Just forget it, I told myself. Not gonna happen again.
When I’d finished with the HIIT, I stretched out my tired muscles and then sat down, my legs almost wobbling from all the heavy exercises I’d done in today’s session. My whole body burned, but in a good way; the kind of way that let me know I’d completed a good workout. Sweat glistened on my skin, and I headed back inside for a shower.
On my way in, I saw Charlotte heading in from the front door with another bag of stuff, and I almost called out with an offer of help, seeing as I was going upstairs too, before remembering that there was no point. Fuck it. She’d only verbally abuse me some more if I spoke to her, while looking at me like I was a piece of crap stuck to her shoe, so I kept my mouth shut and headed towards one of the downstairs bathrooms instead.
“Cade.”
I turned at the sound of my name to see my father standing in the main dining room.
“Yeah?” I said.
“I’ve been reading over the paper you turned in for your Poli-Sci 202 class last week,” he said. “It could’ve been better. You didn’t even bring up how the utilitarian viewpoint of—”
I cut him off. “Dad, I got a B+ for that paper. That’s not a bad grade. And what the hell are you doing reading over all my college shit anyway?”
“For one, it’s not ‘shit’,” he said, his lip curling with distaste for the curse word. “It’s your future. You need more than Bs to get into law school.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’ve told you, I don’t want to go to law school. I’m happy to do political science for now as part of my Bachelor’s, but that’s mostly a fallback thing in case I ever get injured. You know I’m only really there for the football.”
“And I’ve told you, it’s not up to you. I’ve allowed you to play that ridiculous game, even though it cuts into your study time, but you’re almost twenty, and you need to start thinking more seriously about your future. If you’re going to follow in my footsteps, then law school is the best path.”
I narrowed my eyes, wondering where he’d got it into his head that I automatically had to follow in his footsteps. Not all of us wanted to be a bigwig senator one day. “You didn’t even go to law school. You got a business degree and then started your company.”
He held up a hand. “Yes, and because of that, it took me years to get into the political arena, even though it was a lifelong dream. You have the opportunity to get into it all so much earlier, and I don’t want to see you squander it.”
I rolled my eyes, sick of having this exact same conversation over and over again. My father just never seemed to get the fact that I was serious about playing ball—it wasn’t just a hobby for me. I wanted to pursue it as much as I could, and I had my sights set on playing for the NFL one day. I was on a solid team at RMU, and my performance over the last two years had helped us secure a lot of victories. I’d even seen scouts at the games a few times, pointing at me and talking in hushed whispers. I wasn’t stupid; I knew it took a lot to get recruited by a major league team, but still, I kept my hopes up.
On top of that, I’d actually been offered a scholarship to pay for my degree if I played for RMU, seeing as it was a Division I school in the NCAA, so it wasn’t like Dad was even paying for my college studies, which he so often tried to imply by saying things like ‘I’ve allowed you to play’ and so on. ‘Allowed me’, my ass. I’d earned that scholarship money myself, through hard work and dedication to my sport.
“I guess you won’t be coming to my next game, then,” I said.
“Of course I’m coming. Wouldn’t look good if I didn’t, would it?” he replied.
I snorted. Of course. As a state senator, every public moment for my father was an opportunity to make himself look like a community-minded family man, so I guess it made sense that he’d want to watch my games, if only for the chance to be seen by community members who might have to choose between him and other candidates one day. A presidential election was actually coming up soon, and a few candidates had already thrown their hats in the ring. I was sure Dad was going to go for it as well, although so far, nothing had been announced.
“Whatever. I need to take a shower,” I said, cutting the conversation short.
“All right. Oh, and by the way, Charlotte and Evan have decided to cook dinner for everyone tonight. It’d be nice if you could help them.”
I grunted a response and headed for the bathroom, knowing exactly what he meant. He wanted me to bond with Charlotte, seeing as we were going to be stepsiblings soon, so forcing us to spend time together in the kitchen was one way of accomplishing that. There was no point trying to get us to be friends, though.
Given the way Charlotte treated me these days, that ship had sailed a long time ago.
***
“Could you please pass me the mushrooms, Cade?”
I put down the raw chicken breasts I’d been about to cut, grabbed the brown paper bag of mushrooms from next to me and passed them to Charlotte. She mumbled a ‘thanks’ before turning back to her chopping board and slicing them up.
We were making chicken cacciatore for dinner, and so far, there’d barely been a word spoken between us, which I was fine with. As long as she didn’t insult me or stare daggers at me, then I could tolerate being in the kitchen with her.
On the other side of the island counter, Evan was chopping some parsley, and he looked over at me. “Don’t worry about chopping the chicken too much,” he said. “The recipe book says that if we’re using breasts instead of thighs, then the pieces should be pretty large.”
“So you’re saying you want some large breasts?”
My little brother grinned. “God, you literally have the most immature sense of humor in the world. I can’t believe you’re the older brother.”
“Says the kid who’s still obsessed with rockets at the age of fourteen.”
“Hey, aerospace engineering is totally awe….ow, shit!”
I looked up. “What happ—oh, fuck. Don’t move.”
He must’ve slipped with his sharp herb knife somehow, because blood was spurting out of his hand and all over the island counter. I made a beeline for him with some paper towels, but Charlotte was closer, and she got there first.
“Oh crap, I sliced it right open!” Evan said, wincing in pain and clutching his hand in the other.
Charlotte asked to take a look, and then she nodded. “It’s pretty deep, yeah, but it’ll be okay,” she said in a soothing tone, patting his shoulder. “Cade, grab a wad of that paper towel, and hold it over the cut. Press really hard.”
I did as she said, and she nodded. “Yep, just like that. Apply a lot of pressure. That’ll help stop the bleeding for now.”
“He can’t hold it forever, though,” Evan said, wincing again.
“I know. That’s why I’m going to do this,” she replied, reaching into a kitchen drawer. She pulled out a clean dishcloth and held it up. “Okay, keep holding the paper towel there, Cade. I’m going to tie this cloth around his hand and tightly secure it over the cut to hold the paper towel in place for now, so just keep it there until I say so.”
With that, she wrapped the dishcloth around Evan’s hand and began to tighten it around it, and when she said ‘go’ I quickly pulled my hand away from where I’d been applying the pressure. As soon as my fingers were out of the way, she tightened the knot she’d made with the cloth, and it held the wadded-up paper towel in place over the cut, ensuring that no more blood would spill from it for the time being.
I looked at her closely as she tightened it further, making soothing sounds to Evan the whole time. Maybe I’d been wrong about her. She hadn’t turned into a total ice queen bitch over the years; look how she was treating my brother now.
Total respect and kindness.
It was only me she was nasty to, and there had to be a reason for that. Perhaps the little pranks I’d pulled on her back in school had had a worse effect than I’d intended, and she’d taken it all really seriously rather tha
n as the jokes they were meant to be. After all, young girls could be way more sensitive than young boys. I’d probably been really harsh in assuming that she’d simply overreacted to the whole thing, and I probably owed her an apology. It might not change what I’d done in the past, but it would go a long way in helping her feel better towards me, and perhaps feel better about the past as well.
Talk to her, the rational part of my mind said. Even if she still hates you, it’ll be worth it just to clear the air a bit.
Emilia and my father burst into the kitchen a moment later, having heard Evan’s shout. “What happened?” Dad asked.
“I cut myself,” Evan said, holding up his wrapped hand.
“I think it’s going to need stitches,” Charlotte said. “We’ve put pressure on it and wrapped it for now, just to stop the bleeding for now.”
“Thank you,” Dad said. “We’ll head to the hospital right now.”
“Can Charlotte come?” Evan asked.
“Of course, son.”
“And Cade?”
“I would, buddy, but someone needs to clean this up,” I said, nodding to the blood-streaked counter. It was a dirty job, and I didn’t want Charlotte or Emilia to end up doing it. “I’ll finish making dinner too.”
I watched them all head out of the kitchen, and Charlotte looked at me over her shoulder. Surprisingly, she gave me a faint half-smile, and I smiled back and waved.
I definitely needed to talk to her….I just had to figure out a way to say everything I needed to say.
Chapter Seven
Cade
“And it looks like the game is all but done, folks. The RMU Bighorns have possession and the Denver State Bears are out of timeouts. The Bighorns are up by 19 to the Bears’ 14, and I’ve gotta say, it really looks like it’s over, wouldn’t you agree, Stan?”
I took a deep breath, trying to drown out the commentator’s words. He was right; we were up by five points, and the Bears had no more timeouts, so it was looking like an easy win. The crowd was expecting me to simply kneel the ball and end the play to preserve our victory, but that wasn’t going to happen. We could score more points and really destroy Denver State, and on top of that, our coach was quite old-fashioned and hated the concept of kneeling the ball; he saw it as being unsportsmanlike.
He’d told me to call our standard Blue-62 play if this occurred, and our fullback, Ben Naylor shook his head as we discussed the play in our huddle.
“Don’t give it to me,” he said. “Just kneel it, man.”
“Coach Chandler was pissed as hell when I changed the play in the last quarter. Even threatened to take me off the field and send our second-string QB on.”
“Chandler’s a fucking control freak,” Ben replied. “Screw that. Just kneel the ball, run out the clock and call it a day.”
I could tell that he and at least half of my other teammates were on the same wavelength as the commentators—to them, the game was already over, and we’d won fair and square. Coach Chandler was a hard-ass, though, and I couldn’t be fucked sitting through another one of his stern lectures for not doing everything his way. I’d already changed things around a lot in this game and shirked his advice, and while that had worked out decently, I knew I was skating on thin ice with him.
“We’ve got a chance to really wreck the Bears, guys…19-14 is great, but we can do better.”
“Fine.”
Ben grunted his acquiescence at me, but I could tell his heart wasn’t entirely in it. As long as he continued to play well, though, his attitude didn’t matter.
We broke the huddle and moved to take our positions, and I briefly glanced out at the crowd in our college stadium. Charlotte was sitting with Emilia, Evan and Dad, and I could tell she’d been forced to come along in support. Even from here, I could tell she was bored as hell; sport obviously wasn’t her kinda thing.
The last week and a half had been interesting. I still hadn’t decided on exactly how to broach the subject of our past, so I’d been biding my time while I thought on the best way to do it, and funnily enough, she’d been acting quite differently around me even though I had barely said a word to her. She wasn’t being cagey or hostile anymore; she was simply being quiet and polite. A few times, I’d caught her staring at me, and on another couple of occasions, she’d approached me and opened her mouth to say something, then seemingly succumbed to stage-fright and mumbled something else instead—something generic like ‘nice day, today, huh?’ even though the weather had been shitty as hell over the last few weeks.
It almost seemed like she wanted to talk to me just as much as I wanted to talk to her, but she was equally confused as to how to start things off.
The play started, and I tried to hand the ball off to Ben. Unfortunately, looking over at Charlotte earlier had distracted me, and she was playing on my mind so much that I suddenly couldn’t play the fucking game properly.
I fumbled the pass, and the ball grazed Ben’s side instead of flying right into his grip.
“Shit!”
The Bears had chosen to blitz us as part of their defensive strategy, and with horror, I saw one of their cornerbacks snatch the ball up instead. Fuck. If I’d listened to Ben and simply kneeled it, the game would’ve been over in seconds, and we’d have secured our victory. Now the Bears had possession of the ball, and their CB was charging up the field with it.
Shit, shit, shit.
If he scored a touchdown and a try for them, then they would win with twenty-one points to our nineteen. I started running after him, but I’d spent too many seconds recovering from my shitty fumble, and it was unlikely that I’d catch up. Faster, I told my legs as I dashed up the field in pursuit. Faster!
Two of my teammates had reacted quicker than me, and that was our saving grace—they were already much closer to the CB who had possession of the ball than I was. Two of them knocked into him, and he fumbled the ball just as I finally caught up. Thank fucking god…
I caught the ball, then turned around and fucking legged it to the other end of the field, running it in for a touchdown. Our supporters in the crowd went wild, whooping and cheering, and the commentators crowed out our victory as we ran into the middle and patted each other on the backs.
“That was fucking lucky, man,” Ben said to me, his eyes narrowed.
“I know, I know,” I replied, holding my hands up. “You were right, I should’ve just kneeled it instead of calling that play. It was a shitty play. And I shouldn’t have made such a shitty pass.”
His face softened, and I could tell he was happy to hear my apology. A lot of quarterbacks were arrogant sons of bitches who didn’t like admitting when they were wrong, but one thing I’d learned in life was to admit when I’d fucked up and take responsibility for it. I’d well and truly fucked up today, and it had been a total fluke that we’d won—if the Bears’ CB hadn’t fumbled the ball after our teammates knocked into him, then I wouldn’t have been able to grab it and prevent their victory.
Looking into the crowd again, I saw Charlotte smiling down at me before turning to Evan and chatting to him. I grinned back at her and waved, and suddenly I had an idea.
We had a victory tradition for home games here, which entailed the player who’d scored the most points throwing the ball to the crowd. Whoever managed to catch it was allowed to come and meet all the players and hang out with us in the locker rooms for a while. Usually it was just diehard college football fans who wanted an opportunity to do so, or high school football players who wanted to hang with us and ask what it was like to play at a more serious level.
However, my plan involved throwing the ball to Charlotte.
If she caught it, then she’d have to come hang out with me and my teammates. It’d be a good chance for her to have fun and meet some new people here—she’d already started at her transferred course at RMU, but I wasn’t sure if she’d made many friends yet—and it’d also be an opportunity for me to spend time with her. Seeing as I was on a euphoric high from our wi
n, I suddenly felt like I knew all the right things to say to her to bring up all our shit from the past in a decent way, and I picked up the ball and nodded at my teammates.
“I’m gonna make the victory throw now, guys.”
“Sweet. Aim it at that hot blonde,” one of the guys said, pointing at a skinny blonde in the front row. “Wouldn’t mind showing her a thing or two….about the game, of course.”
I laughed, then shook my head. “Mind if I throw it to my new stepsister instead?” I asked.
“You have a new stepsister?”
“Almost. Our parents are getting married in six weeks.”
“Cool. Go ahead.”
I dashed a bit closer to where Charlotte was sitting. She was looking right at me, and I grinned.
“Hey, Charlotte! Catch!” I called out, before throwing the ball towards her.
To my horror, she looked away from me just before I yelled out the words, and she began to say something to Evan. Evan frantically waved a hand at her to try and get her attention, but he wasn’t as quick as the ball, which flew over and smacked Charlotte right in the side of the head.
Oh, fuck…
Chapter Eight
Charlotte
Son of a bitch.
My head ached like hell, and I brought my hand up to rub where the football had just smacked against it. What the hell was Cade doing? We’d been relatively civil with each other for the past week or so—well, as civil as two people can be when they are barely communicating with each other—but now he’d gone and ditched a damn football right at my head like some kind of maniac.
“Are you okay, Charlotte?” Mom asked, her eyes wide with concern. After bouncing off my head, the ball had fallen to the ground next to me, and some student fans were fighting over it next to me, as if getting the ball was some sort of achievement.
Tease - A Stepbrother Sports Romance Page 6
