“Dude. This isn’t that complicated. You hurt her.” He slaps me on the chest, but I barely feel it through my pads. “Now you’ve got to sacrifice if you want to win her back. Women love that shit.”
“And how would you know?” Coop’s never had a girlfriend that I’m aware of, so there’s a good chance he’s getting his advice from talk shows or reality shows or whatever crap he watches on TV. But I have to admit, it kind of makes sense. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I can’t believe I’m taking relationship advice from Cooper One-night-stand Virgins-need-not-apply DeLaurentis. “Never mind. More importantly, what would you suggest? What exactly do I have to sacrifice to make this right?”
“How the hell should I know?” Coop smirks and starts for the locker room. “But I suggest starting with your dignity.”
Kennedy
“Ready to go, sweetie?” Mom pokes her head in the bedroom door, and I nearly stab myself in the eye with the mascara wand. I don’t usually put much effort into my makeup—thus the near blinding—but since I look like a puffy, spent-the-night-crying-into-my-pillow zombie, it’s probably best if I give it the old college try today. I check my reflection.
Definitely can’t get any worse.
“I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Total lie. It’ll take more than a few minutes for me to mentally prepare to leave the apartment. After Friday’s fight with Austin and last night’s sobfest, I’m tapped. Completely and emotionally drained. And I have no interest in hearing I told you so from my mom, which is why I can’t let her see I’ve been crying.
I swipe on another coat of mascara like it’s war paint.
True to form, Mom doesn’t wait for an invitation and makes herself at home on the edge of the bed. “Is everything okay? You were awfully quiet at dinner last night.”
“Everything’s great. Just nervous about the ACME competition.” That’s true enough. Our timed trial was good enough to advance to the head-to-head round, so we’ll be in direct competition during this morning’s finals. Which means we still have a shot at winning. What more could I ask for?
How about a boyfriend who keeps his promises?
Mom’s silent so long I turn to look at her. Regret kicks in immediately. Her mouth is pressed in a thin line and her eyes are pinched at the corners. She knows I’m holding out. Should’ve known she’d see right through me. She always does.
She pats the spot next to her on the bed. I slink over, dropping down with a sigh. Because, yes, apparently I am that dramatic. At least when it comes to Austin.
I still can’t believe he was a no-show for the competition. And if I’m being honest, I’m more pissed at myself for trusting him to keep his word than anything. For letting myself fall for a guy who will always put football first.
Just like my dad.
Mom takes my hands in hers and tilts my chin so I’m forced to look her in the eye. “Spill.”
It’s not exactly a request, but I hesitate. Mom’s been doing so well, cutting back her hours, dating, having an honest-to-God life. I don’t want to drag her down with talk of unreliable football players and shattered hearts.
Because my heart is shattered. I let myself believe in Austin—in us—and he let me down. Hard. I don’t think we can come back from this, because forgiving him means setting myself up for more of the same in the future. I’ve seen this pattern before.
Hell, I’ve lived it for twenty-one years.
Whether he means to or not, he’ll trample my heart, leaving it a bitter husk with no room for love or hope. I refuse to spend my life wondering if I’ll ever come before the game. And I refuse to stand by and watch Austin walk away from his own hopes and dreams just to make his father happy.
“Kennedy Lane Carter. You tell me what’s wrong this instant or I’m going to assume the worst.” She pauses, eyes going wide in panic. “You aren’t pregnant, are you?”
I snort and my defenses falter. A tear slips down my cheek. So much for war paint. “Me being pregnant is the worst thing you can think of?” I ask, swiping at the tear. “You’re seriously lacking in imagination.”
She slips an arm around my back and pulls me close so my shoulder is pressed to hers. “What is it, sweetie?”
“You were right. About everything.” I crack like a glow stick, and the truth comes pouring out. The whole luminescent mess of it. Austin and I bickering all season. Stolen kisses in the stacks. Hooking up on the DL. Dinner with Dad. Austin’s broken promise. The fight that followed. “Austin’s just like Dad. The game will always come first.”
I’m so relieved to get it all out, it’s like I can breathe for the first time in days.
“Oh, Kennedy.” Mom brushes my hair back from my face with her fingertips. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before? You’ve been so distant, but I chalked it up to a busy schedule.”
I chew my bottom lip. “I was afraid to tell you. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.”
“I could never be disappointed in you,” she says, her words a balm to my aching heart. “If anything, I’m disappointed in myself. I’ve made you so wary of football players, passing my bias and bad experiences on to you without a thought for how that might affect your view of love and relationships. The truth is, your father’s shortcomings have nothing to do with his profession and everything to do with being weak and selfish. It was just easier to make it about the game because that’s what he loved most.” She sighs and strokes my hair again. “I put too much of my own baggage on you, treating you like my best friend instead of my daughter. That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. You were a single mom. You did the best you could.” I sniff and give her a squeeze. “Besides, you are my best friend.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t make mistakes. I leaned on you too much.” She turns her body so she’s facing me, a smile curving her lips. “But you’re so much brighter and smarter than I ever was. Much more levelheaded too. If you fell in love with this boy, he must have some redeeming qualities.”
I pull back, shock rippling through my body. “What makes you think I’m in love with him?”
She smiles, and it’s one of these annoying, knowing smiles. “The way your face lights up when you say his name. The wistful tone of your voice when you talk about him. The way you’re trying to hide your pain even though it’s written plain as day on your face.”
Well, hell. Am I always this transparent? I only just figured it out myself.
“Are you saying I should give Austin another chance?” I ask tentatively, uncertain which answer I want to hear.
“I’m saying you know him best. Only you can decide if he deserves a second chance.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but from where I’m sitting, it sounds like he cares about you very much. He risked a lot to be with you and although I don’t condone the two of you sneaking around against Coach’s or my wishes, I admit it was an unfair ask on my part. I never should have put you in a position where you didn’t feel you could come to me, whether it was about your father or anything else. I’m so sorry for the pain your father’s caused you, and I’m glad Austin was by your side, but I will always be here for you, Kennedy. Always.” She says the last part with force, gripping my hands in hers as if she can will me to understand and keep this sentiment close to my heart.
There’s a sob building at the back of my throat, and I’m afraid if I speak, it’ll break free. So I hug her, squeezing her tight and burying my face in her hair like I did when I was young. She smells like lavender and lemongrass, a scent I’ll always associate with home, no matter how old I get.
Several minutes pass before I can bring myself to let her go. I want to stay here all day, wrapped in the comfort of her arms, but I’m an adult and, broken heart or not, I have responsibilities. “We should probably get going. I don’t want to be late for the finals.”
We stand and she cups my cheek. “You’re so young and you’re
faced with pressures my generation never had to endure. The world’s not the same as it was twenty years ago. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I do know you have to give yourself the space to make mistakes and learn from them. Austin too. I tried so hard to protect you from making the same mistakes I did, I nearly took that experience away from you. None of us is perfect, Kennedy. Not me. Not you. Not Austin. But no matter what happens today, I am so proud of you, and I will always love you.”
I watch her retreat and flop back down on the bed, her words replaying in my head.
I love Austin. With all my heart.
He’s taught me it’s not a weakness to ask for help. He makes me feel special in a way no one else ever has, with his boundless faith in my abilities and his appreciation of my so-called nerd power. And the way he worships my body? That doesn’t exactly hurt either. But…can I forgive him? God knows we’ve both made plenty of mistakes, but have we learned from them?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Austin
I may have fucked up my relationship with Kennedy, but if football’s taught me anything, it’s endurance. No way am I going to let her eject me for a personal foul. I’m going to fix this, no matter what it takes, because I’m in it for the long game.
After my talk with Coop, I spent the night organizing my playbook. First up is breakfast with my father. I’m nervous as hell and it won’t be easy, but it’s time to man up. I can’t call myself a leader if I don’t even have the balls to advocate for myself. My old man may not like what I have to say, but this conversation is long past due and whatever the outcome, I’ll deal with it.
He’s waiting in the hotel dining room when I arrive, the sports section spread out on the table in front of him. The place is busy, nearly every table full. No surprise there. Probably booked solid due to the Michigan game. He looks up as I approach and folds the paper, setting it off to the side. “Did you see Georgia got knocked off yesterday?”
“Yes, sir.” I pull out a chair and join him at the table, my stomach raging like a category five hurricane. “I was starting to think they might go undefeated.”
He considers. “They’re overrated, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re leading the SEC.”
We talk shop until the server comes over. She recognizes my dad and starts gushing about how she grew up watching him play. When she finally gets hold of herself, she asks him for his autograph and then takes our orders. My father orders half the breakfast menu, but I stick with eggs and toast, barely able to stomach the idea of food.
I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.
“We need to talk,” I blurt out as soon as the server leaves the table.
My father arches a brow and tilts his head. “Something wrong, son?”
“No—” I stop myself. I need to be honest. My need for approval is what got me into this mess in the first place. “Yes. I don’t want to play ball in Pittsburgh.”
He goes rigid, face hard as stone. His blue eyes, so like my own, search my face as if he thinks this might be a joke. “I don’t understand,” he finally says, lifting a hand from the table. It’s not a dismissive wave, more like a gesture to signal confusion. Can’t blame him. I’ve never said the words to anyone but Kennedy before.
“I don’t want to play ball in Pittsburgh,” I repeat. “Pittsburgh is your legacy, Dad. I’ll always love the city and the fans and the franchise, but I want to make my own mark in the NFL.”
“It’s always been your dream to play ball in Pittsburgh. What’s changed?” He frowns, the expression cutting deep lines into his forehead. “Is this about that girl?”
My temper flares, but I swallow it down. “This has nothing to do with Kennedy,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice even. The last thing we need is a scene. The papers would be all over it. “This is about me and what I want. It’s never been my dream to play ball in Pittsburgh. That was your dream. And Mom’s.”
He leans back, deflating faster than a New England football. “But we thought you wanted it too.”
“I know. I should’ve spoken up sooner.” I wipe my palms on my thighs. “I didn’t want to let you guys down. Especially Mom.” My voice cracks on the last word. My father’s eyes lock on mine, and I know we’re both remembering her as she was before the cancer ravaged her body, vibrant and full of energy. Our biggest fan.
“Your mother and I just wanted what was best for you.”
“Pittsburgh isn’t what’s best for me.” I reach across the table and rest my hand on top of his. It’s clumsy and awkward and it just reinforces the gap Mom left in our family. “I don’t want to spend my life living in your shadow. Do you know what it’s like being compared to you week in and week out? You’re a legend. You hold so many records and you’ve done so much philanthropy. The fans love you. It’s a lot of pressure to live up to.”
He blinks and understanding dawns in his eyes. “And it will only intensify if you’re playing for my old franchise.”
I pull my hand back and shrug. My silence speaks volumes.
“Son, you’re one hell of a football player. You’ll probably break every record I set one day, and nothing would make me prouder,” he says, giving me a faint smile, “but I guess I never stopped to think about the pressure you’re under.”
“It’s not your fault—”
He raises a hand to cut me off. “Yes, it is. Your mother and I wanted what’s best for you, but we should’ve asked what you wanted—I should have asked what you wanted—because you’re our son first and foremost.” His voice hitches when he speaks again. “Losing your mom was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through and I…I threw myself into making that dream come true because it felt like keeping a piece of her alive. But I know that more than anything, she’d want you to be happy.”
Tears prick the back of my eyes. It’s probably the most honest conversation we’ve had in the six years since my mom died.
“What a mess we’ve made,” he says, shaking his head. It’s rare my father admits making a mistake. This feels like a big admission, but it’s not just his mistake. It’s mine too. I should’ve been honest from the start, but I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, no holding back. I’m going to speak from the heart, even if it makes me the sappiest SOB to ever play the game. “All this time. Well, I’ll support you no matter where you play ball, but there’s always a chance Pittsburgh will draft you.”
“I know,” I say, drumming my fingers on the table. “And if it happens, I’ll sign with a smile. Just…don’t interfere. Let things play out naturally, okay?”
“Of course.” He narrows his eyes. “But I’ve got to know, is there a team you’ve got your eye on?”
I laugh, the sound exploding from my chest as the weight of the conversation is lifted. “Let’s just say I’d look pretty damn good in orange and navy.”
After breakfast, I swing by the football building. Coach’s optional workout doesn’t start for another hour, so I should be able to catch him before he hits the field. I pass by the guys suiting up in the locker room and head straight for his office. I knock on the open door and he looks up, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“You decided to come out after all.”
“I’m not here to practice,” I tell him, solidifying my resolve. His face falls and he gestures for me to take a seat, but I remain standing. I won’t be here long and I’m pressed for time. “I’m here to thank you for your advice, sir. I appreciate your thoughts on the potential in Chicago and your unwavering confidence in me. I know I said my future was in Pittsburgh,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck, “but I’ve come to realize there’s no one path to success. I’ve talked it over with my father. I’d love to meet with Chicago’s coaching staff at the combine, and I’d be honored if they call my name in April, but there’s something more important than football I need to do today.”
Coach’s brows knit in an angry V. “What the hell could be more import
ant than football?”
“My future.” He looks perplexed, but I doubt he’d be impressed by the truth. The man eats, sleeps, and breathes football. I doubt he’s ever loved anyone or anything as much as he loves the game. It’s a mistake I don’t plan on making. “I hope you’ll give my regards to the Chicago scout.”
He throws up his hands in defeat, and I take it as a good sign.
“Thanks, Coach.”
I start dialing my teammates as soon as I leave Coach’s office, my mood lighter than it’s been in ages. I’ve got some recruiting to do if I’m going to win back my girl.
Kennedy
The auditorium is packed as we take our seats in the third row. I’m wedged in between Enzo and Mom, but that doesn’t stop Becca from reaching over to pat me on the leg.
“Third row for the win. You won’t have to walk as far when they call your name,” she says with her usual optimism. I kind of want to hug her face for giving up her day off to come support me. Fall semester’s been rough. Between soccer and football, we’ve hardly spent any time together, but our friendship is as strong as ever and I know I can always count on Becca to be there for me when I need her. “You’ve totally got this, girlie.”
“Here’s hoping.” Enzo and I won our heat, but with five heats, it’s impossible to know the overall winners since times weren’t posted. I swear the ACME judges are masochists. This has been the longest weekend of my life, although if I’m being honest, the competition is only half to blame. I’m doing my best not to think about the other reason, all six foot four of him.
The struggle is real.
We wait with baited breath as the rest of the crowd files into the auditorium. I’m too nervous to make small talk, although my mom and Becca don’t share my affliction.
Enzo nudges my shoulder. “Don’t forget to breathe.”
I flash him a shaky smile. “Pfft. Only sixty of the original seven hundred and eighty-six teams competing advanced to the finals. I’ll take those odds.”
Claiming Carter Page 26
