Page 64 of The Comeback

“Nothing.” Heat floods over my chest, up to my neck, and to my ears, making my entire body tingle.

“Bullshit. You dump my daughter, and you get slower. It’s karma's way of biting you in the ass.”

I swipe my hands on my skintight white football pants. “I needed to focus on football. I can’t afford any distractions.”

“My daughter is not a distraction. She’s a woman with feelings. Not a blowup doll to fuck and forget.” His eyes shine with anger, and my stomach drops to my feet.

The Tillman boys are in full force today. I’ve avoided them for a week, but they’ve apparently had enough of me. My hands ball into fists. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Please,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “My daughter isn’t hurt. She’ll move on, and so will you.” He arches his eyebrows and smirks. “Sooner rather than later.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Get your head out of your ass is what it’s supposed to mean. If you broke my daughter’s heart to focus on football, then you need to stop half-assing it out there. You’re better than that. If you plan to stick around here, put your heart into it. Otherwise, let that other joker take your first-string place.”

My jaw flexes as anger surges throughout my body. “Kiss my ass.”

I don’t need his shit. Or Knox’s. I’m miserable without her. I’ve run the equivalent of ten miles today. My agent hasn’t called once in a week, and Liam got his contract signed four days ago. Duane is lighting the field up. And Charlotte is over me and probably watching some guy fuck her in the mirror of her dance studio.

Motherfucker. I run a hand through my hair.

“There. There’s that spark. Now get out there and earn that contract.” He steps into my space and grabs my shoulders. The guys around us stop in mid-motion, and you could hear a pin drop as a hush falls over the offensive players. In the distance, the defensive players smack into each other with grunts.

“Prove my daughter wrong. Sign your name on that contract and make things right. If you don’t, I will have someone take out your ankle.” His eyes narrow into slits, and he shoves me backward. “I’ll make sure you can’t come back from this one.”

“Weston, get over here!” Coach Rowland shouts and points at the spot next to him.

Son of a bitch, these guys play dirty. My head spins as I run over to the twenty-yard line.

Chapter Thirty-Four

One Week Later

Charlotte

I curl up on the sofa in my parent’s house and rest my head on the armrest. Seconds pass, and I’m overwhelmed with the memory of Weston. I miss his arms around me. His lips pressed against mine. I even miss his backward baseball cap.

Don’t screw a client should be tattooed on my forehead because I can’t go to the studio without breaking down in tears. I was strong for one day. That’s all it took before the walls crashed down, and now, I’m a hot mess express. Okay, I didn’t make it one day.

From the kitchen, my mother places dishes into the sink. The familiarity of hearing her relaxes me. This is our special time, when my dad and brother are out of town for training camp, but I’ve ruined it by moping around. All I do is study, take tests, work, cry, and fall into bed exhausted. It takes so much energy to get up in the mornings.

“Honey.” My mom shakes my shoulder.

“What?” I jerk upright and blink. “Is it time for school?” My heart thunders in my chest as I look at the window. The white curtains and the wide blinds block out all evidence of the sun. I squint. No. It’s not time for school. It’s dark. What time is it? I blink again. No. That’s not right. This isn’t the house I lived in when I was going to school.

My mom wipes her hands on a dishtowel with a red apron tied around her waist.

“Crap,” I groan. “It’s nighttime, and I’m not in high school.”

“No, dear, you’re not.” She smiles and pats my shoulder. “You were exhausted, so I let you sleep. Would you like some homemade macaroni?”

My mouth waters as I sit upright. “I’d love some.” I crawl off the sofa and follow her to the kitchen. On the table are two plates of creamy elbow macaroni covered in cheese.

The room is quiet and warm. I let the comfort and peacefulness of my mom’s kitchen surround me. That, along with the nap I had, eases some of the tension that I’ve been drowning in for the last week.

After settling in across from her, I crisscross my legs on the chair seat and slide my fork through the macaroni. God, this smells heavenly.

“So, what’s up with you and Weston?”

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