Downed (Gridiron #3)

by Jen Frederick

  I flush, feeling about two inches high. Had I tried to sabotage Ace’s chances of being placed on someone’s draft board so I could keep him flawed? So he would continue to need me?

  Daddy pulls me against his chest. “Bryant, I know you want to save the world, but you can’t. You’re responsible for being the best you possible. Everyone else has to take care of their own house.” We stand there hugging for a minute. He pushes me gently away, brushes the hair out of my eyes. “Now, I got a game to run, and you have a sideline to take care of. Can you do that?”

  “Yessir.”

  “I’m not mad at you, Bryant. You meant well. Now, go on.” He gives me a little pat, and I leave with my tail tucked metaphorically between my legs.

  We win the game, but not by much. Miraculously, our kicker makes a fifty-three yarder, his longest of the season, to clinch the W for the Renegades. Every second up until the ball sailed through those goal posts was a nail-biter. Our boys played hard. They took and delivered brutal hits. They were pushed to their physical limits, and there were low times I thought the game would be lost. But in the end, they came out of the battle as the champions, preserving our perfect record.

  Afterward, I make the obligatory rounds—chatting with boosters, congratulating parents on how well their sons played, ensuring the scouts get transportation back to their hotels. Once the pleasantries are over, I make my way to the locker rooms. Ace took a scary-looking sack in the fourth, and I want to make sure he’s all right. He hopped right back up after hitting the turf, but from my spot on the sidelines, I didn’t miss the pained look in his eyes as he rotated his left shoulder. I know the team trainer and doctor wouldn’t have let him keep playing if he was seriously injured, but I still want to be certain.

  I’m halfway down the brightly lit corridor when a noise catches my attention. It’s a throaty female giggle, coming from one side of the fork in the hall. I frown, because I know Daddy doesn’t like random people wandering around the facility unescorted.

  I take two steps forward, but stop when I recognize a male voice.

  “I don’t think your husband would appreciate where your hands have wandered, Mrs. Winters.”

  Oh Lord. That’s Ace’s dad!

  What is he doing in here? And why is he with Francie Winters? Francie is married to one of our biggest boosters. Declan Winters is the VIP of boosters.

  Francie’s voice carries down the hallway. “Oh, he wouldn’t even notice. My dear husband is too focused on his own wandering hands.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Sadly, yes.” She giggles again. “Which is why I decided a very long time ago that Declan isn’t the only one allowed to have a little fun.”

  Ace’s dad chuckles, low and sorta dirty.

  Ew. Ew ew ew.

  I hear a faint rustling and then Francie moans softly. This is not good. This is not good at all.

  Spine stiffer than stone, I’m about to stomp forward. Extra loud, so the couple around the corner will be sure to hear me. Perhaps if I break this up now, before it gets out of hand, then nobody—especially Mr. Winters—will be the wiser.

  But just as I take a step, the locker room door swings open and Ace appears.

  “Bryant!” he says, his handsome face lighting up when he spots me. “You actually waited for me this time.” The last bit is said with a teasing note.

  I swallow, my gaze darting down the hall and then back to Ace. “I wanted to see if your shoulder was all right. That hit looked scary.”

  “Nah, it was nothing.” He flexes and rotates his arm as if to reassure me further. “Just knocked the wind out of me. Nothing for you to worry about.”

  Ace moves closer, his body lean and graceful beneath his dress shirt and trousers. His hair is damp from the shower, and he smells like soap and that woodsy cologne he favors. Normally I would inhale him until I got a contact high, but I’m far too concerned about the hanky-panky session that’s currently happening less than twenty feet away from us. Ace’s opinion of his daddy isn’t real high, and this isn’t going to do anything but feed into Ace’s perception that his parent—and, by extension, Ace—is a bad guy.

  I latch my hand onto his biceps before he can bend down to kiss me. “Let’s go back to your place,” I urge. “Celebrate in private.”

  His lips curve in a seductive smile. “Love that plan.”

  We’re two steps down the hall when Francie moans again. Ace halts, turning to frown at me. “What the hell?” His green eyes shift in the direction of the noises. “Is there someone back there? Your dad will shit a brick if he finds anyone fooling around in here.”

  No sooner do the words leave his mouth than the perpetrators round the corner. Luckily, they’re both fully dressed. But their clothing is rumpled and Ace’s daddy has his lips vacuumed to Francie Winters’s slender neck even as they walk down the hall.

  “Dad?” Ace demands.

  Mr. Anderson’s head snaps up. His eyes widen when he sees his son. I think I glimpse the tiniest flicker of guilt on his face, but it’s soon replaced with delight.

  “Ace, my boy!” Mr. Anderson marches over. “You played like a star tonight! Don’t you agree, Mrs. Winters?”

  Francie is smoothing out the bottom of her prim yellow dress as she joins us. “You were wonderful,” she agrees. “Bryant, lovely to see you! Have you done something different with your hair?”

  My hair looks the same as it always does—bouncy curls that cascade over my shoulders. But it is clear she’s doing whatever she can to take the focus off her smeared makeup and the red splotch on the side of her neck. Disapproval burns in my throat, not because I’m the morality police, but because…well, because marriage is sacred, darn it! I don’t like or understand people who cheat on their spouses. They took vows.

  “I got highlights,” I lie.

  “I can see that! They look fabulous!”

  “I’m glad we ran into you kids,” Mr. Anderson says smoothly. “Mrs. Winters and I just bumped into each other wandering the halls. We’re both lost, if you can believe it.”

  I don’t believe it at all. From Ace’s stony expression, he doesn’t, either.

  “I was looking for your father,” Ace’s father adds, glancing at me.

  “Daddy is giving his post-game interviews,” I reply coolly. I’m astonished by his blatant dishonesty. It seems to come so naturally to him. This is a man who lies. And lies often.

  “You shouldn’t be in this area at all,” Ace informs his daddy. His fists are clenched to his side. “It’s restricted.”

  “Ah, I didn’t realize that. Well.” Mr. Anderson looks at me again. “Sweetheart, would you let your father know I’m eager to congratulate him on the win tonight?”

  “And now that I see where the exit is,” Francie says in an overly cheerful voice. She gestures to the double doors at the end of the corridor. “I’ll be able to finally find my husband.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Mr. Anderson says graciously.

  Both Ace and I stare at the older couple as they hurry away. There is a good three feet of distance between their bodies, but they’re not fooling anyone. The doors swing open and shut, and then silence falls over us.

  “I can’t believe him,” Ace bites out.

  “Sugar.” I reach for his hand, but he shrugs it away.

  “Actually, I can believe him,” he says, anger coloring his words. “I just don’t know why I keep letting it surprise me.”

  With that, he turns on his heel and marches back into the locker room. I follow him without hesitation. Ace was the last player out tonight because he was consulting with the quarterback coach, but even if the room were full of naked, sweaty, showering boys, I would still be on Ace’s tail. He’s upset, and I don’t want him to be alone.

  In the main room, Ace drops onto the bench and shoves both hands through his still-wet hair. He groans out loud. “That woman had a hickey, Bryant.”

  “I saw.”

  “He gave it to her.” Ace looks ove
r in disgust. “They were fucking around before I got out there, weren’t they?”

  “That, I didn’t see. But I heard them,” I admit.

  He releases another groan. “He’s supposedly dating a neighbor, so if he’s hooking up with some booster’s wife, he’s cheating.” Ace pauses, shaking his head bitterly. “Hell, he probably never stopped. Once a cheater, always a cheater, right?”

  I take his hand and lace my fingers through his. “If it helps, apparently Mrs. Winters is cheating on her husband, too.” Why did I say that? Of course it doesn’t help!

  “It doesn’t help at all,” Ace mutters. “I don’t give a fuck what that broad is doing behind her husband’s back. I’m more concerned about what my father is doing.” His face suddenly pales. “Fuck. Isn’t Winters one of the bigger boosters?”

  I nod in confirmation.

  “Fuck,” he mumbles again, and I don’t chastise him for his language. I don’t particularly think he needs a lecture when he’s so shaken up about his daddy’s lecherous behavior.

  “It’ll be all right,” I assure him. “This is the South, remember? As long as the sin is behind closed doors, it’s all good.”

  “My dad just sinned right in the open,” Ace shoots back. “Anybody could have seen them!” He slams his free hand on the bench, and I flinch at the loud bang.

  “Why is he like this?” Ace asks me. My heart gives a painful clench at the helpless note I hear in his voice. “Why doesn’t he give a shit about anybody but himself?”

  “He…” I struggle to find the right thing to say. What I come up with is completely and utterly lacking. “His priorities are out of whack,” I say lamely.

  “No kidding.” Repulsion drips from Ace’s words. “He’s a selfish prick. He has no respect for me or my mom. And…” He trails off, and I notice that his face goes a bit pale.

  “And what?” I ask quietly.

  “I was just like him.”

  Ace’s expression conveys pure horror. His features become taut, his lips trembling slightly before he digs his teeth into the bottom one. He takes a deep breath. “Shit, Bryant, I was exactly like him.”

  I immediately come to his defense. “That’s not true.”

  “Yeah, it is. I was a creep at Western. I didn’t respect women, either. I used them for sex.” Self-disgust flashes in his eyes. “This one time, I banged a chick right in front of Lucy. Or, at least, I tried to. Lucy was so grossed out she took off and spent the night with her now boyfriend.

  I promised to give her a place to stay, and instead of being a good friend, I decided to get wasted and bring some girl up to my room. Hell, I didn’t even ask for that girl’s name. I just took her upstairs, fucked her, and walked her to the door. And she let me. She even bragged about it the next day, that she got drilled by the mighty Ace Anderson,” he finishes bitterly.

  I suppose I should be disgusted by his behavior, too. Or perhaps be jealous that he slept around so much at his old college. But I just feel sad. Ace had been following in his father’s footsteps before he transferred here. He was on the wrong path, but these past couple of months he’s completely reformed himself. Whether I had a hand in that, I don’t know. What I do know is that the Ace Anderson all those girls spoke about in the online forums isn’t the same Ace Anderson who’s sitting next to me right now.

  And I think he knows it, too.

  “I’m not going to be like him,” he says fiercely, and suddenly I find a pair of determined green eyes fixed on my face. “I’m promising you that right now, Bryant. I’m not going to lie or cheat or treat you the way he treated my mom, the way he treats all women. I’m…” He lets out another breath. “I’m ashamed of myself for the way I was before.”

  “Oh, JR.” I squeeze his hand. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “But I am,” he insists. “I wasn’t a good guy. I recognize that. And then I met you and…” Something akin to wonder fills his eyes. “You really have made me better, Bryant. I know I’m still an asshole sometimes, but being with you has been an eye-opening experience. You’re warm and honest and just…good. You’re a good person, Bryant. And you make me want to be a good person, too.”

  Something tugs at my tummy. I think it might be…panic?

  “I know I put up a fight at the beginning about this whole boyfriend thing, but I stopped fighting it a long time ago,” he admits. “This relationship is the best thing in my life.”

  The panic intensifies, so I try to make a joke. “Your perfect season isn’t doing the job for you?”

  “The perfect season is icing on the cake, but you’re the cake, which is the tastiest part.” He grins, and I manage a smile in return. Everything he’s saying right now is freaking me out a little. “We’re good together. You’re good for me.” He dons a contemplative look. “And I think I might be good for you, too.”

  My heart jumps into my throat. Ace’s eyes are shining and his fingers have tightened almost painfully in mine, as if he’s made an internal decision to never let me go. The other boys I dated never looked at me like this—like I mean the world to them. Like I’m…the best thing in their life.

  I tamp down my rising anxiety, working valiantly to keep my smile pasted on. All those etiquette lessons come in handy, because I succeed. Smiling and nodding at Ace’s declaration, parting my lips when he leans in to kiss me. I kiss him back, welcome the slick heat of his tongue, but even as desire unfurls in my body, it’s accompanied by a rush of fear.

  Ace Anderson is close to breaking down my barriers. One more nudge and I’m scared those defenses will come tumbling down. I’m scared I’ll let him in completely. I’m…

  I’m just scared.

  24

  Ace

  Whoever said success breeds confidence knew what they were talking about. With each successive win, the championship becomes more tangible. Everyone's walking around with swagger, even the ordinarily uptight Julio.

  I keep an eye on him, waiting to see if there's any further bad news about his dad. As for my own pop, we've come to an uneasy truce. He doesn't ask me shit about my team, and I maintain some semblance of politeness. I told him if I caught him around any booster, employee of the school or Bryant again, I’d ask the team to ban him.

  He still comes, but I don't take any more drinks with him at the Mansion, and I avoid boosters like the plague, even though they are thick on the ground now that we’re in the playoffs. Based on past experience, I know how quickly a good mood in the locker room can turn dark.

  If this is going to be my last season of football, I want to try to go out on a positive note. I'm never going to be the life of the party, but I'm actively trying not to be Mr. No-Fun or whatever the hell Carter feels compelled to call me.

  The only person who doesn't seem to be enjoying the perfect season is Bryant. There're strain lines around her pretty mouth and the light in her eyes has dimmed. When we fuck—err, make love—it's getting harder and harder to pull her out of her mind. She can be right on the cusp of an orgasm only to fall into some mental foxhole.

  She says it feels good, and I don't doubt that it does. The problem is that I want it to be great. I'm unsure about my future—whether there's football or grad school or some boring-ass job, but I'm certain about one thing. Bryant's the best thing that's come into my life, and I'm not ready to see her leave.

  Maybe my verbal diarrhea about how much of an ass I was before I met her is making her rethink dating me. It was the right thing to do, though. I’d spent a lot of my life doing the wrong thing, so being straight about my past isn’t something I’m going to regret.

  I cross my legs at the ankles and watch her stir the pot of protatoes on the stove. Carter and Zane don't want her to leave, either. They've gotten used to the Wednesday night dinners with Bryant.

  “You're making us cheesy potatoes, right?” Carter asks as he wanders into the kitchen. He's got his shirt off, again. He might not want Bryant, but he sure doesn’t mind showing off his guns while she’s aroun
d.

  “You bet I am.” She gives him a smile over her shoulder.

  Carter and Zane don't seem to notice that it's not as bright as her other ones.

  “Put a shirt on,” I order. “I don't want your chest hair in my applesauce.”

  “No can do. The man nips need to be free tonight.” Carter lifts the lids of the pots on the stove, inhaling as the aromas are released.

  Bryant bumps him with her hip. “No shirt, no service, sugar. No nudity in my kitchen.”

  Carter gives a loud, aggrieved sigh but does Bryant's bidding. I wait until his door closes before smirking. “You didn't say that the other night.” I set down my beer and come up behind her, sliding my hands down over the front of her yoga pants. “In fact, I distinctly remember you trying to rip out my hair by its roots and panting, ‘don't stop, Ace.’”

  Her cheeks burn. “I'm telling you to stop right now or there won't be another time you get your head between my legs.”

  My response? I reach down between those delicious thighs of hers and apply enough gentle pressure that her knees buckle. “Yeah, I don't believe you,” I whisper. Unfortunately, I can't take it any further because Zane and Carter appear in the doorway, appropriately dressed and ready for dinner.

  “What’re we eating?” Zane asks as I place the dinner plates, forks, and knives on the table.

  “Pork chops, applesauce, potatoes,” I reply. “Pork chops are in the oven. Zane, get those out. Carter, get some milk. Babe, what do you want? No grits, thank God.”

  “We don’t serve grits with pork chops. We aren’t savages,” Bryant declares, blushing slightly at my use of babe, as if the endearment is somehow the same as me ordering her to fuck me in front Carter and Zane at the kitchen table. “When will Mae start getting acceptances from med schools?” she asks as we settle at the table, trying to steer the conversation away from my nickname for her to something she’s more comfortable talking about.