Chapter 14
Briar
Had my ceiling always been pale blue? I’d been staring at it for ten minutes, trying not to think about a text I hadn’t answered, and the ceiling had been the only thing willing to distract me.
I lay in my bed for a little longer, staring at the unmistakable blue hue of what I thought was a previously white ceiling, and began to resent both the blueness and the fact that I knew I was procrastinating.
“Alabama fucking blues,” I grumbled as I got out of bed. The glare I gave my phone as the snooze alarm went off again didn’t help. “Six thirty is not an acceptable time to get up in this shithole to go to that goddamned stadium and look at those pricks.”
I didn’t feel guilty for being such a bitch.
Okay, maybe I felt slightly guilty for being a bitch.
“No. Fuck ’em. I don’t feel guilty.”
The shower was hot, possibly too hot, but it matched my mood today, which one might say was ‘on edge.’ But that one would be punched in the face if they said it out loud.
As I blow-dried my hair, I glared at myself. I was styling it to ensure it covered as much of my face as possible. I didn’t care what the jumped-up linebacker from hell said. Mason and I looked alike; everyone said so. So big, brawny, dark-haired sexiness . . .
“No!” My shout was loud in the quiet of my apartment, and I felt both stupid and irate at reprimanding myself for my own thoughts.
“Fine, let’s just do this, Briar.” I gave myself a very stern look in the mirror, a mascara wand clenched tightly in my right hand.
“He’s hot. He’s sexy. He has that whole dark-and-brooding thing going on.
He looks older than he is. But he’s still a junior in college.
You’ve done the college thing. You’ve dated the college jocks.
You hated it. They hated it. Awful experience.
He’s no different.” I nodded. Mirror Me looked convinced.
“Good. Pep talk over. Stop thinking of him naked. Okay?”
Mirror Me hesitated. Naked?
“Briar, you cannot hook up with the linebacker. You cannot fantasize about hooking up with the linebacker. The linebacker is off limits.” I stroked the brush over my lashes with short, sure strokes.
Should I have put on eyeliner? “You do not need eyeliner. You do not need to look pretty. You are trying not to attract attention to yourself. Remember?”
After I’d tidied up the counter, I ran a brush through my hair one more time, set it with a light spray, and knew I needed to start my day.
I didn’t acknowledge my reflection as I slipped my tinted lip balm into my jeans pocket. That little act of rebellion would remain between me and the things I pretend didn’t happen.
The walk to the stadium wasn’t long enough for my racing thoughts. I was no longer sure of my footing inside it.
When the dean asked for social media coverage for the team, Gaby, who had heard me rant many times about the football games since I started working there, said I was the obvious choice.
I was the obvious choice if the stars of the football team had done what they were supposed to, which was to be content with being photographed and not ask questions.
But no, they wanted to be detectives. Like Holmes?
I snorted. So I hadn’t been as subtle as I thought. Savannah Cole had seen right through me. I wonder if her dad had. Was that why he hadn’t said anything when Gaby suggested me?
He’d looked at me for a fraction of a second longer than was considered polite and then simply nodded.
Now? Now I was sure that he saw through me as easily as his daughter had.
I had never suspected him of being involved. Dean Cole was a new appointment when the shit with Mason went down. I would be surprised if he knew the history. How close was she to her father? A trickle of apprehension snaked down my spine.
No, I would know about it by now. If he knew and wanted me out of here, I’d be gone.
I recalled the afternoon in Coach Sutherland’s office. It was no act. There was no love between the dean and the head coach. Hate, definitely. They despised each other, and neither did a good job of hiding it.
Could he be an ally?
I dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.
I didn’t need allies. I had Diana.
I started the week after the semester started. It had been a moment of insanity on my part over Christmas. My old job had become stale, and seeing my brother the shell of the man he used to be, well, that wasn’t fun.
I’d been doomscrolling two nights before New Year’s Eve, and saw the buildup for the upcoming college games. There was huge hype for the Alabama Lions, and I had felt my anger rising as I flicked through posts about the Blues and their shining stars.
Mason had been their star once. Or could have been. They’d been taking his move onto the team slowly. Something about keeping the tape on him limited so he could strike when it mattered.
Which had been fair, until it wasn’t.
One click later and I was on Wrighton U’s website, glaring at Sutherland like the wrath of my stare could equal the pins of a voodoo doll.
The advert for social media content manager flashed up like a beacon from the heavens. I applied there and then.
I never expected a call. I submitted my portfolio.
I did an interview over a Teams chat.
In seventy-two hours, I had manipulated my driver’s license to give me a new surname and make me a year older.
God bless technology.
I started my new job the week before the second semester started. It hadn’t been my plan to be in the athletic department. I wanted to keep far away from the fucker that was Bobby Ray Sutherland. Which was, in retrospect, a spectacular failure of planning.
It really was sheer bad luck that Gaby had been listening to me venting about poor passing plays from the opposition. The last thing I wanted the Alabama Lions to do was win.
And now, whether I wanted it or not, I had the three stooges to contend with.
Sounds of shouting, clamoring, and ridiculously loud music, along with the energy of a thousand rabid dogs, permeated the air as I approached the training facility.
I was well-practiced in the life of an athlete. Mason had been invested in his football career from a young age. The five a.m. practices began the summer before high school, and they never stopped.
Even now, he got up and pushed his body to the limit at an ungodly hour, training for a game he would never play, before going to work.
The thought of my brother pushing his body to the limits for nothing was the reason I gave the head douchebag a small wave as I made my way to the sidelines.
Fuck you, asshole. I’ll see you rot one day.
I dumped my stuff in a pile, as I had every morning since I was given this assignment, I picked up my camera and did what I always did. I moved around the facility, getting good shots of the team as they trained.
At one point, I settled into a corner of the facility with the main area spread out before me and just watched them interact.
I zoomed in on Spence and Slater as they laughed at something Jason Moore, the tight end, said.
Another shot of the freshman Whittaker looking at Matthews with obvious hero worship.
I made a mental note to delete that one later.
Because holy hell, what happened to him?
He was beaten up badly. That’s why I would delete it.
Nothing to do with the look of adoration he was giving Tall, Dark, and Sexy.
Stop it.
I had a great shot of Noah slamming into the sled. The dust particles coming off the apparatus from the impact gave the shot a rather ethereal quality. His eyes were narrowed in focus. I don’t know who he was imagining as he pushed that sled up the field, but I hoped he left the aggression there.
“Media!”
“Asshole,” I mumbled, but I turned to look at Kevin-the-Ass as he strode toward me.
A quick glance over his shoulder told me Coach Sutherland was no longer on the training pitch.
I searched for TJ Hembry, but he was missing as well.
Shit, I didn’t like the look in Kevin’s eye as he approached, and I got to my feet.
“You trying to be funny?” he demanded.
“I don’t understand—”
“You tried to get me in trouble with the boss?”
“Did I?”
Careful, Briar, meek and timid, remember?
He was so close to me that I took a step back. He didn’t need to be in my personal space like this. He moved forward with me. And I was pissed at myself for moving. I never move. Because you never give the bully ground.
“Do you need to be so close to me?” My voice had more edge than usual.
“You told Sutherland a lot of bullshit yesterday. I don’t appreciate being made to look like a fool.”
“But you do it so well.” Fuck.
His face changed. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” he stepped close enough that his chest nearly brushed mine.
“She said you’re crowding her and making a fool of yourself,” Noah said from behind him.
Kevin turned. Whatever he was going to say died on his tongue when he took in the six-foot-four solid wall of linebacker that was standing there, cold as a blade.
“You good?” Noah asked me without taking his eyes off Kevin.
“I’m fine, you don’t need to be involved.”
If he was surprised by the bite in my voice, he didn’t show it. He kept his eyes on Kevin.
“Coach, do you need the media girl for anything in particular?”
Media girl?
Kevin’s gaze flicked between us. “You screwing her? I mean, I can see—”
Noah moved.
I only caught pieces of it: his shoulder turning, Kevin stepping backward, Noah’s cleat skidding over loose turf pellets. Then Kevin stumbled back, hand flying to his jaw as he fell on his ass.
For one frozen second, no one spoke.
“What the hell!” I looked at Noah, who looked down at his coach.
“You hit me?” Kevin looked at Noah in disbelief and a whole lot of wonder. “Are you crazy?”
Perfectly reasonable question.
“I slipped.”
My eyes bugged out of my head. I couldn’t form a sentence as I stared at him in stunned amazement.
Kevin scrambled to his feet. “You slipped? That’s bullshit.”