Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
MADDOX
Charity Flag Football Game
Seager grabbed my shirt and held up his fist. Jaw tight, eyes dark. "This ain't over."
"It’s for charity," I grumbled and shoved at him. He held tight.
"You’re a charity! A whole fucking charity case in one stupid grunt body."
Typical Seager. Normally, I'd roll my eyes and walk away, but Ella…she’d been right there. So close. And I’d missed my chance. Again!
I gripped his hand, pulling it from my shirt as I bowed up. "You know what, do it. Fucking hit me. I need a good fight. But I guess your sorry ass will have to do."
"Stop!"
Her voice. She was still here? I looked away for a fraction of a second, and he punched me in the gut. Air rushed from my lungs. Shit.
"Seriously, Beaux? What the hell’s your problem?"
He stepped back and pointed at Ella. "This her?"
"You’re better than this." She moved between me and Seager. "I expect better than whatever this is."
My lungs locked out, I couldn't get air. Wait, is she protecting me?
"Figures it's her." He slicked his hair back.
Breathe. That space inside my chest continued to harden. Dammit, he hit me in the solar plexus. Bastard.
"I thought we were friends." The mud-covered version of Ella crossed her arms and glared.
"Leave her out…of this," I croaked as I tried to straighten. But my chest burned around stone-carved lungs.
"Hey, cupcake, you want to know why we lost the championship game? You. Why his arm was broken? You."
I managed to suck in half a breath. "She wasn’t…” I wheezed. "Nothing to do with it." Come on, breathe. "Drakes."
"Yeah, so what, she's Drakes's girl."
"I’m not a fucking possession.” Her cleat squished into the mud. “And that whole thing is ancient history anyway."
"It’s not to him." Seager stabbed his finger at me. "He’s been living with it every day. In the locker room. On the field. The coach breathing down his fucking neck."
"I broke up with Ash before I met Maddox. And Maddox had no idea. All he did was what any decent human being would. And not let a drunk moron do something disgraceful."
"Oh, disgraceful." He glanced at me out of the side of his eye as he gave an exaggerated head nod.
I seethed at him.
"Maddox and I weren't even together. He didn’t…” Her voice pitched to a quieter tone. "He wasn’t interested in me like that."
My stomach dropped to the floor. Seager glared twin laser beams through me, then that stupid loudmouth of his curved into a lopsided grin.
You fucker.
"You see what happens when you hold back?"
Hot and cold washed over my skin as my lungs finally pulled in air. A million thoughts crashed through my head, but no words would form. How could she think—
"If you’re gonna take the heat for it, you should’ve at least gone for the girl,” Danny called out from the sideline.
"Who the hell broke his arm? Why did the coach let this happen?" She shoved Seager in the chest. He stepped back. She shoved him again. “Are you grown men or a bunch of oversized toddlers?"
He grinned as he pointed to her. "Redheads are feisty."
He leaned down into her personal space. "Hey, Red. You know the difference between this guy and Drakes?"
"There's no—"
"Your party-pants boyfriend always had an excuse."
"Ex-boyfriend. Emphasis on the ex part."
"I watched tape. Lots and lots of tape. Wanted to know everything about this team, this coach. And I noticed that whenever the score got too far out of reach, Drakes would suddenly 'get injured,' so he could sit, give up, let someone else face losing."
"I don't care about—"
"Imagine every time you're put in the game, it's a losing battle. Takes some real grit." Rain coursed down Seager's face. Eyeblack mixed with the water on his face, as if he were crying black tears. "That's this proud idiot over here."
He straightened, crossing his arms over his jacket. "He's the only one on the team worth challenging. And the only God-damned leader this team's had—the entire time Drakes ran around acting like he was some fucking gridiron god."
Her eyes met mine. My lungs decided they were done trying to save me. There was no air.
"Party-pants will always bolt when times get tough. But the real ones are the ones who fight for you, even when it's hopeless. And they're the only ones who matter." He turned to look at me. And of all things, Beaux Seager actually gave me a salute.
Maybe I'd already lost consciousness…
"I know that," Ella said.
"Great, you pass." His mouth slid into a lop-sided grin. "Hey Mick, maybe she should try out for the offensive line."
Her eyes softened as she held my gaze for a moment.
"So are we done here?" She tilted her head back and shot Seager a glare. "Done with your grudge match and your dick-measuring and all that?"
"Mine’s the biggest!" Danny called out.
"You’re an idiot. Let's get out of here." Kurt shoved Danny toward the parking lot. "See you at dinner!" He lifted an arm.
"Peace!" Danny held up two fingers.
Seager smirked. "Yeah, we’re done, cupcake." He swiped at her hair, like he was tousling it.
She gave him a pointed look. "You know Amberine’s going to be there tonight, right?”
"Oh yeah? Wicked." His face broke out into a grin. "I’ll bring the crayons. Almost makes up for the fucking bow tie."
She laughed. "Knew that'd make your day. You’ll be a great girl dad someday."
"I’ll make the worst girl dad." He shoved his wet hair up over his forehead again and pointed at her. "Cause I’d say things like get over your prideful ass and tell the jarheaded monkey how you feel about him."
She sighed. "Go on, you don't want to be late."
"Also, seriously?" He glanced at me out of the side of his eye. "Just wreck him."
She gasped and flushed a deep red.
He laughed at his own joke and flipped me off as he walked behind her, tongue out. Then took off at a jog.
Idiot. Asshole. My chest burned as my knee hit the ground.
"Maddox…" She dropped her shirt to the floor and slid across my lap to straddle me.
"I don't know. You looked pretty wrecked already." Ella offered me a small smile and extended her hand.
"I take worse hits in practice," I grumbled. "But he's going to pay for that sucker punch."
"I'm sure it's supposed to be high praise that I 'pass.' But I have no idea what he meant."
I rubbed at the sore spot just beneath my ribs. "It was his own way of saying…that you're worth walking away for."
"What are you talking about? You said you didn't have space in your life. You had to put football first."
"I fucked up, Ella." I took a chance and grasped her hand. She didn't pull away. "But, I didn't know how to say what I needed to—without hurting you."
She shook her head, retracting her hand. I swallowed, and fought on.
"I didn't, still don’t, want to be your rebound guy."
Two Months Ago
College National Semifinal: Strikers vs Brigadiers
I took the snap and dropped back. My receivers covered, the defense must have expected the passing play. I targeted Wheldon near the sideline, and put it too far outside. Pass incomplete.
The clock stopped again. Coach sent in a freshman receiver who gave me a look of pure panic. Kurt growled a string of obscenities, but took off to the sideline. Even if I wanted to throw a "Hail Mary" to the endzone, they just pulled my best receiver.
A heavy hand on my shoulder. "Your helmet's empty. It's been empty,” Seager said. “Don't make me take a penalty for kicking my own teammate's ass on the fucking field."
"I'm doing…what I'm good at." I shrugged him off. "Following orders. Like a mindless grunt." The words tasted like acid in my mouth.
He grabbed me by the pads and sneered in my face.
"I'm not giving you some sugarcoated pep talk for losers, and I don't give a shit about your ego.
" His eyes blazed fire. He had a different passion for this game.
It wasn't Drakes's showboating, but it wasn't my commitment to serving my team. And for a moment, I felt it. Wanted it.
"We've got one chance to win, and make all your sacrifices this season maybe be worth something. But if you don't have the heart to lead this team, then I wonder how you ever made it as a Marine."
"I've bled for that title," I snarled. "Whether you fucking respect it or not." The heat in my veins whirled, pent up, tumbling over and over. I had nowhere to channel it. Think.
"Then sack up or back up, Mick. Those are your choices."
I gritted my teeth. Third down and six. A field goal only gives us a tie. Forty seconds, one time out, and God knows if Cody can hit anything in this rain.
"The weather is shit, your OL is a bunch of losers. And you can either let lesser people define you, or take a fucking stand." His voice cracked in the midst of his rant. "We might still lose, but at least you'd go down as a leader who's worth a damn—to the only real Strikers on this field!"
"Can you block for me?"
"You know what they say: every day of the week and twice on Sunday." He gave me a weird grin. "But it ain't Sunday."
"Coach call another run play?" Danny joined us, gasping and panting for air. "My legs are starting to burn."
"When you think you're at your limit, you're only at forty percent." Same goes for you, McBride. What have we got? Visibility's bad, turf's slip-city. A throw's a big risk. They're expecting the run, but we could pull them right…and run a reverse.
Danny groaned. "But Mick, we're not Marines."
"Babies whine! Be a running back, or get off the field." Seager barked.
"We'll run the reverse. Seager, take tight end. Need you to pull up front."
He nodded and strapped his helmet on. "Any one of you dickheads that misses your block on this play, I will personally pray over you as I take your bleeding carcass to the hospital."
"Thompson,” I said and waved the panicked kid closer. “Right here."
He stepped forward. "Yeah, Mick."
"You'll be in motion, I need you to toss the ball to Danny as he runs by—then keep going. Play like you've still got possession, draw the D away."
"Mick I'm gassed," Danny hissed. "Seriously, I don't have it."
"Just need you to run one more play, thirty-five yards. You said it one time at practice. ‘It's nothing. Like taking a Sunday afternoon jog.’"
"One Sunday jog, Danny," Wheldon called over his shoulder as he moved to the line of scrimmage.
"I hate all you guys!" Danny shouted, but pulled his helmet on and found his stance.
I took my position. The Striker offensive line assumed a tight-split formation, with Seager on the near end.
A loud shout cut above the noise. The ref shook his head and waved a hand back and forth. I glanced at the sideline as Coach threw his clipboard and headset at the ground.
Last play of the game. Maybe of my life…I grinned. Let's go!
"On two. Hut, hut!"
The ball snapped, I turned and handed off to Thompson.
The kid bent like he was tucking the ball to run, heading wide.
Danny moved the opposite direction. Thompson pitched the ball—a little awkward coming off his glove.
Danny stagger-stepped and reached, his left hand tipped the football, and I caught my breath.
Another stretch and he palmed the ball, pulling it in.
He ran toward the left side. I raced after him.
Lindsom's guy broke free, but Seager had already made quick work of his mark—he threw a block taking the lineman out of the play. And himself.
I continued to run. The fact that I could even keep up with Danny meant he was flat tired. I shoved the Brigadiers' cornerback away once, twice. He missed a step and fell behind, but their safety was gaining ground. He had the angle, and Danny was losing speed.
He just needed to hang on for a few more yards.
The safety moved like lightning. We were out of time.
As soon as he left his feet, I leapt forward with everything I had, stretching, trying to be as big and wide as Sato.
My shoulder slammed into the safety's knee as I took him to the ground.
He landed on top, driving my helmet into the turf.
The world became white noise and agony. I rolled over and stared up at the sky. Maybe this is finally over. “Ella…”
Water drops pelted my face. My arm pulsed and burned from my wrist to my shoulder. I closed my eyes to shut out the pain.
"That was a hell of a block. But it wasn't good enough to keep lying there like it’s fucking kindergarten nap time." Seager towered over me. Helmet off, hair slicked down around his face, he pivoted and hooked a thumb at me. "Get this guy up already."
Players kneeled on either side of my shoulders. My left arm moved; I seethed at the pain.
"Eh, pick him up by his right arm, wouldya?"
"We won?" I accepted Sato's hand. He dragged me to my feet.
"Hell of a play, man." He gave me a nod.
Seager smirked at me. Maybe that was his version of a smile. "What gave it away?"
"If we'd lost, you'd have them pick me up by my left arm."
Seager barked out a laugh. "You may have killed Danny, but he made it." He slapped me a high five.
"We're heading to the championship baby!" Kurt bounded by. The team celebrated on the field, picking Danny up and running with him on their shoulders. The white noise rose to a deafening roar. People in the stands stomped, cheered and sang the school fight song. The marching band played.
Kinda strange. All this for running and throwing a ball. In a sea of tens of thousands of people…not one of them knew I liked Thai food better than hamburgers. That I grew vegetables and spent time gardening.
That I never thought I had a thing for redheads until I met Ella.
I cradled my arm as Scott jogged over to check on me.
He shined a light in my eyes. I focused on his name tag that read, “Scott Whitney, Football Trainer,” as the rest of the world slid in and out of focus.
After the standard eval questions, he had me sit on the back of the injury cart. My arm settled into a sling.
Seager slapped a heavy hand on my right shoulder. "When your arm's less broken, I'm going to kick your ass for making me give you a pep talk."
A warmth settled into my chest, and I chuckled. “Is that what you call it? Sounded like a bunch of pointless hot air to me.”