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I exhaled the breath I’d been holding and stuck my phone in my bag. Regardless of my parents, there was only one thing I needed to do today: kick some ass.
* * *
By the second quarter,the Royals were ahead by three points. We’d gained some yards in the last play, and then the Rush had intercepted LaForge’s last pass, taking control of the ball.
I kept my eyes on Ramsey, blocking out the roaring crowd as the Rush lined up. I studied their formation, the running back hovering near Rams, Garrett near me. My gaze flicked toward him, and our eyes locked for a steady beat a split second before I returned my focus to Ramsey as Tucker snapped the ball. The second their linemen started moving laterally, I exploded toward their screen.
A maze of bodies, huge bodies, formed ahead of me, and my mind raced as I tried to figure out the best path to avoid their blockers. I’d always thought football was, in a way, like a chess game, just with more violence.
A quick sidestep gave me some distance from Garrett before I cut inside to squeeze through a gap between two linemen. I felt the impact on both sides of my body and braced my shoulders and arms to create space as I barreled through before they could close the gap and take me down. My lungs burned from the exertion as I thundered toward the running back who’d just caught Ramsey’s short pass. Grunts of engagement sounded behind me as the Royal defense rallied. Sprinting toward the running back and his blockers, I angled, trying to force him toward my teammates. I spun away from another blocker, and the second I caught a whiff of the running back’s hesitation, I launched myself forward, wrapping my arms around his waist and dragging him with me to the turf. We landed with a thud that rattled my bones and jarred my hip. All the air in my lungs left in a rush as bodies piled on top of me. I felt the strength in my weight pinning the guy, the satisfaction of having taken him down. Weirdly, this was one of the moments I loved most about playing, that breathless second of execution and reaction where, for just a moment, the world seemed to stand still. And then it rushed back in full force. Someone yanked me upright, and the dizzying sense of euphoria spread as I pumped a fist in the air.
“Gonna try to get us with that weak-ass screen? Please,” I muttered low as I passed Tucker, then snuck a quick glance at him to find him shaking his head. The smirk on his face, though, had me fighting back one of my own.
The next two plays were a blur of movement and adrenaline, but we went into halftime still ahead by three points. I lingered as we all trotted off the field, scanning the crowd to find Tucker’s family, then mine. My parents were easy to spot with their tailored outfits and perfect posture, clapping along with the fans. A tinge of guilt touched me for having assumed the worst. Maybe Candice was right; maybe they were trying. And maybe we’d never be the cozy, perfect nuclear family. But maybe that was okay. Maybe I had enough already.
Maybe I had for a long time.
They waved when they saw me looking, and after a beat, I waved back.
I jogged toward the locker room, mentally tamping down the cheers and jeers of the crowd as I tugged off my helmet, the cool air hitting my scalp a welcome relief.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat and adrenaline, and I crowded around Coach with the rest of the guys as he talked animatedly about our strategy for the second half of the game.
We needed to keep pushing forward, stay aggressive, and continue to break down the Rush’s defense. The thrum of excitement was electric, an open circuit coursing through our team and connecting us. We all knew what we needed to do, and as we headed back onto the field after the break, I found Tucker in the crowd and met his eyes, the intensity in them causing a fresh surge of anticipation inside me. He wanted this as badly as I did, and for some reason, instead of that making me feel threatened, it made me smile.
26
TUCKER
Ihefted Garrett into the air and screamed, sweat stinging my eyes, lungs burning, adrenaline zipping through my body.
We did it. We fucking did it. We took the Royals out of the playoffs, and we were heading to the motherfucking Super Bowl.
The second I set Baby G on his feet after his game-winning touchdown, the mob of Rush players descended on us. We were all shouting and cheering, crying and celebrating what was a huge-ass win for us—not just because of what it meant for our record, but because of all the fucking drama leading up to this night. All of the ways we’d been doubted and the accusations that had been thrown around, we shut them all down with our game.
Gatorade was thrown over our heads, the press all trying to get a piece of us.
“Tucker, how does it feel to have taken your boyfriend out of the playoffs?” A mic was shoved into my face.
“It’s fun beating someone you love. Winner gets to—”
“Buy the other one dinner!” Ramsey put a hand over my mouth. I licked it, but he didn’t pull it away. The reporter looked back and forth at us like they weren’t sure what to say. When he thought I was under control, Ramsey removed his hand.
“Getting serious for a moment, this game means a lot to me. I know people are always going to have something to say, but every man on the Rush and the Royals played our hearts out there tonight. We gave it one hundred percent like we always do, like we always will, and now we’ll leave the game on the field. And if people keep having something to say, both of us will keep playing the best football we can until the people who don’t have what it takes to be on that field with us stop talking about things they don’t know what they’re talking about.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe I would be fined for it later, but right now, I didn’t care. I was flying too high.
“I give it up to the Royals for a great game tonight. Next stop is for the Rush to get a ring!”
Another round of cheers went up behind me. Atwood, being Atwood, jumped on my back and rode me as we headed toward the Royals.
There was a train of hugs and good games, the devastation clear on their faces, until I got to the last person.
Atwood jumped down and mumbled something about not being allowed to have threesomes anymore, which I assumed was a joke about me and my boyfriend, as my gaze caught with Patrick’s. My damn heart sped up just seeing him. “Good game, baby.”
“Good game to you, too.”
“You okay?” I wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheek.
