Page 1 of Playing for Keeps
PROLOGUE
Wyatt
Last game of the season
The roar of the crowd crashes over me, and it’s loud enough to shake the turf beneath my feet. It’s the fourth quarter in the last game of the season, with thirty seconds left on the clock. The other team is desperate, and we can all feel it. My body aches, and my legs scream in protest, but I push on, knowing none of that matters. One stop and the game is ours.
I watch as the offense lines up tight, and I crouch low, my eyes fixed on the quarterback’s hands. My breath fogs inside my helmet, but my pulse remains steady. This is what I live for.
It’s quiet for one second, and then all hell breaks loose.
I burst forward, my body coiled like a spring. The running back goes left, and I shift with him, dodging a guy lunging toward me. My shoulder slams into his ribs, a crackreverberating through my pads. I drive him back with everything I’ve got.
The guy tries to break free, but I clasp my arms around him and force him down. The hit jars through me as we both tumble to the ground, and then silence before the crowd erupts. The clock’s at zero. We’ve won.
I push to my feet, my team swarming me, hands slapping my back. I laugh as I break free and glance up at the scoreboard, confirming the season finale win. The crowd is going wild, chanting our names like we’re gods.
I love the game, the rush of it, making the stop. It’s the only time I feel like me, but the rest, the interviews, the hangers-on, the fake smiles from people who seeWyatt Brookes, linebackerand not just… me? That part’s exhausting.
On the field, I know exactly who I am. Off it, I can’t tell who’s real and who’s here for the fame. And sometimes, I worry I never will.
The locker room is electric with the high of the win. Someone’s playing music, while shouting and laughter rings out, the air thick with a mix of sweat and victory.
“Brookes!” Lewis, our quarterback, shouts, slapping me on the shoulder. “You coming out with us? First round’s on me?”
Another voice chimes in. “You can’t bail tonight, Wyatt,” Aiden, one of the running backs, says. “Tonight’s win was massive. Whole city’s buzzing. We’ve got to ride this. No ghosting us.”
“When have I ever ghosted you?” I ask with raised eyebrows.
“Last week,” Harrison cuts in, laughing. “And the week before that. Come on, man. You can’t keep dodging us.”
“I’m not dodging anyone.”
“Come for a drink then,” Aiden yells.
I tug a sweatshirt over my head, forcing a smile. “Fine. A beer.”
“Not just a beer, man,” Aiden says, pointing at me, his cleats dangling from his one hand. “A big night. Girls, music, the works.”
A few of the guys shout in agreement, and part of me wants to be pulled into it, the buzz of being with the team after a huge win, drinking and enjoying the night and all that comes with that. But lately, I’m just not feeling it, not that I can explain that to these guys. They wouldn’t understand. Nights like this aren’t just beers and laughter anymore. Now, they come with shadows I can’t ignore.
With everyone’s eyes on me, I nod reluctantly. “I’ll come for a beer,” I say again, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. “The Velvet Club?” I ask, referring to the place we usually go to. Aiden nods, and I can’t help but smile as a round of cheers goes up, and Lewis bumps his shoulder with mine.
I guess I’m going out tonight.
An hour later, the club is crazy, with low lights, pounding bass, and bodies crammed into the VIP section we’ve practically taken over. Half the team is here, a few cheerleaders, and the usual crowd of women who trail after us from game to game.
I take a long pull of my beer, letting my gaze drift. That’s when I catch sight of Connie, one of the cheerleaders I’ve been with before. Her smile stretches wide the second she sees me, and she cuts through the crowd, her hand raised in a wave.
“Hey, you,” she greets, going up on her toes to brush a kiss against my cheek. “Great game tonight.”
Her hand settles on my arm, her fingers curling around my bicep, and I feel my skin tighten. I edge back a step. It’s subtle, but I’m hoping she’ll take the hint.
“Hey, Connie. Thanks,” I say evenly, careful to keep my voice neutral. The last thing I want is to encourage her.
But she doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. Instead, she leans in, closing the distance I’m trying to put between us, her mouth by my ear.
“I know you’re not putting up with all this chaos just for a beer,” she says, tugging on my shirt. “Come on. I know a better way we can celebrate.”
