Page 52 of The Masks We Break

One,two, three.

I turn just in time to see the perfect spiral flying at my chest. It’s a perfect throw and lands into my waiting hands with ease. Gripping it at my side, I rotate toward the end zone and go.

My blood pounds in my ears with every step. A flash of gold appears to my left, but I juke to the right, missing it by a full foot. There’s only one safety in front of me, but this one can’t be avoided. He bends, shooting toward me, and I jump. I’m halfway over when he reaches around, pulling me down.Fuck.

Whap.I hit the ground, cursing under my breath. An ache radiates across my lower ribs from the impact as I stand, tossing the ball to a nearby referee. This team is the underdog, but they are an unexpected force. We’re only ahead by one touchdown and it’s beginning to fray the edges of my patience.

Get control.

We get back in place, and Bellamy yells at me over the muffled roar of the stadium. “Johnny seven, B.”

I hit my helmet twice in understanding, running a path behind him.

“Down. Set. Hu—”

Bellamy doesn’t finish the cadence before a middle linebacker breaks the line too early. The offensive line somehow isn’t able to stop the fucker and he makes a beeline straight for Bell.

Yellow flags are thrown, whistles are blown, but it doesn’t do shit. He makes contact, slamming into Bellamy. I’m there in less than a second, pulling the guy up by the mask. Words aren’t needed—my act disrespectful enough, and he swings like I don’t have padding on to block his blow.

I move forward, shoving him with my entire upper body, forcing him to the ground.

“I’m good, B!” A heavy hand slaps my shoulder pads twice, and I turn to see Bellamy.

My gaze whips back around, expecting a response from the rest of his team, but ours has already pushed them back. Luckily the personal foul and encroachment offset our penalties, so we line back up.

I glance at the time left. This is it. Last play. I run my previous path behind Bell, and this time, everything goes as planned. The ball is snapped and in my hands within seconds. I push through the chaos, breaking free to no one.

My pulse thrums in my ears as I run, the wind pushing me to a touchdown. It’s an invigorating feeling. Freedom. Control. The win. Anhonestwin, with a team of people who will fight tooth and nail for everyone on the line. It’s a light that swells in my chest, burning all the dark for just these few moments.

I cross over the end zone, a horn ringing out with our win. My eyes find a cameraman hovering over the side. Maybe it’s because of their help, my plan will come to fruition. Or perhaps because he simply asked. But I hold up the ball, pointing it directly at the camera.

TWENTY FIVE

Watching football in high school is an entirely different experience than watching it in college. The guys seem to have a growth spurt after graduation, packing on at least thirty new pounds of muscle. So when some monstrosity of a football player ran over the quarterback last night, I physically jolted from my seat. Then when Blaze lifted that guy up by his mask like he was a sack of potatoes, and later shoved him to the ground as if it took no effort, I couldn’t breathe.

Witnessing his strength and soon after, his triumph, was exhilarating. A lightness filled my chest, and a heaviness fell between my legs. It reminded me of our time on his bike less than twenty-four hours prior, when I was putty in his hands.

Pushing the cucumber around my plate, I sigh, ignoring the pinch behind my heart. I didn’t tell him I was going to the game, nor did I text him that night. Why? Simple.

I’m not making the same mistake twice.

Sure, Blaze has some type of feelings dwelling under that stone exterior of his, but I don’t think he understands exactly what. And that can mean bad news for me.

This time, I have to remind myself that this can’t be one-sided. It can’t. I won’t make it two rounds with having my heart ripped out by this man, especially now that I’ve experienced another incredible feeling with him.

“Why is your face red?” My dad’s voice pierces through my cloud, plunging me back to earth—my stomach twisting and lurching with the fall.

Ever since my talk with William, thinking of things Blaze told me years ago, and actually listening to my heart, I’m ready to ask my father the question that’s been sitting on my tongue for years.

I clench my jaw, replaying my planned statements and rebuttals in my head for the millionth time. But he interjects just as I open my mouth.

“Whatever it is, make sure you fix it before tonight.” He points his fork at me, and I wince slightly.

Tonight?

Tonight.

Crap.

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