This was supposed to be my whole world. Football. Winning. Everything else was just noise.
Now there washer.
Savannah Cole, with her sharp mouth and sharper eyes, made me feel like she could see straight through the armor I’d spent years welding together.
I’d called her a snake.
I tipped my head back and stared at the sky, groaning low in my throat. I could still feel the heat of her skin, still hear the break in her voice when I told her to back up.
But even here, in the dark, with nothing but empty seats around me, I couldn’t stop the truth from bleeding in.
I didn’t want her to hate me.
I just wanted her.
And that — more than the threats, more than the whispers about payouts and cover-ups — was the riskiest thing I’d faced yet.
I heard a buzz coming from my bag. The burner. I thought the fucking thing was turned off. I didn’t want to deal with his shit tonight.
The buzz came again. Longer this time.
I pulled out my phone, my thumb hesitating over the screen when I saw the number. Not saved. Never saved. Just digits I knew too well.
I thought about ignoring it again, letting it ring until silence returned. But silence never lasted. Not with him.
I swiped to answer. “Why are you calling me?”
“Rough night, golden boy?” The voice was smooth. Smug. “Your tip on the hockey game was shit. You lost me money.”
My jaw clenched. “It’s called gambling for a reason.”
A chuckle. “Do I need a little insurance that you’re still playing ball?”
“Whatdo you want?” I kept my voice low, flat, trying to ignore the pulse in my temple.
“I think you’re holding out on me. You wouldn’t be so stupid, would you?”
I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t have anything.”
“Well, you’d better find something. Because accidents happen, Spence. And your sister? She’s always been so... unlucky.”
My hand tightened around the phone until the case creaked, “Don’t.”
“Then don’t make me.” Another oily laugh, then the line went dead. I stood in the middle of the field, the phone stillpressed to my ear long after the call ended, fighting the urge to hurl it into the bleachers.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Jiana. The phone rang and rang, and my jaw ached from clenching it.
It went to voicemail.
I called again.
“Dante?” Her voice was low against the background noise.
My eyes were closed as I listened. “Ji? Are you at a party?” My pulse was thumping.
“Wait, wait, I need quiet.” I heard her shouting to get out of the way, and then the background noise was quieter, and I heard her take a deep breath. “D, that you?”
“No, dumbass,” I said with a small smile. “It’s someone else who sounds exactly like me and calls you from my number.”
