Unnecessary Roughness (ESC Mavericks Book 2)

by Alison Hendricks

His jaw clenches, and I can almost see him shaking from how angry he is. "This is because of Nate."

  "Yeah, Dad. It's because of Nate. It's all because of Nate."

  With that, I drop enough cash on the table to pay my half of the bill and walk out of the diner, looking only toward the future. And more specifically, how I'm going to fix all the ways I fucked up with the man I love.

  22

  Owen

  I stay at Reggie's place for the rest of the holiday break. He's got a small apartment close to the college where he and his fiancé normally live, but right now they're at her parents' place in Macon. Aside from their cat, Silkie, I'm all alone with my thoughts and the plans I'm making to get Nate back, starting with being open and honest about how I feel, and not letting fear get in the way of being with the man who makes me a bolder person, a stronger person, a better person in every way.

  Beyond that, I have no idea what I'm going to do. Some part of me wants to pull off the biggest teen movie cliché in the book and find a way to announce my love for him in front of the whole damn school, but I'm not sure Nate would be as charmed by that as the people in the movies are.

  Whatever it is, I have to let him know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he means the world to me; that I want to be with him for as long as he'll have me. This isn't just about sex for me--it never was. From the moment I first faced off against Nate on the field, I felt drawn to him. Now, years later, I finally understand why, and I'm ready to do something about it.

  I just hope it's not too late.

  That Monday after break, Nate still avoids me. He must be staying with Eli still, and again I think about going over there with my heart in my hands. Not like I've got a damn thing to lose that matters more than him.

  I finally see him at practice, and my heart thuds in my chest as soon as our gazes meet. Then those beautiful chocolate brown eyes that were once so warm and loving turn cold, his brows crashing down and making a sharp line of contempt. Maybe even hatred.

  Fuck. This is going to be even harder than I thought, but I can't turn back now. If he's not going to come back to our room, this is my only shot.

  "Nate," I say, my voice strained as I approach his locker. "I need to talk to you."

  He lets out a bitter laugh that tears me apart. I didn't know he could sound this... heartless. "Yeah, well. I need to get laid. Unless you're volunteering, get the fuck out of my way, Collins."

  This is the Nate I met at the start of the season. This prickly bravado that made me think this was all there was to him. Just some smug, asshole jock who liked to make sure everybody knew he was out and proud and taking dick on the regular.

  I can see past it now. There's a glimmer in his eyes of the scared boy he'd been when it all came crashing down in high school, and I want to reassure him with everything in me.

  "You don't need to do this," I tell him.

  "Don't need to what?" he asks loudly. "Text some random to come fuck me senseless? Wrap my lips around a stranger's dick behind the gym?"

  I know he's doing this on purpose; trying to make me uncomfortable. He's waiting to see just what it'll take to make me lash out, or even just walk away. When I don't do either, I can see the surprise in his eyes.

  But he still goes on, "That's all I'm good for, right Owen?"

  Under the harsh lights of the locker room, I can see the glint of moisture in his eyes. It doesn't matter that we're making a scene. It doesn't matter that guys are just standing around, watching us. I want to pull him to me, to wrap him up and hold him and tell him how wrong he is. How he's worth so much more to me.

  But the instant I start to step toward him, Eli's there. His big, broad form blocks my path, and he scowls down at me like he wants to break every bone in my body.

  "Step off, Collins," he warns in a low growl. "You've done enough."

  My instinct is to push past him, no matter what it costs me. To follow Nate onto the field and beg him to listen, if that's what it takes.

  But the look Eli is giving me and the pain in Nate’s eyes stops me cold.

  I did this. I hurt him like this. And me telling him I love him isn't going to fix it.

  I told him once he deserves better than some random hookup who doesn't even remember his name the next morning. I told him that because I thought I was better than that.

  But what if I'm not? What if I'm not good enough for him?

  23

  Nate

  Owen's big, puppy-dog eyes are making it really fucking hard to walk away from him.

  I hear Eli's low growl as I walk off, and some part of me wants to slam him into the lockers and tell him not to threaten my man like that; to have it out with my best friend who’s just trying to protect me from the guy who ripped my heart out.

  Fucking hell.

  I need football right now more than I've ever needed it in my life, and I'm glad Owen is banned from practice. I don't think I could handle it if I had to look across the line of scrimmage and see his face every play. It'll be bad enough once his suspension ends, but at least then I'll have some distance and this won't feel so raw.

  "Hey," Eli says as he catches up to me. "You okay, man?"

  "Yeah. Great."

  Not like it's hard to spot the lie in that. I don't feel okay, and I'm pretty sure I don't look okay, either. If I can't go out there and focus on something else, my ass is going to start crying like a fucking baby.

  "You want me to beat his ass?" Eli asks.

  "Just leave it. He'll get bored of his white knight guilty conscience bullshit eventually."

  I shrug, playing down how much it hurts to say those words and know they're true. Owen wants to talk, but all he really wants is to feel better about what he did. It's the same shit as before. He doesn't understand how he hurt me and he never will.

  And I just can't fuck with that, no matter how much my heart wants to let him back in.

  So I hit that practice field hard, even though I can feel him watching me from the stands. I run my drills, my legs burning from up-downs, my lungs exhausted from sprints. And when it's time to scrimmage, I play like we're in the god damn Super Bowl.

  Except the whole time, my mind's on Owen and the agony I saw in his eyes, like I was ripping his heart out more and more with every word. I follow the calls and run my routes, but it feels like muscle memory more than anything else; like my body's been programmed to do it while the rest of me checks out.

  In the back of my mind, I know it's fucking dangerous. We're supposed to be careful in practice, but a lot of the guys play as hard as I am now. Especially guys on the defense. Coach Redding rides them all week if they don't bring it during practice.

  I know all those things, but I don't put it together in the moment, even as a defensive tackle comes charging toward me.

  I should jump over him, or at least sidestep. Protect myself and the ball like I've been taught. But I just keep barreling down the field, until I feel my legs get cut out from under me and sharp pain explodes like a fucking bomb in my right knee.

  Time slows to a crawl, and I'm finally able to understand what's happening. Reggie dove at me, grabbing my legs to take me down. Only because I didn't adjust, his helmet collided with my knee, hard enough for me to hear a sickening pop.

  I crumple to the ground, the ball long forgotten; the sharp, pulsing pain in my knee the only thing that exists.

  "Fuck!" I howl, clutching at it as if that's going to make any difference.

  Players and coaches surround me, so many of them that I have no idea who all is there, except for one person. One massive guy who's shoving his own teammates out of the way to get to me.

  "Oh, fuck. Nate!"

  Owen. There's so much anguish in his voice that all I want to do is comfort him; wrap him up in my arms and tell him it'll be okay. My mouth moves sluggishly to form the words, but darkness cuts in before I can finish them, and everything fades away.

  By the time I come to later, I've got a lot of different images rumbling around in my
head. Owen kneeling by my side, propping my head against his leg. Him arguing with somebody about going with me. Him arguing again about being allowed to see me.

  As my brain hazily pieces together those images, I realize it must be delirium. Some weird, dream-like state I slipped into when I was in and out of consciousness from the pain. Pain I still feel, like a vice clamping around my right leg. I groan and try to move it to a more comfortable position, but the brace they've got me in makes that impossible.

  "Don't try to move, son." Coach's voice is familiar to me, and when I focus toward the sound of it, I see his concerned face. "I called your folks. They'll be here soon."

  That's just what I need, for my mom and Mike to see me lapsing in and out of insanity, having pain dreams about a guy who--

  "Why haven't they given him something for the pain yet?"

  I suck in a breath as I recognize Owen's voice. He's... here. In this room. I force my eyes open and see him wearing a hole in the floor with his pacing.

  "I don't know, but if you start shit with the nurses again, I'll throw you out myself," Coach says.

  He stops pacing and looks genuinely bothered by that threat. Then his dark green eyes rest on me, and he comes closer. Slowly. Cautiously.

  "Hey, Nate," he says softly. "Do you remember what happened?"

  "Reggie rammed me like a fucking... ram."

  Wow. Real intelligent. Have they really not given me any pain meds yet?

  Owen laughs, and the sound of it somehow cuts through the freezing cold room they've got me in. I start to smile, but pain stops me. Not physical this time. No, that I could deal with. This cuts a whole lot deeper than a knee injury.

  "Why the fuck are you here, Collins?" I ask.

  He looks at Coach Ladner who gives a slow nod. "Think I'm gonna see if I can find the doctor."

  As soon as Coach steps past a curtain that honestly doesn't give us much privacy to begin with, Owen talks.

  "Coach drove me. The paramedics wouldn't let me ride in the ambulance with you, and I was going to call for an Uber but I didn't know if I'd get one in time."

  Jesus. That image of him arguing with the EMTs... that was real? Does that mean everything else was real, too?

  "When I saw you go down..." His voice breaks and something twists in my chest. "I don't... Nate, it was the worst feeling in the world. I was so afraid..."

  "What the fuck happened to me?"

  All I remember is getting hit in the knee. Did I knock my head against the ground on the way down? Am I going to have to worry about a second concussion for the rest of my life? My heart races and my breath comes in shorter and shorter gasps, prompting Owen to reach for my hand.

  Maybe it's because of everything that's happened--and everything that's still happening--but I can't seem to manage the pride to pull my hand away from his. The warmth feels good, and the strong, solid grip calms my racing heart.

  "They need to do an MRI to be sure, but the doctor said you probably tore your ACL."

  Fuck. That's bad, but it's not life threatening. Not by a long shot. I let my head fall back against the pillow, my body shaking a little from the sudden adrenaline drop.

  "Then what the hell were you afraid of? You should be happy. With my ass on crutches, you win the rivalry."

  God, I feel like an ass just saying that, but my heart's still too raw. If I could hide it inside a brace like the one around my knee, I fucking would. All I've got right now are my words to push him back and keep him from hurting me more.

  "Nate."

  His voice is soft but insistent, and when I look at him, I feel my chest tighten. His eyes are glistening with tears, and I can see one slip free to trace a line down his cheek.

  My fingers ache to brush it away, but I just stare at him in anguish.

  "I can't handle your guilt, Owen. Please don't do this to me," I whisper. "Please."

  "It's not guilt," he says firmly. "When I saw you go down... Nate, my whole fucking world stopped. The only thing that mattered was getting to you."

  His voice sounds so earnest, and I'm having a hard time convincing my heart he's just trying to save face. But if that were true... why would he even be here? Why would he have raised such hell to be with me? He could've said something to me after the fact, when I was alone.

  Instead he just... acted.

  "Why do you care...?" I choke over my words, desperately wanting to hear the answer and yet wanting to be anywhere but here when he gives it.

  He could crush me, right here and now, and it would hurt so much more than a fucking knee injury. But I have to know.

  "You're everything to me, Nate," he says softly, another tear joining the first. "You've been everything to me since high school; I was just too much of a fucking coward to admit it."

  I just stare up at him stupidly, feeling the prick of tears stinging my own eyes. As much as my brain is trying to explain this away, to put the barriers back up, I can't.

  What he's saying... it's what I've wanted to hear from him since we started this. From the moment he told me I was worth more.

  "I love you, Nate. I love you so fucking much, and the only way I'm ever leaving your side is if you tell me to go."

  "Owen..." My jaw trembles with the effort to keep my tears at bay.

  "If you tell me you don't feel the same, I'll fuck off. I promise. But if you do... Nate, if you do, I'm yours. I don't give a damn about my dad or football or anything else. All I want is you. I want to wake up next to you every morning, cheer from the stands when you score every single fucking touchdown. I want to meet your mom and convince her to love me. I want..."

  The tears escape, despite my best efforts. All I want is you. I've wanted him to say those words so badly, and my heart swells to hear them now. To know he wants me not just to warm his bed, but as a partner.

  "I want..." Owen tries again, but this time I cut him off.

  "Jesus, you talk too fucking much."

  A slow smile spreads across my lips, and I reach up to brush away his tears like I wanted to do from the start. Owen laughs and sniffles, his eyes closing in what I can only guess is the same relief I'm feeling right now.

  "I love you too, asshole," I manage, my voice thick with emotion.

  My hand slides to his neck, and I pull Owen down to me. When our lips meet, all of the pain instantly fades away. Physical, emotional, all of it.

  There's only him and me and what we can be together now that we've finally stopped getting in each other's way. And I know--I know--we're going to be fucking unstoppable.

  Epilogue

  Nate

  Preseason Tryouts, Seven Months Later

  "You want a spot on this team; you better make me believe it!"

  My whole body's drenched in sweat, my legs and arms are burning, and my heart feels like it's about to explode, but I keep doing those bear crawls until the assistant coach blows his whistle.

  Guys are dropping left and right, wheezing from how much the summer sun has taken out of them, but I push myself to my feet on wobbly legs and down most of my water bottle in one long series of messy gulps.

  Fuck, this camp has been brutal. Weeks of abusing my body day in and day out, working my ass off in nearly 100 degree heat just for the chance of landing a spot with the Tigers.

  If I'd had any say in it, I probably would've given up after that first day. Not like I would've been the only one. Six guys just didn't show up the next day, then four the day after that, and two the day after that.

  But Owen wouldn't let me quit. He kept me company in the gym, getting up bright and fucking early to join me in conditioning my body so I could keep up with the pace of D1 ball. He made sure I packed away all the calories I needed to stay strong on the field, and even called in my parents for reinforcements when he needed to. Every time I told myself I couldn't do this, that I wasn't good enough to play in the SEC, Owen was right there to prop me up until I could see what he sees.

  It'd be one thing if he had to go through the same
punishment, but he's not even trying out. After a long talk with Coach Ladner--and an even longer one with me--Owen decided football wasn't the thing he wanted to dedicate his life to. So he transferred his credits to Eastshore, and now he's majoring in sports medicine with a special emphasis on physical therapy.

  All those months I was laid up and struggling to get mobility and strength back in my knee, Owen was my biggest cheerleader. He made the PTs go over my stretches and exercises again and again until he could help me do them himself. He's such a fucking natural at that stuff--at building me up enough to where I'm not even thinking about the pain anymore--that it just sort of slid into place.

  The day he decided to register his major was the happiest I think I've ever seen him. It didn’t even matter that his dad refused to help him pay for anything, or that he froze Owen out until one emotional phone call last week. It pissed me the fuck off, sure, but he just rolled with it and kept on.

  That’s why I'm out here, getting my ass kicked alongside guys who are faster than me, stronger than me, and more talented than me. It's intimidating, but I know I've got one thing they can't match. I need to do this. I need to make the team, because if I do, I know that will be the happiest I've ever seen Owen, and damned if I don't still love competing with him.

  The whistle blows, and we're hustled off to scrimmage, blue jerseys versus white.

  I go harder than I've ever gone before, imagining it's Owen on the other side of that line, taunting me with his irresistible grins. Every time somebody tries to fuck up my route or bring me to the ground, I just imagine they're him, and it pushes me to play to the best of my ability. Before the scrimmage is through, I've broken three tackles, pulled in an impossible catch, and trekked that ball across the end zone two times.

  I'm exhausted by the time the coach calls it for the day, but I jog over to the stands with a big smile on my face, knowing Owen's been watching me this whole time. I'm pretty sure he was never supposed to be in here at all, but I think he used his dad's name for good and got them to let him stay during tryouts.