Downed (Gridiron #3)

by Jen Frederick

  Samson, my left tackle, leans over. “You having problems, Ace?”

  I jerk back in surprise. “Why are you asking me?”

  He shrugs. “We didn’t have this talk before you came along. Plus, you had trouble at your last school.”

  I slam my shoes into my locker. “It didn’t have anything to do with booze, drugs or boosters.”

  “Girls then?”

  I grind my teeth together. Three lockers down from Samson, Ty is watching me. He knows. His twin brother and I were on the same team for four years. I might as well tell the locker room. They’ll either hate me or get over it. Knowing how much they love Bryant, this admission will likely result in them staking me into the turf if I ever cause a loss.

  Through gritted teeth, I give an abbreviated summary of my time at Western State. “I slept with the coach's daughter. He found out and decided he'd start a freshman over me. Now I'm here, their team has lost a game and we have a perfect season. Any questions?”

  Every single mouth snaps shut. Ty flips a hat out of his locker and hands it to Carter, who drops a fiver in it. “Nope. No one cares about what's in the past, right, boys?”

  No one disputes him. The hat keeps getting closer to me. I dig out my wallet. I have no clue what I'm donating to, but this is definitely one of those ‘if your buddy is jumping off the side of a bridge, you're jumping, too’ cases. I throw in a ten just to be an asshole.

  I wait for the hat to travel to the end of the locker room before waving down Masters. “What're we collecting for?”

  “You don't know?” His eyebrows draw together in confusion.

  “I wouldn't be asking if I did.”

  He studies me for a minute. “It's for Coach.”

  I know that’s supposed to mean something, but I have no clue what. Finally, Samson takes pity on me.

  “You know,” he says, “on account of his daughter killing herself three years ago.”

  I freeze.

  “Three years ago on Wednesday,” Travarius chimes in. “We always buy Bryant and her momma flowers and chocolate.”

  “Didn’t Bryant tell you?” Ty says. “She visits Ginny’s grave like once a week.”

  “No,” I say shortly, rage burning in my gut. “She didn’t.”

  Ty looks away, either out of pity or sympathy or disgust.

  I barely make it through practice without tearing someone’s head off. Either Ty says something to my teammates or they can tell I’m on edge, because everyone is tiptoeing around me. That’s perfectly fine with me. I’m one dropped pass away from losing my shit.

  Incredibly, the tension works to the team’s benefit. Every player is extra sharp and few mistakes are made. The coaches are beaming when the last whistle blows.

  I duck into the shower, slap some soap on my stinky parts, and am out of the locker room before the last straggler drags his ass off the practice field.

  Greek Row is on the other side of campus, a fifteen-minute drive due to motherfucking stoplights and motherfucking pedestrians and motherfucking construction. Jesus Mary and Joseph.

  I lay on the horn to hurry one tardy student’s ass across the street. This backfires because the student turns, stands there for five seconds, and doesn’t start moving until I put the truck into park and start to open my door.

  His life is saved when he finally moves.

  When I arrive at the AO house, my patience is thinner than a piano wire. I pound a fist on the front door until some blonde opens it with an impatient glare.

  “Yes?” she asks.

  “I’m here to see Bryant.”

  The girl takes one look at my stony face and slams the door shut. I probably look like a serial killer, but I don’t give a fuck. I open the damned door myself and march inside.

  “Oh my God! You can’t be in here,” yelps a girl from the living room.

  There’s a bunch of scurrying, chirping, and exclamations, but I pay zero attention to that and head up the stairs. Bryant lives on the second floor and my long legs carry me up the one flight in a flash.

  At the landing, however, I’m met with a long, narrow hallway and a dozen doors. I close my eyes to mentally orient myself. Bryant’s room is at the end.

  “Wait. Wait. You can’t be here. This house is for females only.” Some girl wearing a unicorn sweatshirt tugs at my arm.

  I glance behind me to see the stairs lined with worried faces. As I’m about to be dragged down the stairs, Bryant pops out of her room.

  “What’s going on here?”

  I jerk out of the unicorn girl’s grasp and plow forward. Bryant holds out her palm. “Ace! You can’t be here. I’ve told you before—this is a girl’s only house.” Her eyes dart around.

  “You and I have a meeting, remember?” Grimly, I push her back inside her room.

  “I was coming over to see you tonight. Didn’t you get my text?” Her voice rises, a quavery sound that I’m sure she uses to great effect with other men.

  “That was before I found out about your sister.”

  Behind me, someone gasps. Bryant’s normally soft, sweet face hardens. I kick the door shut, place my hands on my hips, and say, “Talk.”

  “About what?”

  She tries to paste on that plastic look, but I’m not having any of it. “Your dad gives a mid-week speech, which he never does. Then, after he leaves, Masters starts passing around a hat to take up a collection. Apparently, the team springs for a big bouquet of flowers and chocolates for you and your mom. Why’d I find out about your sister from my teammates?”

  Anger, or maybe it’s pain, flashes across her face. “It’s not important.”

  “Really?” I stare at her incredulously. “You visit your sister’s grave once a week. Fuck, I didn’t even know you had a sister, let alone one who’d died recently.”

  “She died three years ago. It’s not relevant.”

  I’m stunned. Bryant, who remembers everything about everyone, is telling me her sister’s death isn’t important? I’m still fucking traumatized by the fact that my old man cheated on my mom when I was ten. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

  Her chin pops up. “You don’t have the right to tell me how I should feel.”

  “I’m not telling you how to feel. I’m telling you I’m pissed off. You want me to spill my guts all the time about important shit, but I’m not worth you sharing one goddamned important thing in your life?”

  18

  Bryant

  Ace’s angry words hang in the air between us. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s pacing the cream-colored carpet, and while normally I’d shiver because he looks so gorgeous and primal when he’s mad, today I’m too blinded by guilt and uncertainty to notice.

  Is he right? Should I have told him about Ginny? In all honesty, I assumed he already knew about it. My sister’s death isn’t exactly a secret. Everyone on campus who knows my family is aware of what happened three years ago. Granted, Ace is a transfer and wasn’t here when it happened, so it is a possibility he might not have heard.

  And I didn’t volunteer the information.

  I’m not worth you sharing one goddamned important thing in your life.

  I bite my lip, my mind frozen on that one bleak statement. “That’s not true,” I finally stammer.

  He lifts a dark brow. “No? Then why didn’t you tell me about your sister?”

  I falter again. I can’t say “because it wasn’t relevant” again, because that will only make him angrier. And I can’t say “because it wasn’t important,” because it is important. Ginny was my big sister. She was a huge, vital part of my life, and her death has stayed with me for three years. I’ll never forget her or that moment when Momma and Daddy showed up at the AO house, took me to Momma’s sitting room and told me what had happened.

  Pressing my lips together, I sink down on the edge of my bed and try to make sense of my muddled thoughts. If Ace were truly my boyfriend, I would have told him about Ginny. But this isn’t a real relationship. I just want to h
elp him work through his issues, help him become a better man, show him that he does have worth.

  But me keeping secrets from him is doing the opposite—it’s making him feel unworthy. And…well, Ace is the first one of my “projects” whom I actually slept with. I kept an emotional and sexual distance from the other guys I helped because I knew I would be letting them go once the semester ended. I listened. I helped. I tried to ease their burdens, but I closed myself off from them.

  I bury my head in my hands, swallowing an anguished moan. Why did I sleep with Ace? Sex always complicates everything. I know that, and yet I still gave in to the attraction instead of keeping things light the way I’ve done in the past.

  Ace and I aren’t light. We’re heavy.

  I should have told him about Ginny.

  The mattress sags under Ace’s weight as he sits beside me. Long fingers slide into my hair, gently tipping my head up. “Bryant,” he says gruffly. “You okay?”

  Slowly, I meet his eyes. He doesn’t look mad anymore, only concerned. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just…don’t like to talk about it. It’s difficult for me.”

  The last traces of hardness leave his face, making his features softer, almost younger. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he replies, raking one hand through his hair.

  “It’s okay,” I say, and I mean it. Maybe I deserved a good yelling. This whole situation with Ace is starting to confuse me. I supposed I needed this wake-up call to tell me—or warn me?—that I might be getting in too deep.

  “I won’t force you to talk about it,” he adds. “But now that I know today is the anniversary of your sister’s death, I just want you to know that I’m truly sorry, Bryant. And I’ll be there for you if you need me. Whatever you want, I’m there.”

  My heart squeezes painfully. “Thank you. My parents and I usually have dinner to honor Ginny. Our housekeeper Marni cooks up Ginny’s favorite meal—candied yams, spiral ham, and almond green beans. And apple pie for dessert.” I give a weak smile. “Ginny had a sweet tooth. I swear, she would have drizzled chocolate syrup on her mashed potatoes if Momma would have let her.”

  Ace chuckles. “So is that where your obsession with baking came from? Your sister would tie you to the oven and force you to bake for her?”

  “Pretty much.” This time, my smile is big and genuine. “We would bake together, actually. Sisterly bonding and all that.” The humor dims a little. “I think you would’ve liked her. We were different. She was quieter than I am, more gentle, but she had the biggest heart of anybody I’ve ever known. She always gave people a second chance.”

  He narrows his eyes thoughtfully.

  “What?” I say.

  Ace shrugs. “I don’t know. It sounds like you two were more alike than different. Gentle, big heart, unlimited chances for people who might not deserve it…” He trails off knowingly.

  I place my hand on his knee and squeeze. “If you’re talking about yourself, then get that thought out of your head, sugar. You deserve a second chance just like everyone else.” A dark thought crosses my mind. “Well, maybe not everyone is deserving,” I concede.

  His eyes narrow again. “Who are we talking about?”

  I take a breath. I really didn’t plan on getting into the details, but something about Ace’s solid, comforting presence shakes the words loose. “Ginny’s boyfriend,” I admit. “Thad. He didn’t deserve all the time and effort she put into him. All the love she gave him.”

  A strong, muscular arm winds around my back. Ace pulls me close so that my chin is resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t push me to keep going, and maybe that’s why I continue. Because he’s not demanding answers. He’s simply there, willing to listen should I want to talk.

  “He treated her so poorly, Ace,” I say in dismay. “Like she was a piece of trash. Actually, no. He treated her like she was a dishrag.”

  “A dishrag?” Ace frowns.

  “Yeah. You know, something that’s just lying around. You can toss it on the counter when you don’t need it and forget about it, but when you have to dry your hands or wipe something down, it’s suddenly the most convenient item in the world. He would ignore her for days, sleep around with other girls, and then he’d call out of the blue and profess his love and tell her how much he wanted to see her.” I grit my teeth. “And she’d go running to him every time. If he needed a date for some fancy fraternity event, suddenly he’s showing up with flowers and asking his ‘best girl’—that’s what he called her—to go with him. And then the next night, he’d be fucking someone else in the hall closet of the frat house.”

  Ace’s eyebrows shoot up. “Did you just say fucking?”

  Bitterness clogs my throat. “Because that’s what it was. Thad didn’t make love to girls—he fucked them. They were disposable to him, like the condoms he sometimes remembered to use.” The sour taste in my mouth turns acidic. I’m furious now. “Ginny had to get tested for STDs after one of those bathroom encounters. He threw himself at her feet and apologized for being so weak and blah blah blah. And she forgave him.”

  “Why? Why did she keep going back to him?”

  “Because she thought she could change him, I guess. That was Ginny’s problem—she believed that everyone was good, deep down. That even a horrible, insensitive, selfish jerk like Thad Larson had some redeemable qualities about him, and I guess he did. When he wanted, he could turn on the charm like a politician at a picnic. He could be the sweetest, most wonderful boyfriend, bringing flowers, pouring on the compliments, treating Ginny like a queen.”

  Ace hesitates for a second. “So what happened between them?”

  “He crushed her spirit,” I answer flatly. “He toyed with her emotions. One day he’d be sweet and the next day, he’d pretend like she was the dirt under his heel. He kept hurting her over and over again until she finally broke. I told you, Ginny was a gentle soul. And she wasn’t real good at extremes.”

  “Extremes?”

  “Emotional extremes,” I clarify, trying to articulate who my sister was. “She couldn’t deal with the really awful stuff, or the really good stuff, if that makes sense. Like, one Christmas, Daddy and Momma got her the pink bike with the yellow basket that she was talking about for a whole year. She was ecstatic, Ace. I’m talking over-the-moon, pure joy, best-day-in-her-entire-life kind of happiness. And instead of jumping on the bike and riding it up and down the street, she spent all of Christmas Day sobbing in her bedroom.”

  “Why?” he asks slowly.

  I trace my finger along his collarbone, sinking deeper into his warm, sturdy frame. “Because she was so happy, and she didn’t know what to do with the heightened emotions. It was the same way with other stuff—if she was furious, she’d start smiling and giggling, because for some reason that’s how she was able to respond to the anger.” I shake my head, and my nose bumps Ace’s shoulder. “You know what’s ironic?”

  “What?” His voice is soft.

  “When it came to sorrow, she actually responded accordingly, in a screwed up kind of way.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thad broke her heart, and she saw it as a literal sign she couldn’t go on. She took her life. We had an extra two-car garage. One night when Daddy and Momma were out together, she drove home from college, parked the car and let the engine run.”

  “Fuck.” Ace gathers me closer, his hands gripped tight around my waist. “I’m sorry, Bryant.”

  “So am I.” My voice is muffled against his neck. “It was a sad time for my family, and it still hurts, but we try to look forward, not back. Except for this one day every year where we let ourselves be sad.”

  And my visits to Ginny’s grave. And the fact that I’ve taken it upon myself to redeem every jerk I can find.

  Lord. Maybe I’m not looking forward at all.

  The realization is so jarring that I jerk out of Ace’s grasp. But I can’t let myself think too hard about that right now. Not when his green eyes are probing my face as if he’s trying to burrow his way into m
y head.

  “Anyway,” I say awkwardly, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But it wasn’t because I was trying to keep it from you. It’s just something I don’t talk about often.”

  “I get it. And again, I’m sorry I stormed in here and shouted at you.” That piercing gaze softens in apology.

  “It’s okay. I should’ve said something.” I stroke my hand over his muscled thigh, reveling in its strength. “We okay?”

  His chin drops slightly. “Yeah. I guess I felt…left out. All the guys knew about it, and I was out of the loop.” This time, it’s his tone that’s lined with bitterness. “I’m always out of the loop.”

  It’s my turn to study his face. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  “JR.”

  He heaves a sigh. “It’s stupid, okay? I’m just being a chick about it.”

  I smile. “And what are you being a chick about?”

  “My teammates don’t like me,” he blurts out.

  “That’s not true,” I say immediately.

  He gives me a knowing look. “You’re not in that locker room with me, Bryant. And you’re not at practice or on the bus with us.” His shoulders sag in defeat. “They don’t invite me out with them. They don’t really talk to me unless you’re around. My roommates go running and don’t bother to ask me to join them. I made breakfast for them and they walked right past it.”

  Sympathy fills my tummy. “Oh, sugar.” I reach over and take both his hands in mine. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugs again. “Whatever. It’s not a big deal. As long as they trust me on the field, I don’t give a shit if they want to be my friend.”

  But he does care. This is hurting him. I raise one hand and use my thumb to smooth out the deep crease in his forehead. Poor man. He’s been at Southern since the summer and his teammates still haven’t warmed up to him?

  Well. We can’t have that.

  “Anyway,” he says flippantly, as if he’s not at all upset when we both know he is. “I’m glad you told me about Ginny. I appreciate it.”

  I nod slowly. “And I appreciate how open you are with me, too. I really mean that.”