
It won’t happen. It’s not possible. Still, the questions run wild, making it impossible to shut my mind off.
What if they’ve already bought the judge?
What if they get Ella?
What if everything I’m trying to build comes crashing down?
Jamie’s family is ruthless and ready to wage war over this, but I do my best to shake the thoughts out of my head. If I want to function and believe we have a real chance at helping Ella, then I need to believe we have a fair shot.
I click open the document my mother forwarded and read through the notes, gnawing at my bottom lip. So much for watching those plays and getting an hour’s sleep before Honey wakes up. Now I'm going to spend the time I have reading through these papers, looking for a loophole.
There just has to be a way to get Tiff out of Connecticut and here with us in Indiana. She can't be stuck at my parents’ house because some asshole wants to punish her for his mistakes.
His mistakes.
Fuck. I didn’t mean that. Ella isn’t a mistake. She's the best goddamn thing that’s happened to my family.
I try to read for another ten minutes before dropping the iPad onto my lap with a sigh.
My brain is fried, and every attempt to come up with a solution only makes things worse.I get up, pour myself a large cup of coffee, and return to the chair.
Then I finally open the team group chat I’ve ignored since getting Honey home.
Dax: @Zach, you see Coach's notes on the SoCol game? He's on your ass about those option reads.
Sebi: Yeah, Evans, maybe try looking at me once in a while instead of just Reese and Dax. I'm getting jealous over here.
Mason: We need to run those option drills again tomorrow. I'm free at 6 a.m. if anyone else is serious about fixing this.
Reese: Give the man a break. Honey’s finally agreed to see his place. We can catch up about it tomorrow.
Sebi: OOOOOHHHHH
Dax: Getting some Evans?? That why you’re ignoring us?
Mason: Can we please focus on the fact that we've got scouts coming next week and not on whether our quarterback’s dick is getting wet?
Sebi: Mason, you're literally the human version of a wet blanket.
The last message came in four hours ago, and knowing them, they’re all probably asleep, blissfully dreaming about fixing fucking option plays.
Meanwhile, I’m here, making sure my cousin doesn’t lose her daughter to a bunch of people who see her as nothing but a PR problem.
Oh, and let’s not forget shielding my girlfriend from rabid fans who chip away at her every insecurity, every chance they get.
Switching back to the game footage, I try to focus on the crossing pattern that’s been giving me problems all weekend.
Coach’s note on the footage is blunt, as per usual: TIMING ISSUE WITH EVANS/DAX. FIX THIS OR BENCH IT.
Maybe Mason's right. Maybe we do need those extra reps. But the thought of leaving Honey alone in the morning after finally getting her here doesn’t feel right.
I click back to my messages and my thumb hovers over the group chat. I should answer them. They deserve at least a response about the extra practice, but my mind's too scattered between Tiff's crisis and Honey sleeping upstairs to focus on option routes and timing patterns.
A new message pops up. Reese.
Reese: You up? Just saw you read the messages. Everything okay?
Fucking Reese. Should’ve known that insomniac asshole was up and prowling the group chat like it’s his only hobby.
Zach: Yeah. Looking at Coach's notes. You're right about those extra reps. How's 7:30 instead of 6? Need to make sure Honey's good first.
His reply comes instantly.
Reese: 7:30 works. Bring her if you want. She's always welcome.
I push out a laugh because even though Reese is perpetually single, he gets it. He knows that Honey’s it for me in a way the others don’t. She’s more important to me than any of this because ultimately, I know she’s the thing I’m coming home to when this all ends.
I just wish she got it, too. I wish Olivia were here.
I wish she had a loyal friend she could talk to about anything because sometimes I don’t feel like I can ever be enough.
Sure, she’ll brush off how bad it really is with people here, but I want her to have someone she can vent to.
Someone who doesn’t think she’s breaking when she complains.
Thinking about the way her face lit up when she mentioned that girl, Jenni, stepping in for her gave me the smallest bit of hope that maybe she’s finally starting to believe she doesn’t have to fight this place alone.
Maybe if she sees that and gets comfortable with walking around campus without a target on her back, she’ll get more comfortable with the attention she gets because of me.
“Zach?” Her low, sleepy tone cuts through the noise in my head and can make anything better. Honey, just like her name, is an elixir, soothing my soul with her mere presence.
I look up and there she is.
Barefoot, messy hair, drowning in my South Point Prep shirt.
And fuck me. My dick twitches like it has a mind of its own because she doesn’t even have to try. Honey’s mere existence is enough to wreck me.
“Marry me,” I whisper, not even thinking as I drop the iPad on the coffee table.
She rolls her eyes, but her smile’s already forming. That’s still not a no. Her body perfectly fits against mine as she drops into my lap like she’s always belonged there. Because she does.
I just wish she saw it.
I grip her hips to shift her, angling her so her perfect ass isn’t resting directly on my already semi-hard cock, because the last time I got hard from just looking at her, she threatened to sleep in a different bed. Not that she followed through.
“What time is it?” she mumbles, rubbing her head against my chest like a sleepy kitten.
“It’s 2 a.m.”
“Then why are you up?” Honey’s voice is thick with sleep; she’s dragging out each word like she’s fighting to stay conscious. Her body melts against mine, and I drop my hand to her thigh, rubbing lazy circles over her soft skin.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
With her eyes still closed, she shifts in my lap, pressing down. She knows what she’s doing. Or maybe she doesn’t. Either way, my dick is getting harder.
“Does that happen often?”
“Not really,” I lie. One of the many I’ve told her lately, not because I want to deceive her, but if I tell her the main reason I can’t sleep, she’ll ask what’s bothering me.
It’s her. I’m worried about her. About us. I have no idea where her head is because sometimes she feels like a vault. Sometimes I worry she doesn’t want to tell me things because she’ll think it will disappoint me.