I picture my mom in my mind’s eye. She may not be here to see me compete, but I can’t give up now. She didn’t raise a quitter.
I swallow the lump in my throat and force a smile to my lips.
Enzo smiles in return.
“Good afternoon,” I say, my voice warbling. “I’m Kennedy Carter.” My stomach rolls and I flatten my lips, praying I don’t lose my lunch. “This is my partner En—Lorenzo Gonzalez. We’re Team— We’re Team Spark.”
The judges smile and I force myself to push forward. I’ve practiced this speech more than a dozen times in front of the mirror. I can do this. It’s practically muscle memory at this point. I walk them through Sparky’s key design elements, while Enzo showcases the robot. My hands shake, but I don’t pass out and I breathe a sigh of relief when it’s over. The Q&A goes quickly and Enzo fields a particularly difficult question about the balance system, but otherwise, we survive unscathed and move on to the timed trial. My hands are still shaking, so despite all the prep work I’ve done to master the art of pick and place, I give Enzo the remote.
“You sure?” he asks, surprise etched on his face. “This is your baby.”
“Absolutely.” He’s worked just as hard as I have to prepare, and I trust him to have a steadier hand. “If we advance to the head-to-head round, I’ll get my shot.”
I watch, chewing my thumbnail, as he races to collect the balls one at a time and deposit them in the drop box. He does well, not dropping a single ball, but times won’t be posted until tomorrow afternoon, so it’s a waiting game. My gut says we’ll advance, but it could be wishful thinking.
Once Sparky is packed securely in his box, we decide to head out. No point hanging around to watch other teams compete, and we have football practice soon. Besides, now that the adrenaline’s faded, a familiar sense of disappointment’s creeped in to take its place.
Austin didn’t show.
He promised he’d be here to support me, and he didn’t show up. I check my phone, confirming what I already know. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing. The eternally naive part of my brain argues that maybe it’s not his fault. Maybe something happened, like a car accident, preventing him from being at the competition.
The more experienced part of my brain scoffs.
After all, I have enough experience with football players to know what it means to be stood up. To be left waiting with hope so powerful it cuts like a knife. I should have known better than to expect more from Austin. But no, I had to go and learn the hard way because maybe—just maybe—he’d be different.
I will not cry.
It’s the promise I make myself as Enzo and I push through the arena doors to the parking lot. The wind howls, but I hardly feel it as it scrapes across my skin. My eyes are stinging and tension rolls off my body in palpable waves. Enzo must feel it too because he’s gone silent.
We’re halfway to his car when I spot Austin jogging across the lot, cutting between rows of cars. My heart slams against my rib cage at the sight of him, and I’m reminded of the first time we met, when he chased me down to recruit me for the team. So much has changed since then, but not everything. Austin’s still as sexy as ever with his tone body, cocky grin, and crystalline blue eyes. There’s no denying he’s perfection.
Except in the way that matters most.
He slows to a stop in front of us, a bouquet of flowers hanging limply by his side.
“Sorry I’m late.” He offers me the flowers, but I make no move to accept them.
“Late?” My tone is scathing, but I refuse to feel bad about it. I’m not the one who broke my promise; he is. If anyone here should feel like shit, it’s definitely him. “You missed the entire presentation.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “I wanted to be here.”
I snort. “Yes, well, you weren’t, were you?” I glance at Enzo, who looks like he’s about to cut and run. “What’s the old saying? Actions speak louder than words?”
Enzo doesn’t answer my question, but offers to give us some space. He doesn’t go far, and I know he’ll wait for me. However long this takes.
Austin steps forward and reaches for my arm. I shrug off his touch. “I’m sorry, Kennedy. I completely forgot about the meeting with the Pittsburgh scout. My dad set the whole thing up and lunch took long than expected.” He pauses, gaze locked on mine. “I really did want to be here.”
“You know what?” Hurt lances through my chest all over again at his meaningless platitude. If he wanted to be here, he would’ve been. Must’ve been a riveting meal if he couldn’t excuse himself early. “Don’t apologize. This is on me. I should’ve known. I should’ve known better and I was stupid to think you’d be different.”
“I am different,” he says through gritted teeth. Hurt flashes in his eyes, but I steel my resolve. I’m hurting too and my heart’s pretty full up on pain at the moment. “I’m not like him.”
“Aren’t you?” I ask, wrapping my arms around my waist. “You knew this was important to me, to my future. You promised to be here for me and then you bailed. And for what? Lunch with a team you don’t even want to play for.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” His voice is pleading as he reaches for my arm again.
“There’s always a choice, Austin.” I take a step back. “It’s just as well I found out what kind of man you are now, before…” I can’t even finish the sentence. Before I fall head over heels for him? Before I give him my heart?
Too late for that.
The realization makes the pressure in my chest a thousand times worse because I know what I have to do. I can’t be with someone who will always put the game before me. I saw what it did to my mom growing up. Hell, what it did to me. I can’t put myself through that again. I won’t. I deserve to come first.
And I won’t settle for anything less.
I blink back the tears that threaten to escape. I will not cry. Not in front of Austin. “Look, we gave it a shot, but this thing between you and me, it was never going to work. We’re too different. We live in completely different worlds.”
Austin’s jaw hardens and he flexes his fingers. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen his carefully crafted mask of control slip outside the bedroom. “So, what? You’re going to break up with me over one little mistake?”
“Little?” I scoff, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “I’d hardly call breaking your promise little. But it doesn’t matter, because this is exactly what I’m talking about. We’re too different.”
He growls. Actually freaking growls. Which would probably be hot except for the fact that he’s breaking my heart and I kind of want to throat punch him.
“Okay, poor choice of words. But that doesn’t change the fact that I screw up one time and you’re using it to break things off because you’re too scared to see where this thing between us might lead. Too afraid I might be like your old man to actually give me a real chance to prove I’m not.” He throws up his hands. “If this is how things were always going to end, why’d you even bother? Why let me think I had a chance to build something real with you?”
“I’m too scared?” My nostrils flare and it’s possible my unshed tears will evaporate into steam because I’m fired up now. I should walk away and go cool off, but I don’t have it in me to walk away from a fight. Not when I have so much to say. “You should talk. You’re going to spend your life living in your father’s shadow because you’re afraid to tell him you don’t want to play ball in Pittsburgh! At least I’m doing what I want and pursuing my dreams.”
Austin narrows his eyes. His shoulders are wrought with tension and the muscles of his forearms ripple as he clenches and unclenches his fists. “Are you though? You can’t even admit you care about me because what if it doesn’t work out, right? It’s easier to just write me off as another playboy asshole than put your heart on the line.”
“We’re done here. I have to get to practice.” I turn on my heel and stalk toward Enzo. What the hell does Austin know about my heart? He’s ne
ver even been in a relationship before. And he’s wrong. I’m not afraid; I’m hurt. I repeat it like a mantra as I walk away from the man who holds the shards of my broken heart in his hands.
“We’re not done, Kennedy,” the stubborn bastard calls after me. Like it’s his choice to make. “Not by a long shot.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Austin
I stand on the sideline with my helmet in my hand, watching as our defense tries to hold off Michigan with less than two minutes on the clock. The whole game’s been a cluster, and I got picked off on the last drive. Michigan’s not only got the ball, they’ve got momentum. They’re driving down the field, every yard they gain a nail in my coffin. If our defense can’t keep them out of field goal range, we’re fucked.
All because I turned the ball over.
I was up half the night replaying my fight with Kennedy when I should’ve been resting up for one of the biggest games of the season. Not that I could’ve slept if I wanted to. She won’t answer my calls or texts. The result? I’m playing like shit today and the team’s noticed.
Everyone’s feeling the tension between Kennedy and me. How could they not when she’s avoiding me like I gave her the clap? I can’t get within five yards of her. Every time I try, she makes a break for it, so I’ve given up chasing her around the sideline.
For now.
I want nothing more than to pick up where we left off yesterday—I refuse to accept her declaration that we’re broken up—but I owe it to the team to get my fuckin’ head in the game. Between our drama and the three-point spread on the scoreboard, everyone’s feeling the pressure. Stress is high and tempers are short. Coach is giving the linesman shit over a bad spot, waving his arms like a nut. Fortunately, one of the offensive coordinators relieved him of his clipboard.
The last thing we need is for Coach to get ejected.
I steal a glance at Kennedy. She’s warming up her leg, totally oblivious to my attention. If she’d just give me a chance to explain, I know I could fix what I broke.
But first we have to get through this game.
Michigan’s third and long. I tighten my grip on my helmet and clench the collar of my jersey with my other hand. We need a stop here. If we can hold them, they’ll be forced to go for it on the fourth down. They’re still a few yards out of field goal range, and the fans are doing their part to keep it that way. The noise in the stadium is deafening, fans hoping to drown out the play call or draw a false start.
We should be so lucky.
The ball is snapped and Wyant leaps forward like his ass is on fire, breaking right through the O-line and sacking the quarterback. I can hardly believe my eyes. I pump my fist in the air as a cheer goes up from the crowd.
If Daniels’s guys can deliver one more like that, we gain possession. There’s not a lot of time left on the clock, but we can run it down and eke out a win with a three-point lead.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Parker shouts, slapping me on the back. “That’s how you win games!”
We watch with baited breath as both teams return to the line of scrimmage. “Come on, Daniels.” In all my years at Waverly, I don’t know if I’ve ever been so desperate for our D to hold the line.
Michigan snaps the ball. The coverage is solid. The QB drops back and, finding no receivers, attempts to run the ball. He’s tackled at the line of scrimmage and the crowd goes berserk.
“Hell, yeah!” Parker shouts, jumping in the air.
I slap his stomach and pull on my helmet, relief flooding my veins. “Time to work.”
By the time the game clock reaches zero, I’m mentally and physically exhausted, but Coop and I get tagged for interviews, so we hang back as the rest of the team hits the locker room, riding high on our 10-1 record. We give the reporters the usual fluff about playing as a team, maintaining discipline, and how we’re focused on winning one game at a time. That last part? Total bullshit. Of course we’re thinking about bowl games and the national championship. How could we not?
We’re halfway down the tunnel, away from the prying eyes of fans and reporters, when Coop stops me with a hand on my chest.
“What’s the deal with you and Carter?” he asks, spinning to face me.
“Nothing,” I lie, forcing myself to meet his stare. “Everything’s fine.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna call bullshit.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “She wouldn’t even look at you today. And don’t think I didn’t notice you watching her like a lost puppy when you should’ve been focused on the game. What gives?”
“What do you care?” I snap, regretting the words immediately. Just because I’m in a bad mood doesn’t mean I can be a dick to my best friend. I adjust my headband and push my sweat-slicked hair back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t get much sleep last night. It’s messing with my head.”
“Lack of sleep isn’t the only thing messing with your head.”
He’s not wrong. And it’s more than Kennedy being pissed at me or the fact that I’m disappointed in myself for letting her down and playing right into her low opinion of football players. I can’t stop thinking about what she said. About living in my father’s shadow because I’m too afraid to speak up for myself.
I was so angry when she said it, but she’s right. Four years at Waverly and nothing’s changed. I graduate in the spring. I’ll be signing a multimillion-dollar contract, and I’ve resigned myself to a future I don’t want because I’m afraid of letting my parents down.
What kind of life is that? I tip my head back and close my eyes, taking a minute to lose myself in darkness. Why does everything have to be so fucking complicated?
“Dude, what’d you do?” Coop asks, snapping me back to the conversation. “It can’t be that bad.”
“I broke a promise. An important one.”
“And she dumped you?” I nod. Coop smirks. “Must’ve been a doozy. I figured you’d at least make it until the end of the season before she dumped your ass.”
“Yeah, well, you figured wrong.” I shift my weight, trying to figure out how I can explain the situation without breaking Kennedy’s trust. Or at least, any more than I have already. It’s not my place to tell her secrets, and I’d ride the bench before I ever hurt her intentionally. “Let’s just say she has a history of being let down and the first time I had a chance to be there for her, I blew it.”
“So apologize.”
“It’s not that simple. Look, I know I fucked up, okay? I tried to apologize, but she doesn’t want to hear it.”
“Doesn’t want to or can’t?” Coop shrugs. “Talk’s cheap. Especially if you’ve already given her a reason to doubt you.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.” I hate that he’s right. Hell, Kennedy said as much when she broke things off.
“Dude, I’m just saying you need to take care of your shit. Whatever’s going on with you two can’t affect the team. We’ve worked too hard to piss it all away now. We barely pulled out the win today.” He frowns. It’s a look I’ve rarely seen on his face in the four years I’ve known him. Coop’s the kind of guy that let’s everything roll off his back. “We got lucky today.”
“I know.” And I know I need to fix things with Kennedy. Not just for the team, but for myself. I can’t let her go. I won’t. Not without a fight.
In just a few short months, she’s become my world. I want to wake up to her beautiful smile every day. And worship her gorgeous body every night. I want to be the one to hold her tight when things go wrong and kiss her senseless when everything goes right. She’s the only one who gets me—really gets me—and appreciates me for more than my washboard abs and ability to throw a ball. I don’t want to go another day without her sexy, STEM-loving nerd power in my life.
Problem is, I don’t have a clue how to make things right if she’s not willing to accept my apology or even talk to me. “I just…” I trail off, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I’ll figure it out.”
“You don’t have a clue what you
’re doing, do you?”
“Nope.” I must sound as miserable as I feel, because he laughs, the sound echoing down the tunnel, like my imploding love life is a fucking comedy. “Thanks a lot, asshole. I’m glad you’re amused by my pain.”
“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.”
Claiming Carter (Waverly Wildcats Book 1) Page 25
