“You know what pisses me off most?” I said, my voice low against her hair. “He acts like you’re fragile. Like you’d crumble if he didn’t keep you in a box he could control. But I’ve seen you, Sav. You’re steel. You’re sharper than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Her fingers clung to mine, but she didn’t say anything.
“And yeah,” I went on, “sometimes steel bends. I’ve seen you do it. It takes a hit and leaves a dent. But it never breaks. Just like you.”
She tipped her head back to look at me, eyes glassy but fierce. “You really believe that?”
I brushed my thumb across her cheek, slow and steady. “With everything I have.”
Her breath hitched, and she sagged into me, her weight settling like she’d finally let herself stop holding the world up. I caught her easily, shifting us until we were stretched out on my bed, her curled against me like she belonged there — which, Christ, she did.
I pulled the blanket over us, one hand stroking slow circles across her back while her breathing evened out. She stayed quiet, but she didn’t need words. I could feel it in the way she clung, in the way she finally let herself rest.
I lay there in the dark, jaw tight, promising myself one thing: if Dean Cole thought he could break her down, he was going to find out just how wrong he was.
* * *
Sav had fallen asleep within minutes, a fistful of my shirt in her hand like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go.
I’d lain awake, staring at the ceiling, every muscle wound tight.
She’d done this for me. I’m sure a part of her, tired of staying quiet, would have burst out eventually. But what happened with her dad tonight... that was on me.
Her father had tried to break her down because of me, and she had not stood there and taken it. I’d known Savannah was strong, but this? This was something else. She was carrying weight she didn’t owe me, and all I wanted to do was lift it off her shoulders and smash it over her father’s head.
I’d wanted to keep her clean of this. But she was already in it — she was tangled up in it now because of me.
I couldn’t let this crap with my football program have a negative impact on Sav.
By the time the night started turning to gray through the blinds, I’d already made my decision. There were people I could go to — boosters, alumni, names that carried weight. Guys who weren’t afraid to say the program was rotting from the inside. If anyone could pull strings to protect us, it’d be them.
I slipped out of bed quietly so as not to disturb her, grabbed a hoodie, and headed to the athletic building.
I’d given back my lounge pass that gave me access to places others couldn’t go, but I still had an athletic access pass. The locker room and the training facility were open to all players. From there, I knew the routes to get to the offices.
I needed to look for Sutherland's contact records — boosters, alumni, donors — anyone with enough weight to pull strings. His office was the most likely place to find names.
My hand was on the door handle to Coach Sutherland’s office when a voice stopped me cold.
“Ten.”
Coach Merriman, arms folded across his barrel chest, blocked the exit. His stare was hard, his voice harder. “You and me. My office. Now.”
I hesitated just long enough for him to catch it, and his eyes narrowed.
“You think you’re the first good player to poke around where he shouldn’t? Don’t make me laugh.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Keep your head down, play your part, and this program will take care of you. Talk—” his smile didn’t reach his eyes — “and you’ll be surprised how fast a quarterback’s career can disappear.”
He turned and walked into his office, the door open like an invitation —or a warning.
Suddenly, the plan I’d been building all night tilted. For half a second, I thought about walking away. Pretending I hadn’t heard him, pretending I didn’t care.
But that wasn’t me.
If Merriman thought he could wave a threat in my face and watch me roll over, he’d picked the wrong fucking quarterback.
I followed him into the office, shutting the door behind me with a click. The air smelled faintly of old coffee and sweat, papers stacked high on the desk like they were meant to bury anything inconvenient.
Merriman didn’t bother sitting. He leaned against the desk, arms folded, watching me like I was a rookie about to botch a snap.
