Bragan Boys (Bragan University Boxset)

by Gianna Gabriela

  Chase clenches his jaw. “You’re going home,” he says, his words commanding.

  “No.” Kaitlyn tries to push past him but trips over her own feet.

  Where the hell did her shoes go?

  I hear a growl and Chase bends down to pick up Kaitlyn, throwing her over his shoulder.

  “Put me down!” she yells, hitting him on the back. “I’m going to tell Colton!”

  “Yes, please tell your brother how once again you got so wasted you couldn’t look out for yourself.”

  “I hate you,” she says, her tone resigned.

  “Me too,” he replies before walking them over to the parking lot.

  “Are you ready to go?” I ask Emma the moment Chase and Kaitlyn are out of sight.

  “Um, sure.”

  She’s nervous, and I get why. She doesn’t know a thing about me. “Can I ask you a question?”

  She nods, though the look in her eyes shows me she’s cautious.

  “Where are her shoes?”

  Emma cracks a smile, which turns into rich laughter. Pointing, she says, “She threw them over there.” Walking over, she picks up a pair of heels from the grass.

  “You ladies had a wild night,” I tell her as I follow her to the car.

  Peering at me over her shoulder, she murmurs, “You don’t say.”

  4

  EMMA

  I drive in the direction of the Football House. Zack’s sitting in the passenger seat, staring at me—taking me in—and it’s making me tense.

  “So, you’re Zoe’s roommate?” he asks.

  “Yes, also known as Emma.” I keep my eyes on the road and away from the larger-than-life guy sitting next to me. If I didn’t drive with two hands on the wheel, I’d probably try to pull the dress back down to try and cover all the skin I’m showing.

  “Wow, I just can’t believe it’s you.” His comment makes me take my eyes from the road to look at him, but I can’t decipher the look in his eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Why is this drive taking so long? Today has been more adventurous than I ever wanted it to be. I mean the party, Kaitlyn and now this.

  “Well, you look…” He pauses. I bet he’s going to say I look weird. Uncomfortable. Awkward. Every emotion I’ve felt since the moment I put these clothes on. I can’t pull this off as well as Kaitlyn. I can’t pull this off at all, and Zack’s about to call me out on it.

  “You don’t look like you tonight,” he finishes.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, but I bet my sarcasm will go right over his head.

  He shakes his head. “I just didn’t think… Maybe it’s because I’m still drunk that I…”

  I have no idea where this is going, but I press down on the accelerator to reach his house faster.

  “Maybe it’s because you’re drunk that what?” I ask, unable to sit and wait for him to speak again. The nerve of him to sit in this car and insult me when I’m doing him a favor. I should’ve said no when Chase asked. Then again, I don’t think I would’ve been as effective as he was at getting Kaitlyn home.

  Zack sits forward in his seat, drumming his fingers on the dashboard. “You’re just….”

  Again, he doesn’t finish his sentence and I grip the steering wheel. Why are football players such idiots?

  “I was watching you dance at the party. I didn’t realize it was you.” I feel my cheeks redden at the thought of someone watching me—embarrassed that he saw me make a fool of myself.

  “I…err…” I struggle to find the words to finish my sentence. I look at Zack—a giant in the passenger seat—and find him staring back at me. I shift my eyes to the road and let the lights distract me from the ever-growing awkwardness in this car.

  “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

  I shut my eyes briefly, wishing I wasn’t driving. If I wasn’t, I could run away or cover my face. I could do any number of things that would lessen my mortification.

  But I am driving, so the only thing I can do is sit here and take it. I wonder how far he’ll go. I wonder if he realizes the effect his words are having on me.

  I take a right turn onto his street and feel the relief start to build at the thought of him leaving the car. “Thanks,” I reply awkwardly.

  “Hey, Emma?” He says my name slowly, like he’s tasting it on his lips.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m really drunk, so I probably won’t remember this tomorrow,” Thank goodness! “But you should know you’re beautiful when you dance like no one’s watching.”

  Luckily for me, I don’t have to respond because I reach his house. Pulling over, I unlock the doors. Without a word, Zack removes his seatbelt and gets out of the car, waving goodbye to me as he shuts the door. I watch him stumble up the path before disappearing into the Football House.

  Putting the car in park, I hit my head on the steering wheel…repeatedly.

  I didn’t expect Zack to say that.

  I expected him to say a lot of things, but not that I looked beautiful.

  I thought his words would hurt and, while I sit here outside of the House, I wish they had hurt because that’s what I’m used to—not being good enough.

  Still, it doesn’t matter what he said because he won’t remember it in the morning.

  But I will.

  Raising my head from the steering wheel, I put the car in drive and head over to my dorm.

  It takes me less than ten minutes to get back and into my room. Zoe isn’t here, and I wonder if she’ll be coming home tonight. Stripping out of the dress, I start up the shower, needing the hot water to take the chill from my bones. Who wears short dresses in the dead of winter? Apparently, I do.

  I let the water run down my body and wash away my makeup—along with the memories of today. It’s not often that I find myself at a celebration like that. While it felt weird, it also felt oddly enjoyable. Until…well, the end.

  I still can’t believe that Kaitlyn parties this hard. If it weren’t for Chase stepping in and throwing her over his shoulder, we might’ve both frozen to death.

  You look beautiful when you dance like no one’s watching.

  The words assault my mind and I let the water hit me straight in the face, hoping it washes them away in the process.

  I’ve seen him around.

  The goofy smile. The red hair. The larger than life personality.

  He’s everything I imagined a football player to be like.

  He would’ve made my daddy proud—he probably does.

  I probably won’t remember this tomorrow.

  Those are the words I need to hold on to—not the words that made me feel like romance novel plotlines could be real—because they can’t.

  5

  ZACK

  Why the hell do I make poor decisions? This is the question I ask myself as I roll over at the sound of my blaring alarm. I pry my eyes open and look at the clock. It’s 8 AM. I need to be at work.

  I get out of bed, feeling the weight of my bad decisions crashing down on me. My head is pounding, my mouth like a desert.

  I should’ve stopped drinking when I felt everything around me spinning.

  I’m actually kind of surprised I woke up in my own bed. How the hell did I get home anyway?

  Closing my eyes, I try to gather my thoughts. Only one thing is clear: I need a pain killer. I head over to my dresser to grab a Tylenol bottle from the drawer. I take a couple then go to the bathroom.

  I move through my morning routine more slowly than usual. Before I know it, it’s 9 AM and I’m going to be late. Lacing up my shoes, I grab my uniform and stick it inside my bag. After locking my room, I walk downstairs and leave the House. It’s as cold as balls, the wind hitting me in the face, making me wish I could crawl back under my blankets.

  Sadly, I can’t afford luxuries such as eight hours of sleep a night.

  Well, I guess I could if I didn’t party as much—then again, partying is my escape from the things I deal with daily. When I reach the bus stop, I lower my
shades, adjust the ball cap on my head and sit down to wait for my ride to work.

  The breeze hits me again, making me pull my jacket more tightly around myself. Farther up the road, I see the bus coming. Getting to my feet, I wait for it to slow to a stop in front of me then step onto it quickly to get out of the cold. I greet the driver like I always do and find my seat.

  When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I take it out. It’s my mom.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she says the moment I pick up.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just hanging out on the couch.” I look around to see if anyone’s paying attention to my conversation, judging me for lying to the person who gave me life.

  “Congratulations on the win!” she says. She and dad rarely come to see me play, but they still watch all the televised games from home. I’m hoping to get them to go to the championship in Florida.

  “Thank you! What are you and Dad up to?”

  “Your dad is…” She pauses.

  She sounds strange. Straightening in my seat, a sense of worry takes over me. “Mom?”

  “He’s good. He’s just at work,” she says, expelling a breath.

  Something’s wrong because my mom, unlike me, doesn’t lie very well. “Is everything okay?” I press.

  There’s silence on the other end of the line, causing my heart to speed up.

  “We’ll be fine.” Her words confirm my thoughts: things aren’t okay.

  “What’s going on, Mom?” I ask, my voice sterner this time. I know she likes to shield me from the bad things, but I’m older now. I’ve been taught that life isn’t all butterflies and rainbows.

  “Oh honey, you don’t have to worry. You just focus on school and football.”

  This is the line she always uses, but telling me not to worry never works.

  “Mom, you don’t have to keep things from me.”

  “You need to just concentrate on school, sweetie.”

  “You’re making me worry more by keeping me in the dark!” Unintentionally, I raise my voice and I feel like a jerk. I just wish she’d stop beating around the bush, stop hiding things from me and just be honest. “I’m sorry, Mom. Could you please tell me what’s going on? I won’t be able to get it out of my mind until you do.”

  She takes a resigned breath. “Your dad lost his job,” she tells me.

  The news hits me like a ton of bricks. “How?” My parents both need their jobs. We’re dependent on all incomes.

  “They just laid off all the employees because the company is moving to a different location.”

  “He’s been there for years…”

  “They’re paying him for a couple of weeks,” she tells me, like that makes it any better. “He’s looking for another job.” My mom will forever be an optimist, always searching for a bright side. I wish I’d taken that quality from her because right now, all I see is dark.

  “What do you need me to do?” I ask, already thinking of the thousand things they’ll need money for. Bills—all the bills.

  “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. We don’t need you to help.”

  “Yes, you do,” I argue. My mom’s job alone is not enough.

  “Your dad’s going to get a new job and I’m still babysitting. Maybe I can get a night job too.” A night job? Seriously? My mom is a fifty-year-old woman who’s worked hard every single day of her life. A night job would be too much.

  “Mom, you shouldn’t need to—” I start to argue, but she cuts me off.

  “I might not need to. We’ll see what Dad says. Please honey, don’t stress out about this. Let us handle it.”

  My free hand curls into a fist. “I’m not a child anymore, Mom. I can help.”

  “I’ll let you know if we need anything from you. Anyway, I’ve gotta go. The kids will be here any moment.”

  “Alright, I’ll call you later. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Zack.”

  Through the window, I see we’re approaching my stop. Standing up, I place my phone into my back pocket and move toward the door. When the bus comes to a full stop, I step out, walking the short distance to the Forest Pines Plaza. Through the double doors, I head to the mega store I’ve been working at for the past three years.

  “Hey, Zack!” one of my co-workers greets me.

  “Hey, Lance. How are you?”

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  “Living the good life,” I tell him as I walk into the break room. I’ve got a twelve-hour shift today. Twelve whole hours of lifting boxes and sorting through merchandise.

  Still, what’ll be heavier than all that is the guilt I have for choosing to go to a school like Bragan University—an expensive, out-of-state school that only gave me a half-tuition football scholarship. At the beginning, it seemed like a whole lot of money, but as the loans continue to pile up, it’s starting to seem like it wasn’t the best choice for my family.

  If I were closer to home, I could see my parents more often.

  If I didn’t go to college, I could get a full-time job and help them pay the bills. I got this job because I didn’t want them to worry about sending me money for the things I need.

  But now, this job is important for more than just my needs.

  I’ll need to talk to Carl, the manager, and ask for extra shifts—anything I can do to help my parents out because if Dad doesn’t find a job, Mom’s income won’t be enough. We could lose it all.

  EMMA

  “Hey,” my father greets me from the other side of his desk. I’m in the Athletic Building, in my father’s office. I’ve been at this school for three years now, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been here. Three years. One hand.

  “Hey, Dad.” I don’t take a seat. Instead, I stand awkwardly in front of him.

  “Thank you for coming.” He signals for me to take a seat. I obey, cautiously waiting for the reason he asked me to meet him in the first place.

  He interlocks his hands and rests them on the desk in front of him. I know this is the stance he takes when he’s ready to discuss business.

  Is that what this is, a business meeting?

  “I’ve got two things to discuss with you.”

  “What are those two things?” I ask, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I readjust my glasses, bracing for the impact.

  “I checked on your grades,” he starts and I wonder where he’s going with this. “I noticed you have straight As.”

  “I have. It’s been that way for the last three years.”

  He looks down at a piece of paper in front of him. “Yes, I noticed that too.”

  I wait for him to continue, but after a few moments of silence, I decide to usher him along. “So, did you just feel like looking up my grades, or was there a purpose?”

  “You take an incredible number of science classes.” I’m a science major. I want to remind him of this, but I bite my tongue. There’s no need to give him more reasons to hate me.

  Drumming his fingers on the desk, he says, “I was thinking it might be good for you to tutor some of my players.”

  The words leave his mouth and it takes me a whole twenty seconds to digest them.

  “You want me to what?” I’m shocked he’d dare ask me for help after all these years of pretending I didn’t exist.

  “I think it might be good for you. You know, to help others.” Bull. That’s what this is.

  I scoff. “I’m not tutoring your precious football players.”

  He takes an exasperated breath. “Listen, Emma, some of my players need tutoring. One player in particular is failing biology. He needs to pass; otherwise, I’m going to have to bench him. I can’t afford to not have him out there on the field. I need him.”

  My father continues to explain how irreplaceable his players are and it’s funny how he doesn’t realize how much more he cares about them than he’s ever cared about me. Or maybe he does and doesn’t see a problem with that.

>   “I don’t understand what your failing football player has to do with me.”

  Dad gets up. “I already explained. I need you to tutor him.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I tell him firmly, “No.”

  “It’s not a question, Emma Lynn Wilson.”

  I stand up, frustration taking over me. “What do you mean it’s not a question?”

  “I’m telling you that you have to tutor this student.” His voice is stern and I know he’s just barely keeping himself from yelling at me.

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re my daughter.”

  I hold back my sneer. He wants to play the daughter card now? “I don’t want to do it.”

  “Don’t act like a petulant little girl.” He rolls his eyes after saying the word girl.

  “I have to focus on my own work.”

  “And you will. I already talked to the department chair and they’re happy to give you extra credit for tutoring. You know how important football is for the school.” You know how important football is for me are the words he stops himself from saying.

  “What if I don’t do it?” I challenge.

  He rounds the desk, closing the distance between us. “You don’t want to play this game with me, Emma. You’ll do as I say and that’s final.” His voice leaves no room for argument. I stop myself from crying in frustration because that’ll only give him more ammunition, more reasons to wish I’d been a boy.

  Boys don’t cry. Girls are too fragile. Too sensitive. Too much.

  He never wanted a girl.

  I give in. “Fine.” Trying to go against my father is a useless endeavor because at the end of the day, Coach Wilson gets what he wants. I turn around, ready to storm out of his office.

  “There’s something else,” he says, stopping me in my tracks.

  I feel a knot form in my stomach—he’s going to say something else I’m not going to like, I can feel it. “You start next week, the tutoring thing. Also, the second thing is your Mom is temporarily moving out.”

  The words leave my father’s mouth so casually that I almost think I’ve imagined them.