Touchdowns and Tiaras: The Complete Boxed Set

by Sosie Frost

  Our defense took the field first, and Cole Hawthorne’s hit on the Monarch’s quarterback, Tim Morgan, was bloody and brutal.

  One play, and the tone of the game was set. It’d be vicious. Yards stolen, not gained. Punishing hits, ruthless blocks, and success earned through torn muscle and veteran skill.

  Good thing I always won the tough battles.

  We got the ball on our thirty. Jack smacked my helmet with a grin.

  “This one’s gonna be won in the mud,” he said. “You got this, All-Star?”

  “Think they can stop me?”

  “No one can.”

  Never hurt to be confident.

  I lined up behind Jack. The crowd roared, and the screams cracked in my ears. My blood pumped. Too hard. My heart crashed against my chest like I had run the length of the damn field.

  The ball snapped, and Jack fell back three steps, handing off to me as I sprinted past. I gave a stutter-step at the line before tearing up the middle. Daylight. I planted a foot and cut, spinning through a gap in the line of scrimmage. I broke free to the outside for a seven-yard gain.

  And then I hit the wall.

  A crash of muscle, sweat, and rage pummeled me. I fell to the ground. The defender landed on me.

  His elbow cracked into my shoulder.

  Eric.

  “Hey.” I stared at him, hardly recognizing my enraged friend. “Keep it clean, all right?”

  I didn’t expect him to spit in my face.

  His voice rasped with raw hatred. “Fuck you.”

  Holy shit.

  He didn’t help me to my feet. My temper flared, and I rubbed the spit from my cheek.

  If he hit me again, I’d hit him back twice as hard.

  We huddled up, and Jack called for another run. Unfortunately, the defense read the play. The ball snapped, and they stuffed me at the line. I tumbled under the linemen, and a foot stomped on my hand. I swore, but at least son of a bitch didn’t break my fingers.

  Eric wasn’t making this easy.

  We passed on third down, and Eric stayed in coverage. I gave a good block for Jack, but he overshot Lachlan. We had to punt.

  That gave me a couple of minutes to think.

  How the hell was I supposed to do my job when someone roamed the field looking to kill me?

  The first quarter ended without a score. The second started with us encroaching on their territory. Jack opened up the offense with a thirty-yard pass to Lachlan, but our quarterback still looked to me to get his yardage. He audibled the next play into a run, but hell if I could remember which way I was supposed to cut on it. I let my mind fog, and I ran on pure instinct instead.

  I spun to the outside as the pocket collapsed. The offense cleared a path for me, and I rushed along the sidelines, finally pushed out after an eleven-yard gain. I slowed my steps near the white boundary line.

  But Eric sped up.

  He slammed into me after I crossed out-of-bounds, crashing both of us to the ground in a late, dangerous tackle. We smacked into the grass. It hurt.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shoved him away and adjusted my helmet, yanking out a handful of grass from the visor. “That’s a late hit!”

  Eric held his arms out, welcoming the penalty flag called on him. “Next time I hit you, you’re staying down.”

  Jesus Christ.

  We were grown men. We’d worked our entire lives to reach this point, to don our jerseys, to play in the league. Why was Eric fucking everything up to come after me?

  What an idiot.

  Maybe he deserved to get hit too—maybe it’d make him realize I wasn’t the one who had betrayed his sister. I was the one helping her.

  We lined up once more. Jack audibled off the run and called for a pass instead. This play I remembered. I rushed forward, helping as an additional blocker against the blitz.

  But the one rushing through our offensive line wasn’t aiming for Jack.

  I crashed against Eric, but running back versus defensive end wasn’t a matchup I was going to win. Jack dumped off the pass. The hits didn’t stop once the whistle blew. Eric threw a punch at me that went unnoticed by everyone except Lachlan, rushing in to separate us.

  “Ohh.” Lachlan understood. “That’s Honeybun’s brother?”

  Eric pointed at me. “You’re dead.”

  This had gone on for long enough.

  The time ticked down at the end of the first half, and I lost my patience. Late hits. Stomped fingers. Dangerous tackles. The rage blended with a headache that already tunneled my vision. Sounds faded. The pain tore through me. Eric still harassed me.

  And I was done with it.

  We lined up on our forty, and Jack called a run.

  “Don’t twinkle-toes it,” he warned. “Get the yardage then get down so we can call a time-out.”

  I didn’t answer. I knew how to play the fucking game. The crowd roared—the fans on their feet, stomping and screaming and throbbing my head.

  At least I was used to the pain.

  The ball snapped. Jack handed it off to me. I cradled it to my chest with both hands and ran, churning through the smallest hole the line could open for me. I managed six yards before hitting the safety that pulled up to protect for the run. I went down quick, preparing for the time-out.

  Eric leapt on me.

  Late. Again. Only this time, he’d aimed for my head.

  I saw red.

  The fury erupted through me. I lost my sight. My hearing. My rationality. My every thought burned in violent instinct to protect myself.

  And I did.

  I launched upright, slamming my hands into his chest. Eric reared back to punch. I was quicker. I dodged, jammed my shoulder into his gut, and drove him onto his ass.

  Whistles blew. The stadium erupted into chaos.

  I didn’t care. I’d hurt this man for daring to push me, to bait me, to aim for my fucking head. This wasn’t about Rory anymore.

  This was about me.

  My safety.

  My future.

  My vengeance.

  I shouted and ripped my helmet away. Eric did the same, but he launched at me first, fists pounding. I dodged one. The other clipped my jaw.

  I threw myself at him, but Jack and Lachlan leapt between us. The offensive line filled in the gap, and the referees blew the whistles and tossed the flags.

  “Don’t you fucking touch me!” I shouted at him. Didn’t matter if he couldn’t hear me. “You wanna settle this? Let’s fucking fight!”

  “Enough!” Jack hauled me away by my shoulder pads. “Off the field. Go. You’re done.”

  The coaches agreed. The offensive coordinator pushed me towards the locker room. “Go. Cool down. Wait for half-time.”

  Jesus fuck. I’d never been tossed off the field before. I checked the clock. The team could manage without me for thirty seconds. Why not get to the locker room and blow my motherfucking head off?

  I lost my helmet somewhere on the field. That was fine. There was enough shit to throw down here. I hit the door first. Then the water cooler. A folding chair crashed into the showers.

  I couldn’t think.

  Couldn’t breathe.

  Couldn’t even feel the pain when a strong arm shoved me into the lockers.

  “Calm the fuck down.”

  It wasn’t the first time Cole Hawthorne had me pinned, but I’d make sure it was the last time he ever put his hands on me. I spun, knocking him away. The Beast didn’t scare me.

  “Don’t even think about it.” Cole didn’t hit me. He pitched a cup of cold water in my face. The second was just an insult. “Fuck, Jude! What the hell’s gotten into you? You’re acting like me.”

  I shook.

  Fuck.

  The rage burned now. Tightened my chest. Throbbed in my head.

  I had never been this angry before.

  I didn’t know if I’d ever calm down.

  The equipment managers watched in quiet fear, desperately attempting to fix Cole’s broke
n shoulder pads. The coaches and players funneled inside as the half ended. I couldn’t handle their stares. Couldn’t explain what the hell it was I felt.

  This wasn’t me.

  It didn’t even feel like me in my own head.

  Cole gripped my shoulder. “Breathe, Jude. Count to ten.”

  “What the fuck is that gonna do?”

  “It gives you something to do before you break another chair…or your hand.”

  I leaned over, grimacing, fueled with hate and anger and black-pitted emptiness.

  Coach Thompson roared through the locker room. The team silenced, and he pointed a fat finger in my face.

  “What the hell are you doing, Owens? You’re acting like a goddamned rookie. Twelve seasons in this league, when have you ever gotten into a fight on the field?”

  Never.

  I never would have fought during a game.

  It was stupid. It was dangerous. It cost the team yardage.

  I raised my gaze, looking past the coach, the confused team, our frustrated quarterback.

  I looked for her.

  And she was the one who brought me back.

  “I don’t know.” The adrenaline dried up. I breathed hard, exhausted, confused. “It didn’t feel like me out there.”

  “Sort it the fuck out,” Coach Thompson said. “And fix your goddamned family issues off the field.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “You good to play in the second half?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Get a drink and cool down.”

  I swallowed, but Rory was quick to my side. She offered me a cup of Gatorade, but she saw through the fight on the field.

  “How’s your head?” She kept her voice low. “Headache?”

  Why lie? “Yeah. It’s fine.”

  “Are you nauseous? Dizzy?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Jude, I need to know what’s happening. Are you okay?”

  I wasn’t an idiot. There was no way I’d tell her I lost complete control of myself, my emotions, and my thoughts. She’d pull me off the field, and I doubt she’d ever let me on again.

  “I’m fine, Doc. I just need to focus. Eric got under my skin.”

  “It wasn’t Eric.” Her eyes widened. “Irritability and mood swings are a symptom of post-concussion syndrome. You could be—”

  “Your brother and I got some shit to work out. It’s not my head. It’s him.” I softened my voice. The edge hadn’t worn off yet. “I’ll sort it out.”

  She stared at me. “I’m worried about you, Jude.”

  And that’s what worried me. I needed her on my side, not looking for reasons to bench me.

  Fortunately, I knew how to play her. I smiled, hating myself. She couldn’t resist it when I acted sweet. It made me an asshole, but it kept her quiet.

  “Thank you, Rory.” I squeezed her hand. “It’s nice to have someone who cares.”

  “I do care. More than I should.”

  “Then I don’t need any help. I’m already the luckiest guy in the world.”

  She bit her lip. “Just…tell me if it gets worse.”

  “Absolutely, Doc.”

  She returned to the training staff, and I rejoined the team for our half-time adjustments.

  Jack stared at me. He knew. “She let you off the hook?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “How much longer can you sweet talk your way out of this bullshit?”

  “Long enough to win a championship.”

  “And then what?”

  I didn’t answer. It was the first time that I’d ever asked myself that question.

  12

  Rory

  Most woman grew out of imaginary boyfriends when they were kids.

  Not this girl. The older I become, the harder I fell for my fake boyfriend.

  “I have a plan for Jude.” Leah waved a French fry at me.

  I glanced over the Rivets’ cafeteria. We weren’t the only ones in a deep strategy session. The offense held a meeting over their cheeseburgers and fries. Leah didn’t work with playbooks and offensive installations though. She managed the team’s PR, salvaged the reputation of the players, and worked her ass off to ensure the Rivets had some good publicity again.

  After Jude’s fight with my step-brother on national television? We needed all the help we could get.

  “I’ve talk with Sports Nation,” she said. “We’re going to do a big story on him. Photographs. An interview. The whole nine yards—ten yards, I guess. We’ll focus on how he made this amazing come-back from his injury, plus we’ll add a headline about how he’s on pace for his best season ever.”

  Elle liked the idea. She cradled both her camera and her son. “Good. I have a couple great shots of Jude from last week’s game…when he wasn’t in a headlock. I also have a beautiful photo of him and Rory together.”

  I panicked. “You do?”

  “Candid.”

  “Oh. That’s…” Creepy.

  “I’m always looking for personal shots of the guys. I took one of you guys before the game…when he was touching your baby bump? Melts your heart.” Elle scrolled through her camera to find it. “It’ll add a great personal touch to his story.”

  “Shouldn’t we keep the focus on Jude?” I asked.

  Piper shook her head. “No way. You’re the focus here.”

  “I am?”

  Leah agreed. “You’re the reason for his amazing season.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Just imagine the narrative I could sell,” Leah said. “Jude has his girl rooting for him, a baby on the way, and he’s playing his best game ever after an almost career-ending injury.”

  “It’s perfect.” Piper was already on her phone. “I’ll call my father and set this up. He better thank me for this—I should get a cut of his commission…or maybe I’ll steal Jude away and take him on as my own client.”

  “This will be a great human interest piece.” Leah grabbed her iPad and took notes. “We’ll start with the injury. Show how you stuck by his side and guided him through the recovery—”

  Shoot. “Actually…we weren’t together then. Officially.”

  “No problem. I can work with it. We’ll hit the lifelong friends angle instead. You realized your true feelings for him after the play that nearly stole him from your life. Then we’ll add in Jude’s part—when he realizes he’s been a bachelor all these years because he’s been holding out for you. People will love that. It’s a once-upon-a-time and a happily-ever-after all rolled into one.”

  Yeah. That’s because it wasn’t true.

  “Jude’s so private though,” I said. “And, to be perfectly honest…” Well, as much as I could be. “My family hasn’t supported this relationship. My step-mother won’t even talk to me…and you saw what happened on the field between Jude and my step-brother.”

  Piper wasn’t deterred. “They’ll deal with it. Believe me; I’ve had my share of disappointed family members.”

  Elle raised a hand. “Ditto.”

  Piper stole one of Leah’s fries. “And it doesn’t matter what your family thinks. This baby will be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you guys. We were all in your shoes once, but you have nothing to worry about. Jude’s there to help you.”

  Was he?

  For how long? We hadn’t discussed what would happen after the baby came.

  Hell, we weren’t talking at all. Not easily, at least. We made a little progress when Genie started kicking, but unless we talked about the baby, we were stuck in awkward silences and uncomfortable memories.

  Good memories that spawned embarrassing, revealing, absolutely dangerous feelings.

  Jude had given me the greatest pleasure of my life. I gave him a cracked septum.

  Fortunately, I could hide from him at practice and at home, but how long could I go without apologizing? Without talking to him?

  Without wanting more?

  But that desire was selfish. I had a baby, my ca
reer, and an entire football team depending on me. I couldn’t complicate my life any more.

  No matter how much I wanted him. Needed him. Missed having those moments when I could just turn to him and steal a laugh, a hug, or give a pout that would send him running to the store for more root beer popsicles.

  I couldn’t go another fifteen weeks without my friend.

  Jude sat with the offense on the other side of the cafeteria. Close enough that I might have walked over and just said hello. Pulled him aside, took him somewhere private, and fixed this. But the only way I could ever explain my behavior?

  I’d have to tell him the truth about how I felt.

  But that would cause even more problems. I’d already ruined any chance at romance. I couldn’t lose him too.

  “I can’t imagine falling in love with my best friend,” Leah said. “I knew Jack for a couple years before we got together, but we weren’t close. And even that was a little weird.”

  Weird didn’t begin to describe it. The girls leaned in, like they wanted me to swap secrets.

  Was it a lie if I was mostly honest?

  “It was very strange at first,” I said. “Still is. I never thought we’d be this close.”

  “Exactly.” Leah curled a finger in her hair with a mischievous grin. “The first time I was with Jack was…surprisingly magical. And Sammy came soon after, so it was efficient too.”

  Piper laughed. “The only reason I went for it with Cole was because I wanted to be bad for once. I took a risk, and it was worth it.”

  Leah smirked. “And here I thought the Beast had a reputation for eating people.”

  “Oh, he did that too.”

  The girls giggled, drawing the attention of some of the team. Most had dodged me when I sat down, despite being clients of either Leah’s PR firm or Piper’s agency. Elle chased the rest away with a lunch time candid.

  “You guys are lucky.” Elle covered her baby’s ears. “I can’t even remember my first time with Lachlan. That whole weekend is blur—but a good blur. But it turns out I like Lachlan even without gratuitous amounts of alcohol.”

  They looked at me.

  Damn it, was it my turn? I froze. I hadn’t gossiped since med school, and even that was about a sexy patient suffering from an intracranial aneurysm.