CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lucas
I’ve never beenso stressed over a football game in my life, and this time, I won’t be listening to it outside the stadium like the night my father didn’t take me with them to Hunter’s game.
Isla is on one side of me, and Hunter’s mom, Michelle, on the other. She’d flown in for the game, wanting to be here to support Hunter and me. It was interesting seeing her for the first time in this new light, this woman who has been part of my life since I was thirteen. I feared she’d see me and be reminded I’m not good enough for Hunter, but she simply hugged me, told me how happy she is to see me, and that she loves me. It healed a part of me—everything that’s been happening lately healing more and more of me.
I’m wearing Hunter’s jersey, which is slightly sickening and a little cute too. It’s been a wild couple of days. Everyone is talking about Hunter King dating the second son of Ellis Blake, after starting his career in a relationship with his other son. Some are nice about it, some make jokes about us, some are cruel and say disgusting things, but we’ve done our best to block it out. It helped having Michelle here. I haven’t returned my mom’s calls yet. I’m just not ready—afraid of what she’ll say, afraid that even if she says it’s okay, it won’t be enough. After knowing what it feels like to have Hunterchoose me, it makes it even worse that she never has.
Luckily, we make it to our seats without any drama. No one seems to recognize us.
Hunter got us a great spot, of course, close to the field.
My stomach is twisted in knots, and I’d love a fucking cigarette, but I haven’t had one since that night on Hunter’s porch when he came home after going to the beach to talk to my brother. He told me all about that, and I figure I need to find a way to forgive myself for being in love with my brother’s boyfriend, but I’ll worry about that after the game.
Right now, all that matters is beating my father.
Hunter needs it.
I need it.
“I’m so nervous,” Isla says.
“Me too,” Michelle adds, but I can’t form words. I feel like I’ll throw up, like the earth will open up and suck this whole stadium into it, that somehow my father will win—this game and everything.
LA receives the kickoff in the first quarter. They start their downs by the ten-yard line. The center snaps the ball, the quarterback handing it off to Hunter, but the ball falls out of his hands, hitting the turf.
“Fuck.” A fumble? A fucking fumble on his first possession? I know my father’s plan worked, that he’s in Hunter’s head.
He slides to a stop, everyone diving for the ball, but luckily, the Pulse come away with it. Losing the ball on his first play would kill Hunter.
“Come on, baby, come on, baby, come on, baby,” I say softly, not taking my eyes off the game.
They don’t let that get into their heads, don’t let it stress Hunter out, running the next play to get him the ball. He doesn’t manage many yards, but three is better than nothing.
The ball goes to their tight end next. KC is aggressive on defense, which is why we’re struggling to get the ball up the field. We don’t score on our opening drive, not even a field goal. But our defense is on point too, and KC doesn’t score either. The first quarter ends with both teams still at zero.
“I guess it was too much to hope for to be dominant from the start.” Michelle wrings her hands.
“I don’t know if I’ll make it through this game.”
She places her hand on mine, giving it a squeeze. “You will, and he will, and no matter what the score is at the end, you and Hunter will be okay. We want this win, but not getting it won’t change anything, okay?”
I look over at her. Hunter resembles her so much—same color hair, same perfect smile, and just like I believe anything when he says it, I believe her too. “Okay.”
The score at halftime is Kansas City up 7–0. The crowd is loud around us, cheering for their team to do something. Isla goes to the bathroom at halftime, but I can’t move. I’m not leaving this seat until the game is over.
Kansas City gets a field goal on their first trip down the field, bringing their score to ten.
“Shit.” My eyes squeeze shut, like that will change anything. Nope. When I open them, the score is still the same.
When we receive the ball again, we gain twenty-five yards on the play, making me scoot closer to the edge of my seat. The Pulse huddle, and the second they break to get into formation, I somehow know the ball is going to Hunter. He runs long and fast, one of the defensive ends keeping up with him. Our quarterback scans the field, but no one is open, until Hunter fakes right and shoots left, moving across the center of the field with speed I didn’t know he had. The ball sails through the air, landing in his arms, and he’s off. He zigzags through multiple defenders, spins around another,while working his way down the field.
I shove to my feet, heart in my throat, sweat on my brow. “You got this, Hunt. You got this.” He’s just about to the end zone when another guy on defense dives for him, but Hunter jumps over him, crossing into the zone, arms in the air, and I fuckingknowthere are tears in his eyes.
“Fuck yes!” I scream, pumping my fists in the air. There are tears in my eyes too. It’s one touchdown. We have a long way to go, but he at least has this, and I know how much he needs it. We get the extra point too, bringing the score to 7–10.
It’s like the Pulse are a different team in the second half. Unstoppable. Hunter’s rushing and passing yards climb, as do their receivers’. The defense does exactly what it’s out there to do. The end of the third has us tied at ten.
