Page 113 of Keep Me Never
It breaks my fucking heart.
Fuck this.
I charge toward the security guard, tapping his arm to get his attention.
“Can you kick someone out?” I rush.
The man frowns, eyes instantly scanning for trouble. “What’s going on?” He lifts his hand, preparing to press the button on his headset mic.
“The woman in the long navy skirt standing on the stairs.”
He finds her. “Did she sneak down to the section?”
“I—I don’t know, but she needs to go. She’s?—”
My gaze locks on my dad as Paige appears at his side.
She takes his hand, and I feel it squeeze around my own damn heart.
“My man?” the security guard prompts.
I meet my dad’s gaze, and he gives the subtlest shake of his head.
My jaw clenches, and there’s pressure behind my eyes. I swallow, spin away, and move back to the sideline.
I close my eyes, feeling my best friends’ steady support beside me. When the defense comes off the field and the offense goes back out, Mason asks the coach for a running play. I’m fuckingthankful for it because my feet feel like lead. I can’t move, and then it’s Brady’s turn to be by my side.
I fucking love my friends.
My eyes burn, moisture building.
I can’t believe I ever did anything as stupid as risk losing this, losing my brothers. I will never, ever do that again. I will be better, always. No matter fucking what.
Unfortunately for me, the defense holds us, and if we want to dominate the way Coach has asked of us, we need that first down, which means we need a pass.
“You got this, brother.” Brady claps me on the shoulder pad, shoving me forward, and I jog out, stepping into the huddle.
“Good?” Mase frowns, hating this as much as I am.
I meet his eye, and he sighs, dipping his head and giving the play. We break and get set.
He snaps the ball, and I move on numb legs.
My poor fucking dad.
He doesn’t deserve this. Hell, I don’t even know how he afforded to get here this weekend with flights and hotel fees.
My arms pump, and I shift my hips, cutting wide, leaving my feet completely as Mason fires the ball down the field.
Hands up, palms stretched wide, the ball drops clean into my grip, but before my cleats even kiss the turf, someone barrels into me from behind, full speed. I go down hard, his weight crashing into mine midair.
My shoulder slams the ground first, my neck whipping back, and the rest of me follows.
The ball’s tucked tight, but the hit knocks something loose. It’s not pain exactly, more like a flash, a jolt of wrongness that shoots down my spine so fast I don’t even register what part of me it came from.
I hit the grass and roll, lungs empty, head spinning.
There are whistles and flags. Somewhere, a crowd erupts. But all I hear is the rush of blood in my ears and the hollow echo of my own breath trying to return.
