Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology

by Paige, Rochelle

  Our smiles are never far from our lips as she rattles off future plans for Christmas. Our plans. And I don’t object once, because it’s a given for me as well. The transition from friend to confidant, to much more has been so effortless on both our parts, I wouldn’t object to any decision she made regarding us at this point.

  Put simply, Harper makes me happy.

  Turning into my neighborhood, I glance her way as she sings, committing the moment to memory while dreading her imminent departure to spend the rest of the holiday with her family. Her smile disappears and shock covers her features when I pull into the driveway. Following her line of sight, I hit the brakes a little too hard when I see her father, my coach, standing in front of his pickup, his arms crossed and hellfire in his eyes. Dread tightens my chest and defeat creeps up as I throw her SUV in park and put on my game face. Though the only thought racing through my mind at that point is game over.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Harper

  I’m the first to jump out of the Toyota, but Lance isn’t far behind.

  “Daddy, please don’t go off without hearing us out.”

  “Go home, Harper.” He’s not even looking at me, his blazing blue eyes on the man standing behind me.

  “Coach—”

  “Don’t. Out here I’m not your coach, I’m this girl’s father.”

  Lance doesn’t miss a beat. “Woman. She’s very much a woman and you raised her well, Mr. Elliot. So well, in fact, that my family and I are smitten with her.”

  “Go home, Harper. Your mother and sister are waiting.”

  “Daddy, he’s right. I’m no longer your little girl. I have a right to see whomever I choose, and Lance is a good man. He’s a great man and you would—”

  “You lied to me. You told me this was a one-time thing. You lied to everyone!”

  “I was trying to avoid this! It’s ridiculous. It’s like you expected me to stay innocent forever!”

  “I didn’t raise you to sneak around like this, whoring yourself out to one of my ballers!”

  “Sir,” Lance barks, the level of threat in his voice terrifying. “Uncalled for.”

  “Don’t you dare lecture me, Prescott. Who in the hell do you think you are? This is blatant disrespect. For me, and for your team.”

  “I thought we were leaving ball out of it?”

  Lance means nothing by it, but my dad takes an aggressive step forward on the verge of explosion. “I should fucking end you.”

  I’m speechless as I watch their exchange.

  “You very well could, sir.”

  “Why bother with the formalities now? You took and soiled what was precious to me and behind my back, like a fucking thief.”

  “Jesus, Dad, this is ridiculous. I’m twenty years old. I’m no saint.”

  My father’s eyes find mine and what I see in them levels me. “You humiliated me.”

  “You did that to yourself,” Lance snaps from behind me. “You couldn’t keep it under wraps. Maybe if you hadn’t worked the team to the fucking bone and pitted us against each other, we wouldn’t be a pack of wild dogs at the moment ready to rip one another’s throats out. You want a reason? There’s the reason.”

  “Couldn’t be a man and own up to it?”

  I come to Lance’s defense. “He’s plenty man, but his entire future—life is riding on this season, Dad!”

  “Harper,” Lance’s volume rises in warning. “Not your story to tell.”

  “He needs to know!” I glance back at Lance and see the shake of his head, but I’m too overcome with the need to protect him.

  My dad looks between us. “Nothing is going to help his case.”

  “His father is about to lose everything he’s worked for!”

  “Harper!” Lance barks.

  “No, no, his dad is sick, and his whole family depends on their ranch to survive. They are about to lose everything! And if you found out what would you have done? Benched him? Ruined his season?”

  Lance explodes next to me. “Damn it, Harper!”

  Dad takes a menacing step towards Lance. “Don’t you dare go near her.”

  He turns to me. “You still live under my roof, and you have the audacity to lie to me, about one of my players? He’s a coward. Ask his team.”

  “You need too much control, Daddy. I love this man. I will see him whenever I choose.”

  “You finally get some attention, and you’re going to call it love?”

  Tears burst out of me and I sob into my hands.

  “You fucking asshole,” Lance lashes out, his voice venom as he sweeps me into his hold, but I push away and stand in front of him, separating them both before I face my dad head-on.

  “I know you’re hurt. And I know this space I put between us wasn’t fair, but this has gone too far already. He’s your kind of man, if you would just get to know him.”

  “I know plenty about him. I know he’s got an explosive temper that put a kid in the hospital.” Lance glances down at the driveway. “You think your good boy here didn’t fuck half a sorority house last year, think again.”

  “Don’t, please don’t. Anything he’s done doesn’t matter.”

  “Go home, Harper.”

  “Go,” Lance whispers at my back. “Just go. He’s not going to listen to you. You’re talking to a wall.”

  I turn back to Lance to see his jaw set, and there is nothing but regret in his eyes.

  My whole demeanor drops. “Please don’t believe him. You are not those mistakes.”

  “I know, baby, go.”

  “She’s not your goddamned baby!”

  Lance closes his eyes, dropping his head.

  “Dad, please, just be reasonable,” I plead before I turn to Lance.

  “It’s okay,” he assures me, standing his ground. “He’s right. We should have come clean months ago.”

  “Lance—”

  “I’ll call you later. Okay?”

  I nod, fear-filled tears sliding down my cheeks that he pushes away with his fingers. “This isn’t your fault, Harper.”

  “As much as it is yours,” I sniff. “Promise you’ll call?”

  “Swear.”

  I look back at my father who looks like he’s just getting his second wind.

  “Please, Dad.”

  “Just go home, Harper.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lance

  I’ve dealt with my fair share of livid coaches in my life, but none of their wrath has come close to that of Ryan Elliot. If looks could kill, I’d have been a dead man the minute his eyes connected with mine when Harper drove away. His voice equally as damning. “You let them suffer.”

  “You made them suffer, and for what? I’ve never mistreated her. I’ve never done anything but care for her.”

  “She’s not like other girls. She won’t recover if you rip her heart out. She’s been through a lot, and you’re subjecting her to a lot more.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “You have no fucking clue! Why her? You know she doesn’t fit your mold.”

  “What mold would that be? Surely you can’t think so fucking little of her that my interest or affection surprises you?”

  “Be honest with yourself, you preyed on an innocent girl who’s starved for attention.”

  “You underestimate her. I wonder if you know her at all. Look, this is just as much of a surprise to me as it is you, but not for the reasons you think. In fact, you need to understand right now, I’m not going anywhere. I’m in it for the long haul with her.”

  “I don’t want you on my team, in my life, or with my daughter and not because of what you’ve done in the past but because of the way you snuck around behind my back and had my daughter do the same.”

  “You’re partly to blame for that, and that’s just tough shit, Coach. And before you object that this isn’t the field, you might want to remember that you’re the one who brought the personal shit into the locker room, not me.”

  “So eas
y for you to say. You’re a punk-ass kid without a family.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I have a family, and it might not be identical to yours, but they depend on me just as much.”

  “She might have fallen for the sick dad routine—”

  “Wow, you’ve really gone off the fucking deep end, haven’t you? You think I need to make up stories about a sick daddy to get a girl into my bed?”

  Murderous eyes meet mine, but my anger boils over.

  “With you for a father, no wonder she’s starving for affection.”

  “You’re done, Prescott!”

  “I was done the minute I pulled up.”

  “Fuck you, punk.” He walks towards his truck as I counter.

  “With all due respect, sir, fuck you!”

  He turns back to glare at me.

  “Don’t bother showing up to the game on Friday.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You’ll have to toss me out in front of everyone.”

  “Don’t think I won’t.”

  “Then I guess I’ll see you there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lance

  Troy tosses his helmet in my direction, his anger evident. Tonight, we fucked up, majorly. Both offense and defense. The team is completely at odds, everyone to blame. The whole game was a shitshow, and it had little to do with skill and everything to do with miscommunication. We’re on a losing streak. I shake my head in apology towards Troy, who has just as much riding on being drafted as I do, and tonight, I was benched for half of the game. Technically, I could go over his head if I wasn’t getting fair play and coach knows it, so he’s playing me the minimum which is costing us games. I’ll never understand how he could throw a season out of spite, but I do understand his love for Harper. Because it’s all I know anymore. We’re all circling the drain with morale alone, and that has the team screaming for answers. The village is demanding someone to crucify, and everyone’s house is being searched. Accusations are flying, but it’s the one flying to my right that grabs my attention.

  “You,” someone says, and all of our heads snap up. “It’s you, isn’t it, Jenner? Can’t keep your fucking dick out of anyone.”

  Troy shakes his head and slams his locker. “Fuck yourself, Altman, it’s not my fault you threw the fucking game away.” This is something I’ve never seen, the quarterback and the wide receiver at each other’s throats. It’s gone too far.

  “Chill out, man, don’t point fingers,” someone calls out. “We’re a team; therefore, we all fucked her.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t fucking cum,” someone spits to my left as my pulse kicks up.

  “Everybody knows Troy’s the yes man,” Altman mutters with disgust. “He’ll fuck anything.”

  “Back off, man,” Troy grits out. “I’m with someone.”

  News to me. From what I’ve seen he’s not been bringing anything in off the street for a hot minute. His room’s been a no-fly zone.

  “Yeah? Who?”

  “None of your fucking business,” Troy growls.

  “You need to back the fuck off, Altman,” I grunt. It’s one look. One look from Wallace when I know I’ve just implicated myself. Pat eyes me for a long moment before dropping his head. I’m sunk. And I don’t even fucking care at this point because I can’t handle another comment about Harper. But to my complete surprise, he doesn’t say a single word. Instead, he waits for me in his truck in the parking lot sitting mute with his eyes straight ahead, the heat blowing at us from the vent. After a long, uncomfortable silence he finally speaks up.

  “It’s her, isn’t it? The dancer from the coffee shop.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the fuck, Lance? We’ve been boys since freshman year.”

  “My silence was for her just as much as it was me.”

  “Jesus, I would understand if she was good-looking but—”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” I hiss in his direction.

  “All this shit, all of this because of you and her.”

  “It didn’t start like this. I didn’t even know she was coach’s daughter until after, even then I wouldn’t fucking stop so if you’re going to tell them, go ahead and tell them.”

  “She’s a six at most, why are you wasting time with a six?”

  “Add five to that.”

  “What?”

  “She’s my eleven.”

  With a loud sigh, he puts his truck into gear and turns to me. “Hope it’s worth it.”

  “You know it’s Coach that’s throwing the season, not me.”

  “We all see it. And I’m not going to say shit, but this better be the fucking girl you marry. You owe us all that much. She better be worth it.”

  “She is.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Harper

  Harper: Hey you.

  Lance: Hey baby. You here?

  Harper: Just pulled up.

  Tears streak my cheeks as I try my best to hold in my sobs. Lance appears in a long-sleeve T-shirt and beanie, his eyes lighting up when they find mine. He frowns when he sees me standing by my car and nods towards his front door.

  “Come inside.” He blows in his hands. “It’s cold.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t.”

  He looks past me at my SUV. “What the hell? He kicked you out?”

  I swallow. “No.”

  He closes the distance between us and sees what I’m trying hard to hide.

  “I’m leaving. I’m taking my shot, Lance. Things at home, well, they aren’t good, and there’s a casting call for something off-Broadway. René is going to let me stay with him.”

  I can physically feel the crack between us. “Priss, don’t.”

  “I can make up school later. I can’t get a dancing year back, ever. It’s for the best. Our relationship is wreaking havoc on your life, your team, the season, my relationship with my father. His career. There’s more than just you and me to worry about. I really,” I sniff. “I really care about you and your family, but I’ve been selfish. We’ve both been selfish. Other people are paying for this.”

  “They’ll get over it.” His eyes search mine, and I shake my head, losing my battle as more warm tears fall.

  “You know you gave me…,” I breathe through the pain, “you gave me a love story, a real love story, even if it doesn’t have the ending I was hoping for.”

  “It doesn’t have to end.”

  “It does,” I reason with a shaky voice. “It does, Lance. And it’s okay. I’m okay. We’re both going to be okay. I’ll still feel the same way about you, even years from now. I know it. I know myself. I probably won’t ever stop loving you. And who knows,” I say as his head pops up and his eyes glaze over, “maybe one day the timing will be right, and my father won’t hate us both, and we can try again.”

  “Harper, listen to me. The secret is out. It’s not going back in.”

  “My dad can’t even look at me right now. I can’t stay there, not now.”

  “Then stay with me. He’ll get over it. You can’t stay a daddy’s girl forever.”

  “But I wanted to,” I admit as I push away more tears. “And I want to be your girl too. But it’s not going to work out that way. At least not right now.”

  “You are my girl.”

  “In every way. Always. You have my heart. Please don’t make this any harder on me. I have to go.”

  “Bullshit. This will all blow over, you’ll see. This isn’t for the best; this is you running away.”

  “No, this is me using this shitshow as an excuse to go after what I want and to grant you the freedom to do the same. I’m standing in the way of things for you right now, and I’m not going to stay here and watch you throw it all away for me.”

  “That’s dramatic.”

  “No, it’s the truth. You’re so close, Lance. We betrayed him for months and rubbed his nose in it. He’s not going to give you the game time you deserve if we continue to parade around like what we did didn’
t hurt him. He’s good at holding a grudge, even against his own daughter. He may come around with me, but there’s no time for you.”

  “Fuck this, I’ll go talk to him. I’ll apologize.”

  “It won’t work, and you know it.” I lean in and cup his face. “You take the field. I’m going to go take the stage.” I push up on my toes, and he pulls me to him, squeezing me tightly. I feel every word he’s not saying in his reluctance to let go. I pull away, and he holds me close. “Harper, please, fuck, don’t do this.”

  “I deserve my shot too. Now is just as good of a time as any.” I feel his nod in my neck. “But I do love you,” I whisper before I press my lips to his jaw. “The crazy big kind.” I feel the crack between us as he lets me down to my feet. “Don’t be too much of a stranger, okay?”

  He opens his mouth, and I hold up my hand.

  “Lance, stop,” I demand, the last of my strength leaving me. “Don’t use this as a convenient time to return sentiment or you’ll ruin it for me.”

  Cupping my face, he bends capturing my mouth, kissing me, his tongue diving deep, his body radiating the pain that I feel, his mammoth embrace just enough comfort to keep me standing when he pulls away.

  “I’m not sorry,” he says hoarsely, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, “fuck them all. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

  I muster up a smile and step away. “Me too.”

  “Text me when you make it there, okay?”

  With that, I get into my car, adjust my mirror, back away, and cry past two state lines.

  Chapter Thirty

  Lance

  Three weeks later

  Sitting on the bed, I open the box to reveal a new pair of high tops in my size, a black silk boxing robe embroidered with Lance “The Blanket” Prescott and matching trunks. She had to have spent a fortune on it. Chest aching, I shoot off a text.