Page 108 of Keep Me Never
I line up, checking with the ref, and wait for the motion. Mason taps his heel and I shift. The ball is snapped, and I dig my cleats in, arms pumping as I run my route. My hips shift, the safety picking up speed, but it doesn’t matter. The ball is already dropping into my hands just before he lands the hit.
We roll, and I pop up with ease.
“Don’t look so smug, Harper,” the guy spits. “Still a lot of game left.”
“Looking forward to it.” I chuckle as I drop the ball, moving back to my side of the line.
Twenty-five-yard gain and yet another first down.
All. Damn.Day.
We’re running a no-huddle, so I line up. Smirking at the punk who ran his mouth, fire in his eyes, but it doesn’t matter.
I’ve got fire in my fuckingsoul.
Mase calls the snap, and I dig my cleats in. There’re three on me, but I stay focused, kicking my speed up a gear. The ball is released, and I watch as it spirals closer and closer. They jump, but I’ve run this route with this guy a hundred times, so I know right away that they’re a split second too early—but I’m not.
The ball lands in my hands, and I pull it in, tucking my shoulder as I brace for the impact I know is coming.
There’s a moment of pause, and then the crowd explodes. My name rings from the announcer’s box yet again, and my teammates swarm, jumping up to bump my shoulders.
Touchdown Sharks, my second tonight and it’s still the first half.
I run off the field with my team, and Brady lifts me off my damn feet, barking like the wild man he is.
I tear my helmet off, heart in my throat and pure fucking thrill pounding behind my ribs. I grab some water, looking up into the stands, wanting to share this with her.
She’s on her feet, just like I knew she would be, hands cupped around her mouth, screaming god knows what but it’s got me laughing anyway.
My girl.
My lungs burn in the best way, adrenaline spiking impossibly higher, but then I catch sight of someone else. Right there, someone I didn’t expect to see here.
Prescott.
He’s standing just off the aisle in some high-end blazer and slacks like this is just any other business dinner. Like he belongs here as he talks to someone. I can’t see their faces at first, but then the angle shifts and my stomach drops. He’s shaking hands with my dad. Smiling, all practiced and polished, perfectly placed.
Something thumps in my chest.
Why is he here and what is he saying to my dad? How is he introducing himself?
“Harper!”
My head yanks toward the sound of my name, my receiver coach throwing his hands out in the familiarwhat the fuckmotion.
I force myself not to turn back to the crowd, pulling my helmet back on and snapping it into place as I wait for the ref to blow the whistle, signaling first down AU.
I jog out, heart hammering harder than it should.
I line up, tune everything out, and focus.
The ball is snapped, and I take off, but the corner beats me off the line. Mase releases and I watch it, extending my arm. The ball skims my fingertips, hits the turf, and then bounces out of bounds as the final second ticks down. It’s halftime.
Fuck.
My teeth clench around my mouthpiece. I don’t bother going back to the sidelines but jog straight into the tunnel, down the long hall, and into the locker room.
I slam the side of my fist into the metal once, twice, before a few others come through the door, pulling their gloves or helmets off, their shoulder pads following.
