Page 2 of Hot Receiver

But knowing that my father will be rubbing elbows with that son of a bitch Matt Harrison just made my insides blaze into an inferno.

He’s the reason.

He’s the cause.

He’s the fucking enemy.

I clench and unclench my fingers, adrenaline coursing through me.

“I brought you here so we could talk.” Dad looks around, his face paling. “Zak, this wasn’t just about me loving football. I bought the team for a reason. I’d hoped that we could?—”

“Well, we can’t, Dad. I won’t be part of it. I don’t want to hear anything about that team, and I don’t want to be associated with them. I hate the game.” I grab my glass and suck down the rest of the whiskey, the satisfying burn way too short-lived. “Fuck them all.”

I slam the glass on the top of the table and stalk toward the door. My heels dig into the carpet as I make my way to the front of the restaurant. When I get to the door, I grab hold of the handle and pull it open wider so I can slide past the group coming inside.

Footsteps pound along the sidewalk behind me.

“Zak, please don’t leave like this.”

But I’m already halfway across the street. I press my fingertips to my temples and swallow hard, ignoring my dad’s plea to stop.

My God, what I’d love to do to that asshole Matt Harrison.

Living here and knowing he’s been playing with the Crusaders for the past four years has been hard enough. This is just a kick in the teeth. I tug at my hair and let out a strangled grunt.

It’s still not fair to my father, though. He doesn’tunderstand why his news affected me this way. He thinks he does, but he’s way off. And that’s on me.

I stop once I get to the other side of the street. Scrubbing a hand down the front of my face, I take a deep breath.

Maybe it’s time to tell him the truth.

Maybe I just need to finally be hon?—

Screeching tires and sharp screams jerk me from my thoughts. Glass cracks and a loud thud follows. I spin around, my brain trying to process the scene in front of my eyes. The stench of burning rubber makes my eyes water and my stomach wrench.

The noose pulls tighter.

Dad…

I run to the middle of the street where my father lies motionless next to a car with a shattered windshield. The driver wrings her hands together, crying, mumbling that she’s sorry, so very sorry.

My ears fill with white noise. It drowns out the sounds of the sirens and the din of voices around me. I fall to my knees next to his body. His face is a mess of scrapes and cuts, bloody beyond recognition. A deep crimson puddle spreads around his head.

No. Please, no!

An ambulance pulls up. EMT runs over and presses his ear against my dad’s chest. His shoulders slump, and when he looks up at me, I know why.

My father is dead.

And I’ll never be able to fix everything that’s broken between us.

Chapter 2

Matt

*THREE MONTHS LATER*

His dark blue eyes root me to the spot on the floor. It’s like he’s lassoed an invisible chain around me and tugged it so tight, I can’t move or breathe.

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