Lance: It’s perfect, thank you. I fucking love it.
Harper: Yay, you got it. So happy you love it.
I love you. I want to reply, but I type out something else entirely.
Lance: Did you get my gift?
Harper: Not yet.
Lance: Should be there tomorrow. Merry Christmas.
Harper: Merry Christmas. You know you didn’t have to. I can’t wait to see you in that robe.
Lance: I miss you.
Harper: I miss you too.
Lance: Come back to me.
Harper: It wasn’t you that I left. It’s opportunity that I’m chasing. Please understand.
Lance: I do. I’m trying to. It just fucking sucks. It’s a cruel world without you in it.
Harper: I love you. Always. Make me proud, Lance. Keep fighting.
Lance: Give me a reason to.
I swallow, knowing I won’t be able to move on unless I ask.
Lance: Are you happy?
Harper: Not completely, no.
Lance: It’s me you’re missing.
Harper: Every single day.
Lance: Wait for me.
Harper: Neither of us can make those promises.
Lance: I can.
Harper: Please don’t.
Hurt flares up when I think of how easily she left me standing there with my chest slashed. Even if there were tears, I’ll never understand how she could just drive away. We meant more than that. At least to me.
Lance: I guess you’ve already chosen.
Harper: I love you.
Lance: Maybe I don’t believe you.
Harper: You don’t mean that.
Harper: Lance?
Harper: Lance, please talk to me.
Lance: Take care, Harper.
The next day I spend twenty minutes coming up with an apology only to send it and have it bounce back. She blocked me. Not out of spite, but to give us a clean break. She’s unwilling to commit to me, and I can’t have it any other way. I’ll go crazy seeking it from her, and she knows it. She knows this is the only way. She always told me her dreams would come before any man, I should have believed her. I just never thought she’d discard me for them so easily.
Anger like I’ve never known boils through my veins. Another raw deal. Another punch life has decided to throw to break me down.
Regret eats me alive as I think of all I should’ve said, could’ve given her.
I could have loved her so much better, given her so much more if she’d given me a chance.
She’s already blocking me out of her life. It’s only been weeks, and I’m already a part of her past. I know she thinks this is the best decision for both of us, for now. But the tie she’s so boldly cut already feels like a molecular change in my makeup. It’s a change I don’t want, can’t stand to deal with. I feel like I’ve been ripped in half by loyalty and ambition.
Loyalty won on my part, and our mutual ambition just severed us. But the decision was made for me and for that I can’t forgive her.
But she would never let me choose. She would never make me.
I should be grateful. Instead, I’m pissed.
Sentence has passed. I’m serving day one. My conviction is I never truly got to fight.
My bedroom is now a tomb.
I have no way to go after her, not the means or the way. There are no magic words to change her mind. All I have left is this vessel I dwell in to turn things around, to change my fate, to save myself.
The problem is that it feels like she took the biggest part of it. I no longer feel the beat in my chest, the strength in my veins, nor the will to fight.
This test she left me, I fear I won’t pass. But I’ve got to believe her.
I’ve got to make our sacrifice worthy of the cost.
But first I have to inhale, exhale, remember my own dream and I have no idea what it is at this point.
I lace my sneakers and stalk out into the wind scattered rain, and I run. I run five miles until I feel the blood pounding at my temple, another five miles until my inhales are painful, and the breaths scrape my insides in search for the beat. I run another five until I convince myself I’m still breathing, that pound in my chest is a heartbeat, that I can still bleed. And so, I run. I run until I bleed out.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sixty-three fights later…
The shouts coming from all sides of the ring dull into a collective thrum. I’m dancing on air, light as a feather, my arms the only thing weighed down by exertion. Six rounds and he’s fazed. I crack my neck, arms loose at my sides just as the bell rings and the dance begins.
He’s dizzy, weakening by the second. It’s only a matter of time.
I come at him with my winning combination, and he swerves, knowing my tactics. This I was prepared for, so I change the sequence.
Body, body, body, uppercut.
I’m still fighting.
I’ve been as low as a man can get in the last two years.
No girl.
No draft.
And the bank is about to foreclose on the ranch.
Draft day came and went, and I retired my number.
Football is over.
Harper and I are long over.
But this, here, this is my future.
Not every dream is realized. That’s the hard truth, and the lesson I’ve come away with and survived.
Not all hard work pays off. Not every guy gets the girl. And sometimes even the most carefully laid plans get changed, interrupted, or abandoned because life has other ideas.
I’ve been on my knees more times than I can count at this point. From the ashes of the past twenty-four months, I know who I am, it’s become abundantly clear.
I’m a born fighter.
No matter the outcome, I’ve always got fight left in me, no matter how many hits I take. And I took them, eager for more, covered in those ashes, hungry and thirsty, and it all led up to tonight—my last amateur fight.
Pivoting forward, I end his misery and deliver one last blow, letting gravity take care of the rest. He collapses at my feet, and I take a step back, satisfied as my arm gets lifted while the ringside roars.
Though I know her distance, it doesn’t change the fact that I search the crowd for her face after every fight in hopes she’ll be there, a pride-filled smile on her face, an ‘I told you so,’ ready on her tongue. But she’s not. I’m her past, a moment in time, a memory. Her college boyfriend. A blip. And I have yet to fully believe that for myself.
Every fight I come up empty, but it doesn’t change my routine. I’m always going to look for her because even though she asked me not to, inside, I’ve been waiting.
Because of tonight’s win, the ranch is safe, at least for another few months. My family is safe.
Harper is thriving. I’ve been keeping up with her progress on social media. She’s joined a dance troupe that travels, working various shows all over Europe, exploring places we only dreamed of together in my double-sized bed we tangled to fit in.
The smiles in her pictures seem genuine. She’s with people who care about her, believe in her. She’s living her dream.
And my dreams have changed.
With the NFL unattainable, boxing saved me. She was right. Football was a pastime, and boxing has become my obsession.
And so, I fight, for myself, for my family, and for her, in hopes she looks for me in the crowd at the foot of her stage. Where I want to be, instead of sitting on a bench while Tony cleans my eye.
“You did good, kid. Two months and we’re in Vegas. You earned this. But we’ve got a few things to work on.”
Tony’s been with me since Harper introduced us, conditioning me for the heavyweight circuit. He believes in me so much he trains me at the ranch. I’ve become his pet project. My family has taken him in as one of their own. He’s as obsessed as I am. We’re so close we both can taste it. Aside from Harper and my father, Tony is the only other person in my life who believes in more for me.
Closing my eyes, I let the lingering loss of her eat me from the inside as he cuts the tape from my gloves. Some days it seems like a lifetime ago we were in that gym, other nights, like tonight, I feel her with me.
“Kid, I figured you for a better mood since you just dominated that fight. Not a bad payday, either. I told you those amateur rounds would pay off.”
I lay back and stare at the gaping hole in the tile on the ceiling as Tony inspects the damage to my ribs.
I’m a world away from his conversation, struck with how much truth has been revealed to me tonight in the last few hours.
Why the fuck am I waiting?
Springing up from the table, I start to pace the locker room.
“What the hell, man?”
“I’m good. Ribs are sore, but I’m good.”
“You need to let me make that decision. Get back here.”
“I’m good.” I pace the room, thoughts racing, my pulse picking up as something inside me tells me now’s the time. The only time.
“I don’t like that look,” Tony says, crossing his arms from where he stands at the table.
“I need a few days.”
He shakes his head. “We don’t have time to miss a few days. We’ve got that match in a week, and we need every minute together before Vegas.”
“We’ve got months. I’ll make it.”
“We need every spare minute we can get.”
“I won’t miss a day. I’ll keep up with it on my own.”
He sighs, pulling up his phone. “Where?”
“New York.”
Tony’s head snaps up. “Now, you’re doing this now?”
I nod.
“Why now?”
“Because I want to see if I’m right.”
He sighs. “I’ll book us on the next flight out.”
I answer with the shake of my own head. “I need to do this alone.”
“No time for that. I’m coming.”
“This is personal, and you know it. I’ll need some space.”
“I’ll make it work.” He sighs and taps furiously on his phone. “Did you sign?”
“I haven’t looked at the contract.”
“Jesus, kid, he’s one of the best agents in boxing, and he’s not going to wait forever. Don’t piss this away. I can’t get started on negotiations for Vegas without him—”
“Book it,” I snap, gathering my bag, “I’ll sign it on the plane.”
“Hey man, before you laser my fucking head off with that look, I like Harper. I’m not saying she’s not worth the effort, but the timing is shit. And you’re about two years too late. We don’t have time for you to play Romeo. You know we’ve got a limited window.”
“I’m not going to blow it.”
“What if she’s moved on?”
I pull a T-shirt over my head, batting away the ache. “She hasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
Because I have to believe she hasn’t dismissed us as easily as she’s made it seem with her silence. I have to believe that every day she battles the same urge I do, to come back, to get us back there, to the place where the world couldn’t touch us. Where we aligned separate planets and revolved around the other, protected the other, shielded the other, and grew together in our own universe, one we created to simply exist. With her, I felt safe, accepted, more like myself. I grew into a better version of me with her. Without her, I’m a lonely planet.
I’ve spent enough time denying myself.
It’s time to fight for what I want.
“You going to throw this all away if it doesn’t work out the way you hope?”
Shoving my gear in my bag, I rest in how right it feels to go after her, that this could be our chance. I never should have let her end it. I was never okay with her goodbye or a single minute after it.
“I wouldn’t, and she wouldn’t let me.” I grin down at my discarded gloves that lay on the bench. “I’m her greatest investment.” I’ve got another swing left, another round inside of me. And when it comes to her, I always will. Her words hit like lighting as I pack my shit.
“What if this moment, right here, is the moment that changes your life?”
When I met Harper, she was a fair catch. At any point in time, I could have tapped out, signaled the flag, and claimed her despite the onslaught of hurdles we were up against, the opposition running towards us full force. Against those odds, we cracked and were forced off the field.
This is a whole different playing field, with a completely different set of rules. And this round, winner takes all.
Ding, Ding.
To be continued…
Look for the finale of Lance and Harper’s story in The Guy in the Middle (Fair Catch), publishing January 2020!
Read Theo and Laney’s story in The Guy on the Right available now in Kindle Unlimited. https://amzn.to/2lMYNRo
Look for Troy’s story, The Guy on the Left (Fourth and Inches) coming this Winter!
About Kate
USA Today bestselling author and Texas native, Kate Stewart, lives in North Carolina with her husband, Nick, and her naughty beagle, Sadie. She pens messy, sexy, angst-filled contemporary romance, as well as romantic comedy and erotic suspense. Kate's title Drive was named one of the best romances of 2017 by The New York Daily News and Huffington Post. Drive was also a finalist in the Goodread's Choice awards for best contemporary romance for 2017. Her works have also been featured in USA TODAY and BuzzFeed, and translated into five languages.
Kate is a lover of all things '80s and '90s, especially John Hughes films and rap. She dabbles a little in photography, can knit a simple stitch scarf for necessity, and on occasion, does very well at whiskey.
Check out Kate’s Amazon page for a full list of her books.
Arena Lights
Mandi Beck
To my Hockey Boy, you’ll always be my favorite player. And to Ran, thank you for allowing us to dream our dreams and doing your best to make them come true.
This is your moment. You're meant to be here. -Herb Brooks
Maeve
“Are you even listening to me?”
I pop my head out of the closet at my sister’s question. I was not listening to her, and she busted me. In my defense, she hasn’t stopped talking since she barged into my room twenty minutes ago and threw herself on my bed right in the middle of the clothes I had laid out to pack.
“Sorry, Millie, what did you say?”
Sighing in exasperation, her breath ruffling her red hair the exact shade of mine, she repeats herself. “Two weeks away without our brother or daddy! Can you say party? Because I can. I can also say sex. And party, and drinking, and sex,” my twin goes on excitedly. I’m just as excited about this trip but just for different reasons.
“You may have mentioned a couple of those more than once. I’m not sure if you said sex yet. Did you say sex? I wasn’t really paying attention.” All I can do is laugh. Millie acts like we lead a wicked sheltered life. Just because our older brother, the captain of the hockey team, has eyes and ears all over campus—making it a little harder to date—and our dad just happens to be the coach of our softball team—and therefore always around—doesn’t mean we don’t get a chance to do all the things she’s talking about. Not that I do, because there is more to being in college than invites to frat parties, drinking, and hooking up. Even if Millie doesn’t think so.
“Aren’t you even a little excited? No hockey boys around to go back to Levi and snitch about every move we make?”
I’m just about to answer when a voice comes from the doorway. “What moves you making, Mill?”
“Levi!” she squeaks, jumping from the bed. “Don’t sneak up on us. We’re having a private conversation.” She practically hisses at our older brother. His wide shoulders fill the doorway, as he stands leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his broad chest. She knows she’s been caught.
“I can tell.” Levi looks over at me. �
��How about you, Maevey? Are you making moves?” he asks, knowing damn well he’ll get more out of me than Millie. She knows it too, which is why she doesn’t give me a chance to answer.
“Nobody is making any moves. We’re just packing for Arizona. What do you want?” Millie hurries to say, the flush on her face making the freckles sprinkled across her nose more prominent.
“Just coming to drop clothes off and to tell you that my favorite roommate is going with you guys on your little trip,” he says smugly. Obviously, he heard Millie’s little “no hockey boys” dig.
“What? Who? It’s not a hockey trip; it’s a softball and baseball trip!” she whines.
Trying to defuse the situation before she throws a real hissy, I say, “Oh, calm down, Millie. He’s joking.”
“Umm, no, I’m not.”
Confused myself now, I ask, “You’re not? Millie’s right; it’s a softball and baseball clinic. Why would a hockey player be going? And who is your favorite roommate? You have three.”
“Well, Benny is my favorite today. Mostly because he’s tagging along to make sure there aren’t any moves being made.” He shoots a smug look at Millie, throwing her words back at her. “His sister is your assistant coach and in charge of the whole trip since Dad isn’t going. Plus, their family lives in Arizona, so she asked if Benny could come with. This way, they can visit their parents, and he can be a chaperone, which would cut down on the team’s costs. It just makes the most sense.”
Levi looks way too pleased about this, and Millie looks about to cry. I swear that boy loves making her life hell. Well, hell as far as Mill is concerned anyway.
“So not fair!” She huffs and stomps from my room, calling for Mom like she can put a stop to this.
“She’s maaaaaaddd,” he gloats.
Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology Page 12
