47. Ryan
FORTY-SEVEN
Ryan
I’m riding high, and I’ve never played so well in my life. I can’t believe I thought giving in to love, losing myself in June, would distract me from my career. It’s the complete opposite.
Doesn’t hurt that she’s sitting just off the sideline with Poppy and Kinsley, wearing a sweatshirt that lets everyone know she’s mine. I also bought her a jersey—one with my name on it—and tossed the one with Silas’s name in the trash. She won’t be needing it anymore.
The ref blows the whistle, and I look her way, blowing her a kiss that I know will have her blushing her ass off.
We’re at the bottom of the fourth quarter and up 16–10. There are five minutes left on the clock and all we need to do is hold them off.
Gunner is making the call, we’re getting into formation, and there’s the snap. The defensive linemen are on me, but Gunner sends the ball off to Heath Remington. He may be new to us, but he’s a hell of a player, and he’s done nothing but prove his worth today .
We picked up two yards. Third down and five more to go.
Sweat is pouring down my face, my muscles are burning, and I push through the pain, lining up for the next play. Vaughn has the ball, there’s the pass to Gunner, and Heath takes off running. I’m down almost immediately, this beefy-ass dude from Baltimore tackling me, bringing us both to the turf.
By the time I jump up, the whistle is blown, and Heath is lying on the field, grabbing the back of his leg. Dammit. That can’t be good. Pain, injuries, it’s the nature of the game, and I can only hope it’s something that he can bounce back quickly from.
And it looks like Baltimore got an interception. Double fuck.
Let’s hope our defense can hold them off.
I’m heading toward the bench, passing some of their offensive players when I get shoulder checked. Hard. My helmet is off in seconds, and I’m ready for a fight, when a very familiar set of eyes meet mine. They’re the same eyes I see when I look at my son, the same ones I see in the mirror every day, and the same eyes we share with our piece-of-shit father.
Anders fucking Kingsley.
His teammates call him the King.
I’m unfortunate enough to call him my half brother.
“Watch where you’re going, Devlin.” His lips are curled into a snarl, and every word drips with disdain.
These are the first five words he’s ever said to me.
Despite playing football for years, I’ve always gone out of my way to avoid this, to avoid him. And the way he’s looking at me, like I’m a speck of dirt on his cleats, has me wondering— does he know? Does he know what his father did? Who I am to him?
I can tell you one thing, I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to tell him.
“Fuck off, King. Don’t see your name on this stadium.” I have a lot more things I’d like to say, but I bite them all back.
He laughs, starting to walk past me, but pauses just long enough to whisper, “Don’t see yours either, brother .”
And he’s gone, leaving me standing there, staring after him until the whistle sounds and Coach yells my name. What. The. Fuck. He knows, right? He has to.
But you know what? He doesn’t affect me in the slightest. He can try to cause problems. He can talk to me like I’m beneath him. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. I don’t care. I have my son, my girl, and that’s all I need. He has an asshole father and a legacy tainted in lies.
Besides, he’s on a different team and hundreds of miles away from me.
It would only be a problem if he were traded here, and it would be a cold day in hell if that happened.
I turn, searching for June in the bleachers, and find her almost immediately. Her eyes are on me, and she gives me a wide smile. Yeah, Anders can fuck himself right up the ass. I’ve found my happy ending despite the cursed blood running through my veins.
I love her with my entire being, and as soon as she lets me, I’m going to put a ring on her finger and another baby inside her.