by L A Cotton
“He isn’t...” The protest died on my tongue. There were times when I did notice Asher looking at me with lust in his baby blues. But he was a guy and I was a girl. It was simple biology. Asher Bennet was a player through and through. The rumors I’d heard about his sexcapades were impressive to say the least. And he very much had a type. Much like the entire team.
And I was not it.
“I need to stop by the studio first thing. Coach Hasson and Mr. Jalin want to see how things are ‘progressing’.” She air quoted the words.
“Ah, yes, the Seniors Night portraits. And how are those coming along?” Hailee was secretive about her art, so the fact Coach Hasson had asked her to paint the annual senior football players commemorative portraits was no small thing.
In fact, it was pretty epic.
“Can I come with?”
“Hmm, I don’t know, Flick. It’s supposed to be a big surprise at the Seniors Night dinner.”
“Please.” I flashed her my best puppy-dog eyes. “The dinner is still three weeks away and I really want to see them.”
“They still need a lot of work.”
“Hails, they’re going to be great. Mr. Jalin and Coach Hasson wouldn’t have asked you if they didn’t believe you could do it.”
She gave me a weak smile, one that told me she wasn’t as convinced as I was. “Fine. But you have to forget I ever showed you. Because Cameron has been hounding me to see his portrait and I told him no.”
“Ahh, you love me more than you love him.”
“Flick, come on. I love you both. Equally.” Her lip quirked up.
Pulling into an empty parking spot, I cut the engine and twisted around to look at my best friend. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice nothing but genuine. “I’m sorry I almost screwed things up with you because of Jason. And I’m really sorry you had to see... well, that.”
A violent shudder ripped through me at the memory of Hailee walking in on me and Jason. The confusion and hurt in her eyes.
The disappointment.
Her expression softened as she reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry I freaked out. It’s just we’ve hated him for so long and you’re my best friend and I don’t ever want to see you get hurt.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Hails.” My chest tightened. “I’m a big girl. Not even the likes of Jason can hurt me.” But the second I said the words I knew it was a lie.
Because Jason had already hurt me. And I knew, given half the chance, he would completely destroy me.
But that wasn’t going to happen, because whatever was between us, the weird hate-lust attraction we had going, was over.
So over.
Jason, who?
“Holy shit, Hails. That is...” I had no words to describe the work of art my eyes were currently soaking in. It was Cameron; a painting of him poised and ready to catch the ball. Even through his helmet you could see his fierce determination, the way his eyes were homed in on their target. Nothing but him and the ball, off-page, hurtling toward him.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” I reached out to touch it, but she swatted my hand away. “Crap, sorry,” I said, leaning closer to get a better look. “It’s so realistic. Like I’m watching him move for the ball. Even his shirt seems to be moving.”
“That’s what I wanted to capture; the urgency of the game, the adrenaline and power.”
I glanced up at her, fighting a smirk. “Steady there, you’re starting to sound like a true fan.”
She blushed. “I guess he’s rubbing off on me.”
“Admit it, you love it.” Pre-Cameron, I’d had to drag Hailee to her first game and she’d spent the whole time complaining. But now, my girl was on the way to becoming the Raiders number one fan. And I couldn’t blame her. If I got to watch Cameron play, knowing he was mine, I’d be converted too.
“So can I see another?” I asked, eyeing the other canvasses, the paintings they contained all hidden with sheets.
“You really think it’s good enough?”
“Babe, it’s amazing. You’re so talented. I wish I had your kind of natural ability... at anything.”
“Flick, come on, you’re good at stuff.”
I snorted. “Hardly. Name one thing I’m good at?” Hailee tapped her lips, pondering it for too long. “See,” I added, “Nothing.”
“You like reading.”
“So does half the population.” I rolled my eyes.
“And you’ve been really good at stepping out of your comfort zone lately.”
“I don’t think they have a society for that at college, Hails.”
“You like lists.”
True. I did. Lists kept me organized; reminded me of things I needed to do. Lists for the grocery store. Lists of the celebrities I crushed on. Not to mention my senior year bucket list.
Lists made me happy.
“You’re right. I am an excellent maker of the lists. It’s an undervalued talent for sure.”
“Oh come on.” She nudged my shoulder. “You know what I mean. Just because you’re not really good at one thing doesn’t mean you’re not good at lots of little things.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” My smile was forced, the knot in my stomach tightening.
It wasn’t that I was jealous of Hailee, I wasn’t. She was gifted and I was excited for the Seniors Night unveiling. For her. But it only heightened my self-awareness of how lacking I was. It was senior year. The year of college applications and chasing future dreams. A future my parents had all planned out for me since the womb. They wanted me to follow family tradition; attend UPenn, get my business degree and work some white-collar job in the city.
Before senior year, I would have happily gone along with their plans. Because it was better than the alternative—no plan. But I was restless. A little voice whispering in my ear that if I went to UPenn and studied business and graduated ready to enter the big old world of white-collar employment, I’d regret it. It had been quiet before, easy to ignore, but now it was growing louder, a constant noise making itself heard.
That’s how my senior year bucket list had first spawned. If I was going to pursue my parents’ dream for me; instead of riding the bumpy road of uncertainty, I wanted to go out with a bang. Make senior year the best it could be.
1. Take up a new hobby
2. Cut class
3. Attend a pep rally
4. Skinny dip down at the lake
5. Fall asleep under the stars
6. Go to a party at Asher Bennet’s house
7. Drink (actual liquor) at Bell’s
8. Go to Winter Formal… with a date (not a girlfriend)
9. Hook up with a random guy
10. Fall in crazy messy love
I mentally recalled each item, checking the ones off I’d already completed. I’d joined book club, attended a pep rally, and partied at Asher’s house. Thanks to Asher, I’d also got mildly drunk at Bell’s. Number nine was a given, but I was considering giving myself a do over where that was concerned, because Jason was neither a random guy nor could our moment of madness be described as a ‘hook up’.
“Hey,” Hailee’s voice perforated my thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“Huh, what?” I blinked at my best friend.
“You zoned out for a minute there.”
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—”
“You didn’t.” My lips pressed into a thin smile. “Now what’s a girl got to do to see the rest of them?” I inclined my head over to the other concealed portraits.
“Flick,” Hailee groaned.
“Hails, come on... this is me.” I turned on the puppy dog eyes and pout again, knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist. But nothing could have prepared me for the next portrait, as Hailee pulled off the cover.
“Holy crap.” The words fell off my lips in a whoosh of breath. It was Jason, staring right at me, his dark intense eyes fixed on my face, arm hiked ready to rele
ase the ball. I moved closer, awed by the detail. The muscles in his arm bulging, strong and powerful.
“I think it’s my favorite so far,” Hailee said. “Which is weird considering I still can’t stand him. But he embodies the game. I think it’s his eyes, the sheer determination in them. Like he is the game. I never really understood his obsession, but watching him train, seeing him out there on the field, I get it. He doesn’t just like football, he—”
“Needs it.” I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I’d seen Jason play a few times now and it was always a sight to behold. But that was from the bleachers. This was intimate. As if I was right there on the field with him, watching him command the play, his team. A shiver ran up my spine and I sucked in a shaky breath.
“It’s great, Hails. Really good.” I tried to school my expression, but Hailee narrowed her eyes. Trying to deflect, I asked, “Who do you have left?”
“Jones, Merrick, and Killian. I’m almost done with the rest.”
“I can’t wait to see them all together. Coach Hasson is going to be blown away.” My eyes flicked back to Jason’s portrait, but I forced myself to look at Hailee. I needed to push him to the recesses of my mind; a memory I would only allow myself to recall when I was alone with a gallon of ice-cream in reach.
“I just hope the guys like them,” she said quietly.
“They will,” I reassured her. They couldn’t not. But as she covered Jason back up, I saw the way her eyes lingered on her step-brother. The wariness in her gaze. Things had always been strained between them and although Hailee would never admit it, I knew she wanted things to be easier. For Jason to respect her. Especially now that she was with Cameron.
“He’ll love it, Hails.”
“I don’t know—”
“Yes you do.” My lips curved in a small smile. “It’s okay to want his approval. He’s your brother.”
“Step-brother.”
“Does it really matter? It’s senior year. Soon we’ll all be going off in separate directions. But you and Jason will always find your way back to one another, because like it or not, you’re family. So yeah, it’s okay to want him to like it, and it’s okay if you want to try to smooth things over with him.”
“You’re a good friend, Felicity Giles.” Hailee wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tight. “And I promise to do everything in my power to make your senior year as awesome as it can possibly be.”
“Ride or die,” I said.
Hailee pulled away, grinning at me. “Ride or die.”
Chapter Six
Jason
“Yo, QB, check it out.” Grady flipped me his cell phone. I caught it, my eyes narrowing on the tweet.
@ThatcherQB1: Raiders better watch out, the Tigers are on the prowl #Tigersgohunting #Raiderscansuckit
“Doesn’t Thatcher’s cousin play for the Tigers?” he asked me as I handed back his cell.
Shrugging, I grunted. “Fuck if I care. He’s just bitter we put their asses in the ground Rival’s Week.” We’d played them a couple weeks back. It had been a dog fight, both teams refusing to roll over. But, in the end, we got the win, and Thatcher had gone back to Rixon East with his tail between his legs.
“Should we be worried?” Cam leaned in, whispering in my ear.
“Do I look worried?” Thatcher was clutching at straws. He couldn’t touch me on the field, and he knew it.
“Hey.” Cam’s hand pressed against my chest as I went to move. “You sure you’re good?”
“Millington are going down and I’m going to enjoy every fucking second.” I grinned, but Cameron didn’t share my enthusiasm. In fact, he looked miserable as hell.
“He can’t touch me out there.” My expression grew serious. “You don’t need to look so—”
“Grady,” Coach boomed, startling us. “That better not be a cell phone I can see on game night. Lock it away, Son. Now.”
“Sorry, Coach,” Grady grumbled, flipping me off when I smirked at him.
“Gather in, ladies,” Coach Hasson’s voice echoed around the locker room. We all moved in, dropping into formation around him. I kneeled, helmet tucked onto my knee, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
“Game six,” he said. “Win tonight and we’re only one more game away from securing our place in the play-offs. We’re the team to chase, the team to beat. But that doesn’t mean we can get cocky, you hear me?”
“Yes, Sir,” rang out, vibrating through me.
“Millington have a strong defense and a quick offense. Don’t underestimate them. I want eyes open, give Chase a clear path, and for the love of God, keep your eye on your QB.”
Our defense grunted another, “Yes, Sir.”
“Chase,” Coach said to the guy standing at my side. “You good?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Glad to hear it, Son. Anything changes and you let me know, okay?”
Cam nodded, his eyes sliding to mine. So much passed between us my chest constricted. He’d missed our last game due to his mom being in the hospital, but he was back now and he was hungry for it. I saw it in his eyes, knew I was reflecting the same back at him. We were so close. So fucking close I could almost taste it. Last year, we’d lost out to a shot at the championship but this year it was ours. Do or die, I was getting my championship ring before I graduated.
“Anything you want to add QB?” Coach asked me, his eyes conveying every conversation we’d had during practice this week.
Keep your cool.
We’re almost there.
Lead them to victory, Son.
Letting my eyes run over every one of my teammates faces, I said, “We do what we do every week, go out there and play like we want it. Like we deserve it. We’re Raiders. And what are we going to do?”
“WIN,” the roar of my teammates, my brothers, slammed into me, fueling the fire already raging in my chest.
“That’s what I like to hear. Asher, Son, care to do the honors?”
“Sure thing, Coach.” Asher jumped to his feet, bouncing around like fucking Tigger on steroids. “Who are we?” he cried.
“Raiders,” our voices carried over the rumble of the crowd outside.
“I said who are we?”
“RAIDERS.”
“And what are we?”
“Family.”
“And what are we gonna do?” Asher grinned at me, cocky motherfucker.
“Win.”
“I said what are we gonna do?”
“WIN!”
“Damn right we are,” Coach punched the air with his clipboard and yelled, “Now get out there and show me what you’re made of.”
As we spilled from the locker room into the stadium tunnel, we sounded like a stampede, an army rushing into war. Flames licked my insides; hunger for the win coursing through my veins. I pulled on my helmet as we jogged onto the field, crashing through the cheerleader’s banner like a powerful wave. The crowd was on their feet, cheering and yelling our names. The sheer force of their collective voices slamming into me. Whatever it takes by Imagine Dragons rose above the noise, igniting the whole place into a frenzy. This is what I lived for. On this sacred place, under the bright Friday night lights, I was the best. Worshipped like a god and revered like a star. I was an above average student, knew my way around an algebra textbook, knew my Shakespeare from my Miller, but out here… out here I was home.
I took a second, inhaling deeply, relishing the smell of freshly cut grass, letting my eyes run over the four-thousand-strong crowd. Four years, I’d played football here. Four years, I’d celebrated wins and defeats, although not many. Four years of blood, sweat, and tears. I was ready, so ready, for the next step in my football career. The NCAA. One step closer to the ultimate dream: The NFL. But I knew there was something about this time, senior year at high school. I’d grown from a boy into a man on this field and I would never forget my time playing under Coach Hasson, with guys I considered my brothers.
“Yo, QB, you good?” Asher yelled, and my head w
hipped over to him. I gave him a nod, jogging over to the rest of the guys. Anticipation rippled around us, the air crackling with excitement. It was addictive; better than any synthetic high.
“Hey, Jase.” Grady flicked his head over to where Millington were huddled. “Looks like you’ve got a new fan club.”
One of their players was glaring over at me. I stood taller, tipping my chin slightly, sending him a silent ‘fuck you’. He narrowed his eyes, pointing his finger at me before dragging it across his throat.
“Yo, Coach?” I asked one of our assistant coaches. “Number twenty-three. What position is he playing?”
“Linebacker,” he said warily. “Should I be concerned?”
“Nah, Coach. Just wondered.”
He gave me a pointed look. “No bullshit out there, okay?”
“Did I hear someone say bullshit?” Coach Hasson called us in. “Listen up. Millington came here to win. If they don’t, they can kiss a shot at the play-offs goodbye. So that means they’ll be gunning for blood. Your blood. You hear me?” We nodded. “They’re desperate and desperate men will do anything to get the win. Keep your cool and don’t get dragged into their games. That goes for you too, QB.”
“Yes, Sir.” My eyes flicked over to Millington. Like us, they were now huddled around their coach, who was no doubt telling them to use every trick in the book to get the win they so desperately needed to keep their play-off dream alive.
The referee interrupted Coach’s pep talk to inform us we needed to call the toss. I jogged out into the middle of the field with Cam and Asher flanking my side where we met the Millington players head on.
“Since they’re the visiting team, the toss goes to Millington. What’ll it be, Captain?”
“Heads,” their captain said, as we all crowded in to watch the referee toss the coin into the air.
Tails. Eat shit. I grinned at him and then at number twenty-three who had come out to support his captain.
“It’s your call, Raiders.”
“We’ll kick-off.” I wasn’t giving these fuckers even an ounce of breathing room.
“Sounds good. I expect a clean game. Captains, keep your players in check, and let’s play us some football.”