Roughing the Kicker

by Eden Butler

“Okay,” she said, sounding surprised. “And why do you have to put in such an effort?”

  “Because,” he said, moving back again when Reese adjusted the elastic holding her hair back and he caught a whiff of her shampoo. “Because this—us and what happened—it’s not good…for the team.” He glanced at her face, frowning when she looked annoyed. “I just want to be a leader, Reesie. I want us to do well, and, fuck’s sake, I wanna stop being the cause of all the shit that gets started around you.”

  She reached for him, her irritation gone, as though his confession worried her. “It’s not your fault. Not…”

  “Well,” he said, shrugging when the intensity of her words stung him in the center of his chest. She wasn’t letting him take the blame. She was giving him a pass. He had to deflect. “You and Murry, no, I’m not responsible for that shit.”

  “No.” She laughed, rolling her eyes at his frown. “It was Gia’s idea.”

  “That’s insulting…parading you around like you’re…”

  “In a beef cake calendar?” she said, laughing when Ryder shut his mouth. “Yeah, thought so.”

  “Glenn. Noble. Ricks wants you on the field,” came a call from the locker room door, and Ryder shot a wave at the guy already disappearing back into the hallway.

  “Anyway,” he said, again looking down at his feet. “I’m sorry about…the elevator. I had no business…” Guilt ate at him as he remembered her face when Greer got on the elevator. He should have broken up with her that weekend. Or every weekend since and he had no idea why he hadn’t. Reese nodded, and Ryder realized none of it mattered. Only today did. First Wildcard game. First game where Reese and Ryder would play actually speaking to each other. “Anyway,” he said, rubbing his neck, “I was an asshole.”

  “Yeah,” she said, walking backward. Ryder didn’t know what to make of that glint in her eyes. “But then I’d take the asshole if it meant I got a kiss like that again.”

  She turned, heading toward the door, Ryder behind her. “From me?” he asked, stopping her at the door. He couldn’t keep from smiling, something he seemed to only do with Reese.

  “Didn’t say that, now did I, Ry?”

  She pushed him aside and left the locker room with Ryder running behind her, enjoying the view.

  18

  Reese

  “Why the hell am I here, then?”

  “Noble, back up.” Ricks walked away from her, his attention on Ryder as he forwarded the drive against Atlanta.

  “This is bullshit,” Reese said, catching Gia’s attention as she walked away from her coach.

  “He’s got a point,” she said, the confession sending Reese further down the sideline and far enough away that there was no temptation to lash out at anyone.

  “What’s the damn point anyway?” she said to herself, curling her arms across her chest as she watched the offense work their magic.

  She shook her head, marching away from Gia. Behind her, Reese made out a few low whistles and one or two signs with that damn picture of her and Lennox locked in a kiss, but she was too irritated at being held out of the game to pay attention to anyone.

  Last regular season game. A thirteen and two season.

  Reese had been responsible for twenty-eight field goal attempts throughout the season. She’d only missed one. There had been a few hiccups, but that last game against New England had spooked Ricks. He didn’t trust her under pressure, it seemed, and with one game left in the regular season, he didn’t want to test that lack of trust.

  “So fucking…”

  “Why are you pouting?” She heard, Wilson stepping beside her. “You gonna kick?”

  “Ask Ricks,” she snapped.

  Wilson rubbed his face dry with a towel, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Go raise hell. He wants you to.”

  “I have been. Look.”

  They both turned to see Ricks throwing up a signal for a Steamers’ time out, but it wasn’t Ricks that needed the breather. Ryder, for whatever reason, stood in front of their coach, animatedly speaking, hands waving, shoulders shrugging, and then both men looked down the sideline, right at Reese.

  “Uh-huh,” Wilson said, brushing her arm with his elbow. “He likes when we put up a fight.”

  “Awesome,” she said, frowning when Ryder returned to whatever conversation he had with their coach. “Now if he sends me in it’s gonna look like Ryder convinced him.”

  “So?” Wilson said, handing off his helmet when one of the assistants approached him. “Doesn’t damn well matter who put you on that field, Noble. What matters is what you do when you get there.”

  Wilson shook his head, nodding toward Ricks when the coach called after Reese. “Get me a field goal, and I’ll owe you a bottle of that Fitz you gave us at the start of the season.”

  He offered his hand and Reese took it, slapping him on the arm. “Deal.”

  Ryder met her just before she reached the coach, and he turned, his back to Ricks as he lowered close enough to be heard over the roaring crowd, who didn’t seem enthusiastic that Ricks looked like he was about to send Reese out to kick.

  “The fake,” Ryder said, straightening as he watched her.

  “Are you…you’re serious?” Over his shoulder Ricks eyeballed them, face drawn up tight, jaws clenching. Ryder nodded, bringing her attention back to his handsome face. “Does Coach…”

  “Talk to Wilkens. He’ll know what to do. You’ve got exactly forty-five seconds.” She was so flustered by his request, Reese didn’t notice Ryder pushing her forward or his quick-slapping hand on her ass in some weird gesture of good luck.

  She only saw Wilkens ahead of her on the field. Then, his faltering smile when she slipped to his side, hands on her hips, attention on the crowd around the stadium.

  “You ever do a fake?” She tried for subtle, not wanting to give away to Atlanta that there was anything other than a field goal in their future.

  “Ryder told me about one you tried at Duke.”

  She turned, nodding once, and as Wilkens’ mouth twitched, his bottom lip curving upward, she knew he’d follow the plan perfectly.

  “Let’s do it,” he said, offering her a hand slap.

  “I’m ready.”

  This time counted more than any other in her life. But this wasn’t college. This wasn’t Duke, and it wasn’t her father on the sidelines ready to scream at her if this shit didn’t work. Reese’s heart pounded like some robot monkey crashing cymbals. She wasn’t sure she could do this. She wasn’t sure Atlanta hadn’t caught on to the fact this would be anything but a normal field goal attempt.

  Stop overthinking, she told herself, blocking out the noisy crowd and the roar of insults they flung at her, trying to get her to break her concentration.

  Just do this.

  Reese closed her eyes, breathing in through her nose, exhaling out. She saw the fake playing out in her mind—the swoop of the ball getting tossed to Wilkens, his quick fingers curling around it, then shooting it right through his legs as Reese backtracked.

  She could do it. She saw it clearly.

  One last breath and Reese opened her eyes, the tiny nudge of her head moving down a fraction, and the ball got snapped, landed right in Wilkens’ hands, and Reese moved. The ball went under his leg and up. Reese caught it and took off.

  There was an uproar of screams and shouts all around her. There was the scramble of defenders all huddled together ready to block, leaving the right side of the end zone unguarded. Reese cradled the ball against her chest, moving to the right, nearly touching the white out of bounds line of the field before she hustled quick, spinning to avoid a bright red jersey coming right at her. Her heart now speeding so quickly she thought she’d pass out. There was sweat, and the scent of the sod at her feet, and the loud, wild noise of protests and encouragement all around her. Her fingers ached, and the ball pinched against her chest at how tightly she held onto that ball. This was it. Her moment. Her shot.

  Reese landed, feet first, ball
secure, right on the Steamers’ end zone, scoring the touchdown they needed to win the game.

  Hurricane. That’s what Reese thought she heard as she threw the ball against the field. It bounced, rolling right at the feet of one of the refs, but the noise around her, that wave of sound she couldn’t quite place, distracted her.

  “What the…”

  She didn’t need to answer.

  Along with the deafening roar came her teammates and coaches. They ran at her like she was a goddess and they needed her blessing to simply exist. She spotted the smiles, smelled the sweat over their faces, the jerseys sticking to their chests as the remaining four seconds whittled down on the scoreboard overhead. Then, someone picked Reese up, hoisting her in the air, hands and arms jostling her around as they chanted her name over and over again.

  “No-ble! No-ble! Nooooo-ble!”

  In the middle of all those faces, moist with tears and sweat and smiles covering them, Reese spotted Ryder. He looked up at her, hands uplifted, his smile megawatt and criminally tempting and that beautiful man, so poised, so confident, so beloved by everyone, stood on the ground, letting Reese have her moment and he did it with her name, chanting in unison, lifting from his lips.

  19

  Reese

  Decadence looked different somehow. There were still the roving, glittering lights and the elegant shimmer of lush fabrics and clientele outfitted in designer clothes; there were still the exotic cocktails and the runway-worthy wait staff serving up drinks to everyone who’d stopped by to celebrate the final Steamers win and Reese’s impeccable performance.

  She’d received so many congratulatory back pats and impromptu kisses that Reese found herself a little dizzy. Extracting herself from a very drunk and affectionate Baker, she weaved through the crowd, nodding and smiling as she moved until she spotted Cat at the end of the bar, cozied next to a guy Reese had met with Cat just the month before at Lucy’s—one of the guys distracted by Cat’s walk as she moved around their table.

  Her friend laughed when she caught Reese’s gaze, toasting her with the pink drink in her hand. “You are amazing,” she mouthed, and Reese gave her an exaggerated bow before laughing at the distraction of Cat’s date.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Wilson asked, hovering over Reese’s shoulder.

  “Jameson,” Reese said to the bartender, leaning over empty glasses and discarded napkins because Wilson stretched around her, his attention on Cat and the big man who held her face.

  “Oh, hell no,” Wilson said, looking ready to hop on the bar to get to Cat before she got a kiss. He made it to the stool before Reese pulled him down.

  “You serious?”

  The man frowned, looking ready to throw something, but calmed when Reese moved him, settling him in a seat. “She’s not the kid running after you anymore.”

  Wilson’s expression changed then, his eyebrows lowering, his mouth relaxing. “She told you.”

  “She did.” Reese grabbed her drink when the bartender handed it over, and Wilson leaned against the bar, avoiding Reese’s arm. “She’s grown now and has very strong opinions about pro ball players.” Wilson opened his mouth but didn’t speak when Reese continued. “Opinions formed by seeing firsthand how you’ve treated your seasonal girls in the past.”

  “Fuck, Noble, you telling me Cat thinks I’m a ho?”

  “Wilson,” she said, softly patting his cheek. “You are a ho, my friend.”

  That hadn’t been much of a difficult conclusion to come to. Every game night Wilson left the stadium with a different girl. He was obvious about it, and word traveled in the locker room.

  “But Cat…”

  Whatever argument Wilson was going to make got forgotten as Pérez shot across the club, coming to Wilson’s side. The closer he came, the quieter the crowd seemed to grow. There was something in Pérez’s stance, the weight that held him to the floor as he walked across the club. He didn’t seem happy about whatever news had put that frown on his face, and he moved quickly, footsteps hurried, anxious. The man’s normally friendly, warm smile was missing and there was a wrinkle forming at the corner of his eyes.

  “It’s Pukui,” he told Wilson, glancing at Reese once.

  “What’s up?” Kenya asked, standing from the stool.

  “Just got a call from his sister in Hawaii. His ex got killed in a car wreck. Their baby was in the car with her.”

  “Ay dios,” Reese said, covering her mouth.

  “She’s okay but Puk needs to get there. He’s outside waiting. He’s a mess, man.”

  “Let’s go,” Wilson said, stopping Reese when she went to follow. “It’s okay, Noble. You hang around. We’ve got a little time between now and the playoffs, and me and Pérez, we’ll be back.” He looked to the end of the bar, frowning when he found it empty, then Wilson watched her. “Take care of…everyone and try to enjoy yourself tonight. You earned it.”

  Baker needed an Uber, and Reese waited with him, deflecting the big man’s winks and slow, drunk smiles that she knew meant something he was most definitely not up for.

  “I could do it, you know…all’s I’m sayings…”

  “I’m sure you could, on a good day, with the right woman.”

  “Aw, Noble, you’d like it.”

  “What exactly would you like?” Reese heard, staring up at Ryder when he leaned against the lobby door. Baker swayed in his chair, holding onto the velvet fabric of the tufted seat like he was afraid if he stopped touching that material, he’d fall from the face of the earth.

  “Skyrim,” Reese told him, twisting her head when he laughed. “What?”

  “Come on, Reesie,” Ryder said, stepping into the lobby all the way. “Big guy like that. Saving your ass on the field. Talking about you liking it…”

  “See, Glenn,” she said, laughing when Ryder flared his nostrils. He always hated it when she called him by his last name. She did it anyway. “That’s your problem. You think everybody thinks like you, and trust me, thank God, that’s just not the case.”

  “They do,” he said, standing next to her, then grabbing for Baker when he began to tip over. Together Reese and Ryder straightened the big man, avoiding the loud, smelly burp he released before he tilted his head back. “They just don’t know it.”

  “We’ll just have to agree to disagree,” she told him, head shaking when Baker started to snore. She adjusted his shirt, fussing over his jacket, making sure his wallet was still inside it and then turned, noticing the way Ryder watched her, how his expression was soft, his mouth lifting at the side as though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile. “What?” she asked him.

  Ryder shook his head, a slow movement that showed him to be impressed, but not surprised. “You are just amazing.” Reese’s mouth dipped down, and she felt the quick, hot rush of heat on her cheeks and up her chest. “And now she blushes.”

  “Shut up,” she said, looking out of the front window in an attempt to ignore his compliment.

  “You were fearless out there tonight. Such a fucking champion.”

  Reese looked away from the damp street in front of the club, surprised when Ryder took her hand. “What are you…”

  “I just…”

  “I saw Greer earlier, Ry.” She pulled her hand away, curling it behind her waist. “Not my style to mess with something that isn’t mine.”

  This time Ryder was the one shocked speechless. He moved to her, eyes darker somehow, his expression a little severe. “Let’s be real here, Reesie. If I belong to anyone in this world, you know it’s you.”

  Reese meant to respond, tell him that he needed to back away, that his words wouldn’t work, not as long as Greer was around, following Ryder around the club, shooting long, angry looks at Reese all night. It didn’t matter that Ryder thought he only belonged to Reese. Greer believed he was hers.

  “Mama…ow…” Baker said, jerking to a sitting position as his cell phone chirped.

  Reese laughed, nodding at the man, and Ryder approached, easing h
is phone from his pocket. “His Uber is here. I’ll get him out.”

  Reese tried not to laugh at the way Ryder struggled to get Baker into the back seat of a PT Cruiser. He occasionally threw her a desperate look, making Reese cackle with laughter, but when Baker needed a second to puke, Ryder motioned to the side of the building, catching Reese’s nod before he escorted Baker away from his Uber.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Greer said, walking into the lobby. There were two women near the front desk who walked back into the club when Greer glared at them. Reese got it. She was in control. She ran things. So noted.

  The air in the small room went cold just then, as though something dark and looming was on the warpath. Reese figured this was a predator/prey situation and she doubted Greer had ever been anyone’s prey.

  The smile on the woman’s face was wide, perfect, but there was no warmth, no welcome at all from her.

  “Ryder?” she asked to clarify Greer’s statement. The woman moved her head, a slow, almost-shake that looked irritated. She nodded, ignoring the expression. “Yes, he always has been,” Reese said, turning to look up at the woman. She really was beautiful, if you like the blue-eyed, bleached blonde, lip-filler look. Reese looked at her, concentrating on catching hints of a normal face, one that had been hers before surgeons and chemicals had worked their magic.

  “That’s right,” Greer said, stepping closer. “You and Ryder were at school together. Had your little whatever it was, and then he left you.”

  Reese didn’t answer. Greer was no one to Reese, and if she hadn’t revealed all the details about her life with Ryder to her friends, why would she tell this stranger anything at all?

  “Fine, don’t elaborate,” she continued, her voice getting deeper, like ice had turned her words into shards ready to maim and scar. “I don’t need a history lesson.”

  “Good. Because you won’t get one from me.”

  “It doesn’t matter, honey. Really. You’re his past.” Greer flashed another forced smile, too white, too even, and Reese couldn’t stop the cringe from moving her features as the woman’s smile grew wider, more sinister. “We.” She moved her hands down her ribs to rest them over her flat stomach. “We’re Ryder’s future. Back the fuck away from what’s mine, bitch.”