Page 88 of Trust Me Always

She turns, bending to shove his things in his bag, helping him get ready to go without being asked, and when she stands again, he wraps his arms around her, his body cradling hers completely.

The laugh she lets out at whatever he tells her reaches my ears, and my chest tightens. It’s sweet and easy, so different fromhow she laughs with me now. The laughs I earn from her these days are thick and hard-won.

I force myself to turn away from the pair, piling the cones one on top of another before moving to put them back on the racks. I stand there a minute, staring at nothing and waiting to hear the door close, letting me know they’re gone, when my name is called.

I look over, and she’s not in his arms anymore but standing beside him.

Ken and Barbie.

“You coming or what?” Brady shouts.

My brows snap together, and I want to ask where and what he means, but I don’t. I just grab my shit and jog toward the new—hopefully fake—couple, letting Brady lead the damn way.

Cameron

“No.”

I wince at the sharp finality in the older man’s tone.

“But, Coach,” Brady tries again but stops when their coach raises his hands.

“You are not playing both ways, son. That’s too risky, and I need you on the defensive side until the final second ticks. You get hurt, and they’re going to get twice as many yards on us as predicted. I need you there to force the quick pass.”

“I’ll be good, Coach. I can do this,” he tries to assure him.

“You’ll burn out.”

“I’m a fucking stallion. I’ve got stamina for days.”

I choke on a laugh, and suddenly, several pairs of eyes land on me, even where I’m tucked away in the back corner. “Sorry,” I mumble, lifting the collar of the hoodie so it covers my mouth.

The coach narrows his eyes at me, then looks to Alister, Brady,and back to me. He takes note of what hoodie I’m wearing next. “I take it this is the girl…”

“Yes, Coach.” Brady looks my way, a gleam in his eyes that has mine narrowing. He winks and turns back. “Wanna ask her about my endurance?”

“Come on, man,” Alister complains.

Brady only laughs, and their coach scoffs, rubbing his hand along the back of his silver hair. “Just think about it. Colorado’s got a guy doing it, and it doesn’t have to be every play. I just need in there to protect Howl when we’re going deep and to give our receivers a chance to get down the field. They hit their routes right, which they will, Howl will get the ball in their hands. He can make the throw, probably with his eyes closed—he just needs that extra second. Put me on the line and I can give him that.”

Their coach looks between the two men, a slow nod of his head following. He pins Alister with his gaze. “Two weeks together and you’ve managed to gain full confidence from a man whose best friend is our first-string quarterback.”

Alister stands taller, and a small smile tugs at my lips.

“I hope that means something to you.” Their coach gives Alister a stern, fatherly expression.

“Yes, Coach,” Alister responds.

The man huffs, then waves his hand to dismiss them. “I’ll talk with the rest of the staff, but no promises.”

“Fuck yes.” Brady gives a hard jerk of his head.

They both thank him, and I sneak out first when Brady holds the door open.

In the parking lot, Alister turns to us.

I can tell he’s not sure what to say, his hands sliding in his pockets almost restlessly, and Brady, being the bighearted man he is, makes it a little easier on him.

“Watch game film tonight, man—ours and theirs. If they agree to this, and I think they will, they might have to call someunexpected plays. Make sure you’re prepared for that. Learn who your threats are based on what they run.”

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