He said the teenage girls in the window were only the beginning. Tomorrow, it will be a stadium full of his fans.
This is my job. I can do this.
The corners of his mouth lift, and somehow, it’s as if it has some magical power that makes the idea a little more tolerable.
Chapter 9
COLE
“Reeaadddy. Hut. Hut.”
The ball hits my hands. I drop back, scanning right, then left. Ricketts sprints, cutting back to the middle at fifteen yards. I throw the ball, it makes contact, he pulls it in, and we gain twenty yards.
I call a play, hoping they’re listening. We set up. There are only twenty-five yards between me and a win. With thirty-four seconds left on the game clock, we’re down by three and need to move.
The ball is snapped. I drop back, but I need time. I cut to the left, scanning for an opening.
Wait. Wait. There.
I pull my arm back and release the ball.
Crunch!A massive form slams into my side.
Thud. My back, then my head, crash to the ground.
I lie stunned, struggling to pull air into my lungs. When my ears clear, I hear the crowd erupt.
Touchdown.
After a few long seconds, I climb to my feet as my team celebrates in the endzone. I jog to the sideline, pumping my fist three times in the air, wishing my dad were here.
The field goal is good, and the few remaining seconds on the clock run out. I walk to the center, meeting reporters and the other team, before heading to the locker room and taking my turn with the press. When I’m done, I’ll find Ryder.
She dropped me off this morning before heading to some kind of mixed martial arts club, but she’s here, somewhere. For some reason, the thought is comforting.
It took me a while this morning to get my head in game mode. I’ve never had trouble before, but standing in the locker room with my team felt different. It’s one thing for these guys to think I’m privileged and take every opportunity to rub that in my face. It’s another if one of them wants me dead.
I went with it today as they called me Rocket Boy and talked about their plans after the game. I put my helmet on, and I played my ass off like my dad would have. Ryder said to play it cool, so that’s what I did.
But now, I stand in the back as Coach gives his after-game speech, surveying the group and wondering if there’s an actual desire to see me gone behind any of their little jabs.
Coach tosses me the game ball, and I want to throw it back, knowing extra attention won’t help current matters. I’m sure in their eyes, this win has nothing to do with me or anything I bring to the team.
“Matthews,” someone barks as I search for my phone.
Ryder said she would text me if she had any issues with the VIP pass that should get her into the waiting area. She informed me that, based on Tracker’s discussions, stadium security is less than desirable. So, Ryder will attend my home games to walk me out and make sure I get home.
A large, sweaty arm drops onto my shoulders.
“You’re joining us tonight,” Roman demands. “After the press, we’re heading out. Your ass better be on the bus.”
Roman is my center. He’s loud, a bit eccentric, and an amazing player. He and I get along fine and work well together, but he tends to fall into T-Bone’s gang when it comes to partying.
“Sorry, man. I’ve got plans.”
He chuckles. “What could be more important than celebrating our first win? Come on, Matthews. Our season starts here. Only ‘Ws’ from here on.” He roars, and the team erupts again. He points at me. “Matthews, you’re coming.”
I check my phone again. Nothing. “Sorry. Not this time, guys.”
