Page 104 of Delicate Storm

“I never said I’d use my bare hands. There are other ways of destroying a person.”

He turns again but I stop him this time, suddenly needing a way to connect with him.

“Can I have your number?” I ask in a rush, holding out my phone. “You know, in case I’m in your apartment and need to reach you.”

“Sure.” He frowns, his brows creasing. “You didn’t have to justify it.”

“Good.” I hand over my cell and he enters his number before calling himself so that he has mine. And while that’s generally not a big deal, something shifts inside me as I watch him walk away, my heart pounding in my chest.

I think I like him more than I should.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Easton

Thomas launches the ball toward Zane, and after beautifully flying through the air, it hits the mark, landing in his hands as Luke slams into a player trying to get to him. Zane takes off running, unopposed, and makes it to the end zone, spinning around for a victory dance.

My heart pounds in my chest but I refuse to celebrate. Not yet. Not until we know the final score.

We may be up by six points in our away game against Chicago, but we came from behind, so we could easily end up back there. It’s still anyone’s game.

Our kicker, Blake, moves into position and I hold my breath. We need this, but he’s been off all day. We all have. We’re lucky Chicago isn’t playing their best game either.

Something in the air maybe.

Blake lines up, running through his pre-kick rituals—bouncing his shoulders before shaking his body out—then he goes for it. The perfect kick. The ball soars through the air and I have no doubt it’s going the distance. We just need it to—

“Yes.” The crowd erupts with cheers as Blake gets the extra point while I breathe a little easier.

We’ve got this. I hope. I could use some of Luke’s confidence right now. He’s once again convinced we’re winning the Super Bowl this year and has been since preseason.

Blake kicks off from the thirty-five yard line, sending the ball flying toward Chicago, and they attempt to advance, running forward with speed. They get close, but our defense is finally on their game, quickly forcing a fumble to give us the ball back with less than a minute left on the clock.

With our offense back in possession, our center snaps the ball to Thomas and I race ahead, ready to end this. Thomas’s throw is perfect as always, and the ball soars through the air, landing with precision in my outstretched hands. Tucking the ball in my arm, I take off in a run toward the end zone. My eyes on the prize. The world around me no longer there. This is it.

We need this.

Adrenaline courses through my veins as players charge my way, propelling me to dodge and weave until I see Zane open and ready. As much as I hate him day-to-day, when we’re on the field, he’s my teammate and I know he’ll get us what we need.

He slows and I launch the ball backward toward him just as I’m flattened to the ground, and I miss seeing if he secured it in his grasp. But I know he did. I’m sure of it. And when I finally look up, Zane’s dancing his victory dance as the guys go wild and the whistle blows. That’s it. We won. We fucking did it.

Thomas helps me to my feet and I finally smile.

As a team we’re always out to win, but today Ineededit. I don’t think I could have handled a loss right now.

Every day that we move closer to Thanksgiving and Christmas has me more on edge, wondering what the hell Macy’s going to expect. Is she going to be here? Is she going to want to take Isaac there? And if she does…can I stop her?

She may not think about himthatoften, but one thing about Macy is that she loves the holidays, and I’m terrified of what that means. Especially since Isaac hasn’t heard from her since before I asked about the Halloween T-shirt.

Celebrations are loud and obnoxious when we get back to the locker room, and I find myself accepting praise from my teammates. That was a fucking close call, but we did it. We’re still undefeated almost halfway through the season, and fuck, does that feel good.

“Easton, my man,” Reed says as he hesitantly wraps his arm around my shoulder, excited but still wary about my asshole ways. I shake him off but smile.

“Good game today,” I say in acknowledgment.

“Right back at you. Please tell me you’re coming out to celebrate.”

“I—”

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