Chapter 10
St. Michael’s. St. Michael’s. St. Michael’s. St. Michael’s.
The chant vibrates through me as I run onto the field with the team. The moment I clear the tunnel, the volume explodes, and a cameraman rushes to my side, plastering my face across the jumbotron.
As if the stadium needed more of me.
I don’t acknowledge the camera or the crowd, always reminded of Coach Summers’ voice in my head. “Notoriety will ruin you if you let it.”
I’m not here for the glory. I’m here for what matters.
I’m here to win.
For them.
Honey… Tiff… Ella… My family.
I never crack or waver when it comes to the people I love. I just deliver, because that's what they need me to do. I’m the guy who stays when the rest run. I’m the guy who looks pressure in the eye and smiles, because I was fucking made for this.
“Evans,” Coach Summers calls, motioning me over before I can join the others for warmups. I jog to the sideline, already knowing what's coming.
“You've been watching the film I sent?” he asks, his voice gruff.
“Yes, sir. Every night this week.”
He nods, eyes scanning the field. “Good. Those option reads were sloppy last game. Covey's defensive coordinator is going to be looking for that tell with your left foot. We can't afford those mistakes tonight.”
“Won't happen again, sir.”
“And remember—” he claps my shoulder, his voice dropping so only I can hear, “—you're not just throwing to Reese out there. Spread the ball, keep them guessing.”
I tip my chin in acknowledgement. “Got it.”
I head to the field for warmups, knowing he’s right. I've been too predictable lately, and it’s time to change things up.
Reese jogs up beside me, knocking me on the side to get my attention. “Is Honey coming tonight?” he asks, looking down.
“Yeah.”
Shit, am I smiling?
I press my mouth into a hard line, trying not to show how much it means to have her in the student section, where I can actually see her from the field.
She hasn’t set foot anywhere near that “pit” since the first game she attended.
So yeah, I’m happy she’s out there tonight, with friends.
Somehow, Jenni and Chris convinced her she wasn’t alone, and I’m grateful, even though I’ve never actually met them.
“Happy for you, man. You deserve it,” Reese says as he tosses me a ball.
“Thanks, and hey, maybe we can go on a double date sometime. Honey's got a friend who seems decent.” I’m probably jumping the gun, but if my girl likes Jenni, then why wouldn’t Reese?
I toss him the ball again, and he catches it with ease.
“Don't worry about me, brother. I'm married to the game.”
“And your right hand, apparently,” I mutter, just loud enough for him to hear, earning a laugh as the coaches’ bark at us to get moving.
We break from warmups, and as I jog off the field toward the sideline, my eyes immediately search for her.
Student section. Twenty rows up. Slightly left of the fifty.
There.
Honey’s easy to spot with the giant gold bow in her hair and a smile bright enough to outshine the stadium lights. She’s in the middle of everything, looking…happy, and why shouldn’t she be? She has new friends, a new job, and she looks more at ease than I’ve ever seen her.
So why does it feel like getting hit in the ribs?
I guess it’s because I want to be her reason for smiling. Instead, I’m the reason she keeps her head down, forcing her into a spotlight she never asked for.
The moment she sees me, she waves—full of excitement—and mouths, “Good luck.”
I raise my arms, form a heart with my fingers like the lovesick fool I am. When she blows me a kiss, I catch it like I always do. Then I press it to my chest, like I always will.
The stadium reacts with a collective “aww” like we’re the fucking halftime show. A few boos cut through it, but I ignore them.
Let them watch.
Let them know she’s mine.
If anything, it’ll remind everyone just how off the market I am, and maybe then they’ll finally leave her alone.
The guy next to her says something and elbows her lightly, smiling.
My jaw locks. My hands curl into fists.
That’s gotta be Chris. I knew he’d be here, but I didn’t expect him to look…like that. Handsome. Great. I was hoping he’d be a little on the nerdy side, but no. He’s got that wholesome good-guy vibe about him. The vibe I know Honey likes because, frankly, she likes me.
He leans into her as he shows her something on his phone. The section is crowded, sure, but he doesn’t need to be that close.
That’s when I see it. The smile. The way his eyes soften when he looks at her.
My fists clench tighter.
Is he into her?
For a split second, when she laughs at something he says, a thought comes to mind. An ugly, unwanted question of whether she could be into him, too.
No. It’s not possible, I tell myself.
It’s my number she’s wearing. She came here to watch me win. Not him.
Thankfully, the girl beside her draws Honey’s attention. Honey shifts, leaving more space between her and Chris.
Jenni. That’s gotta be her new friend, and I knew I liked her. I’m gonna have to thank her after this.
Just as I look away, I notice something about the way Jenni moves.
Why does it seem so familiar?
When she flicks her ponytail, it hits me.
“Fuck no.”
It’s the girl…from my porch.
The blonde with the perfect teeth and too much perfume. The one who batted her lashes, begged for an autograph, and slid me her number with a wink and a whisper: You’ll use this. Eventually.
Now she’s here. Sitting next to my girl. Hugging her. Acting like she belongs and high-fiving Chris over her shoulder like this is just another fucking game.
That girl is Jenni.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This can't be good.
What the fuck is she doing talking to my girl? Laughing with her? Hanging out with her like they’ve been besties since kindergarten?
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. My helmet dangles from my fingers, forgotten. All I can see is Honey smiling at that girl.
She knew Honey was my girlfriend. She had to know before she ever spoke to her.
Did she find her on purpose? Insert herself into Honey’s life to snake her way to me? Is this just some cosmic joke where every girl with a vendetta ends up sitting next to the only person I care about?
I catch Jenni’s eye.
She sees me.
Smiles.
And then… smirks.
Or does she?
Fuck. Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe the paranoia’s crawling up my spine and planting shit that isn’t there.
What if I’m wrong? What if it’s not her?
“Hey.” Sebi’s voice breaks through my thoughts. He's stopped mid-jog, eyeing me with concern. “You good?”
“Yeah, fine,” I say, but my voice sounds tight even to my own ears.
Sebi follows my gaze up to the stands. “Is Honey up there?”
“Yeah.”
“So what's with the death stare? Thought you'd be happy. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“More like a poltergeist,” I mutter, my jaw tight.
He lets out a breath. “Well, exorcise that shit. Covey’s not gonna take it easy on you because you’ve got girl problems.”
He claps my shoulder and jogs off before I can respond.
I stay rooted for a beat longer, staring up at that goddamn section. Honey looks radiant. She’s glowing under the stadium lights, and she’s waving down at me as though my world isn’t tilting on its axis.
I lift a hand. Wave back and smile. Then I turn and bury it.
“Head in the game,” I say, pushing the anxiety and fury down.
I’m going to let Honey have a good time during the game, but when the final whistle blows, I’m getting answers. If that girl is circling her to get to me, I’ll end this shit before it even starts.
I join the team huddle and place my hand on top of the stack.
“One, two, three—”
“ST. MICHAEL'S!”
The roar of the crowd hits me hard tonight. The wall of noise should steady me, but it doesn’t even scratch the surface of the anger buzzing under my skin. I will always fight for what’s mine.
We win the coin toss, and the kickoff comes fast. I strap my helmet on and force myself into the game, even as my eyes keep trying to pull me into the crowd.
In my first drive, I manage a clean pass to Reese, who somehow manages to get the ball to Dax for the first touchdown. The crowd explodes, and my teammates mob me, slapping my helmet and screaming my name.
For a moment, the world makes sense again.
This is mine.
My field. My house. My girl.
But then my gaze flicks exactly where it shouldn’t. Honey’s laughing, dancing with that snake like she’s at a fucking Bailey Hill concert.
In the next drive, I overthrow Sebi by ten yards, and Covey U manages to intercept. He was wide open, and I fucking missed. I never miss.
“Fuck me, Evans,” Dax mutters as we jog to the sidelines. “What the hell was that?”
When I rip my helmet off, I can feel the anger radiating off me. “Won’t happen again,” I grit out.
How could I let that girl ruin my focus?
One mistake.
That’s all she’s getting from me.
Our defense manages to intercept in the third down, and I jog back onto the field, snapping my helmet back into place.
Snap count. Coverage. Protection.
That’s it. That’s all I’m thinking about.
Covey’s defense lines up fast, but one guy takes his time. Jackson James.
“Damn, Evans,” he drawls. “You throw a bad pass, and nobody notices. Living the dream.”
I don’t look at him. “Line up,” I say to my team flatly.
Jackson laughs.
“Relax,” he says. “I’m jealous. I mess up once and it’s a whole film session with the team.”
My jaw tightens.
Jackson drops into his stance, still smiling through the bars of his helmet. “Good luck.”
I ignore him, call my play, and the second the center snaps the ball to me, I’m in the zone.
Jackson explodes off the line the second the pocket collapses and I release the ball right before impact.
It’s clean and sharp, and as I take the hit and go down, I hear Jackson’s voice again, right by my ear.
“Better,” he says. “But not good enough.”
I roll onto my back, staring up at the lights, chest burning. I suck in a breath and sit up, blowing out the breath and forcing the sting out of my ribs.
Better…but not good enough.