The First Score: A Best Friend's Brother Sports Romance

by Amie Knight

  I closed the distance between us, knowing it had to be me this time. It was my turn. He deserved it. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” I cried into his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry. I was just so scared.”

  “Shhh,” he quieted me, backing out of our embrace so he could wrap his hands along my jaw and wipe my tears with his thumbs. “I know. It’s okay. We’re okay. You just have to trust me when you’re scared. Okay?”

  I nodded, laying my forehead to his. “I love you, too, Winnie. I hope you know that. And I think I’ve loved you just as long as you have loved me.”

  He pressed his lips to mine in a sweet closed mouth kiss as my tears wet his cheeks.

  He pulled back and smiled down at me before standing up. “Come on. Let’s get you off this floor.” He picked me up and carried me over to the recliner next to Pops’s bed and he sat in it, me in his lap.

  I snuggled into him and watched Pops, willing for him to wake up and talk to me. I was scared and terrified, but sitting in Oliver’s lap with my head on his chest things didn’t feel so hopeless.

  One Year Later

  “Oh my Gosh, Winnie! I’m so damn excited!” We stood on the porch, the key to our brand-new home in Oliver’s hand. “Open it up already!”

  We’d just come from the closing on our first home together. After living the last year in Pops’s and my small duplex, we were beyond excited for more house and more land.

  He turned the key and we stepped inside, the scent of the brand-new house filling our nostrils. It was a three-bedroom house with a giant kitchen that I was going to have to learn to use soon.

  I stood in the middle of the empty living room and spun in a circle. “I love it so much and it’s all ours!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the empty space.

  Oliver joined me in the middle of the room and wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my lips hard.

  We were so fortunate to be so young and be able to buy this beautiful home. Lucky for us, Oliver got a great job with his favorite college football team. He was working for his alma mater as head athletic trainer. And while I was still working for Level Up, I’d managed to finally step out of my comfort zone and sell Hadrian’s Wall to a major video game developer and I was under contract to make another. Money was starting to roll in.

  Life was good.

  “I can’t wait to christen every surface of this place,” Oliver said against my lips.

  I couldn’t wait either.

  “We should check on the kids first,” I said and Oliver snickered.

  We headed out the back door onto a beautiful screened-in porch. We opened the door off the porch and went down into a stunning wooded lot that spanned about three acres.

  “God, it’s gorgeous out here,” Oliver said as we walked about a hundred feet from our home to the little cottage right behind it.

  I took a moment to look around, thinking how good this would be for me. The space, the trees, the wilderness. I’d been seeing a therapist for almost a year now. I’d learned a lot about self-harm and I was making great strides and my coping skills were growing by leaps and bounds, but I was under no delusion that I wouldn’t always need help. I had to stay on top of my mental health and this oasis was just what the doctor ordered.

  Oliver grinned at me as he knocked on the door to the cottage.

  “Come in,” Amor called. We walked into the little house built specifically for Pops and Amor. It had a full white, gleaming kitchen and beautiful gray wood floors and two bedrooms. Ya know, in case she ever got sick of his crazy ass and wanted to take a break.

  “What do you think?” I asked Pops, who was standing in the middle of the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

  “It’ll do,” he said, all tough guy.

  He’d woken up an excruciating forty-eight hours after I’d found him that day. After a month of rehab, he was fit as a fiddle again. And I was staying on him every minute about his diabetes, which he hated. But I didn’t care. I’d do anything to keep him around longer.

  “That’s all you got to say?” I asked. I motioned to outside with my hand. “Look at all that land, Pops. Think of all the gardening we can do. All the sheds we can build. Aren’t you excited?”

  Looking thoughtful, he said, “Yeah, but I’m gonna miss my old place.”

  I was going to miss it, too. There were so many good memories there. But it was too small for all of us and I wasn’t willing to let any one of them go. So, here we were. Just us four.

  I hadn’t heard from my mother after that day in the diner. After Pops was finally well enough where I felt he could handle the news, I told him. He’d been sad but said that he wasn’t surprised. Turned out, every time she’d come to “see us” she’d hit him up for money. The dumb bitch. She didn’t know what she was missing.

  “Am I gonna have to let you grow pot to make you happy?”

  He chuckled. “No, I’m always happy if I’m with you. I go where you go, missy, you know that. Besides, I gotta make sure this one treats you right.” He nodded to Oliver.

  Oliver just shook his head and laughed.

  After Pops’s stay in the hospital, Oliver broke his lease on his apartment and moved in with us. I needed help with Pops when he came home and Amor was too old to help with the heavy lifting. Six months after that and when Pops was well enough to travel, we took Amor and him to Vegas with us. And Oliver and I eloped in front of a really bad Elvis impersonator. It was my kind of wedding. Fast, funny, memorable. I didn’t need a fancy dress or flowers. I just needed my Winnie.

  We walked back outside and Pops and Amor followed us. We stood and looked at the back of our dream home.

  “What’d ya need such a big place for anyway? There’s just two of you,” Pops questioned.

  It wasn’t just for us. I knew that Luk and Scarlett and baby Nelson would enjoy this big backyard out in the country, too. But the truth was our family would be growing soon.

  “Well, see,” I said, turning and standing in front of everyone with my back to the house. I placed my hands on my still flat stomach. “There isn’t just two of us anymore.” I looked from Oliver to Pops, the happy shock on their faces causing my eyes to tear up. “I’m pregnant.”

  “What?” Oliver breathed. “I’m going to be a dad.” And he would be the best dad in the world. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.

  “I’m going to be a Great Pops! Can you believe it?” Pops asked Amor and gave her a big hug.

  It was true. He was going to be the absolute greatest pops ever.

  The world needs your presence, not your perfection.

  Mental Illness just isn’t handled the way it should be in this country. But if it’s important to you, like it’s important to me, this charity seems pretty awesome. And Hazel would approve.

  To Write Love On Her Arms

  twloha.com

  Haven't read Scarlett and Luk's story yet? Keeping reading for a sneak peek.

  Sneak Peek of The Red Zone

  Sometimes when I lay in bed at night that fateful day raced through my mind over and over again. On repeat. And this night was no different. Sweat would bead on my forehead and my heart would race.

  I may have been in my hometown of Summerville, Alabama, but my mind, it was in Florida. It was the best game of my career and the worst day of my life simultaneously. It haunted me. I thought I’d relive it as long as I walked this earth.

  I was at the top of my game, the height of a career I’d been building on since peewee football when my mom had to help me into my pads.

  My mom.

  Just thinking about her sent a pang of sadness through me that was indescribable. Unimaginable. We’d been beyond close, best friends even.

  That pang had never stopped and that day never failed to flit through my mind like an old movie reel, flashes of light, quietly speaking voices. It always started with me playing the best game I’d ever played.

  I was on the field, sweat thick and slick und
er my helmet. The smell of fresh grass heavy in the air and on my dirty uniform. The clock was counting down and we were there, right in the red zone. I could smell victory. Because that day I’d played one hell of a game. We were in the fourth quarter and the pressure was on and damn if I wasn’t excited because the fourth quarter was my fucking jam. I was what my team called a fourth quarter player and when I was in the red zone I was even better. They didn’t call me Lukas “Last Minute Lucy” for nothing. I could pull a game out of my ass at the last minute like a magician could produce a rabbit from a hat.

  I surveyed the field and checked the defensive formation, made the count, and the center snapped the ball back. I faked left, made like I was going to pass, but saw a hole in the other team’s defense and ran like the wind. I was fast. Twenty yard line. Ten yard line. I felt a hand on my ankle as I landed in the end zone, but it didn’t stop me. I lay there, my smile big behind my mouthguard.

  We’d won, which was no surprise to me. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind we were headed straight for the Super Bowl that year. We’d had a killer season, after all.

  The after game festivities were as usual with interviews and fans and autographs. I distinctly remembered looking up in the stands that day after the game where my momma and Ella usually sat when we played at home. She’d told me the week before she wouldn’t make it since Ella had a school dance that weekend.

  The locker room was loud with the aftermath of a hell of a game. I barely heard my cell phone ringing from my locker after I showered. I didn’t recognize the number, so I almost didn’t even answer it, but some unknown force implored me to. I lifted it to my ear while drying my hair with a towel.

  “Hello.”

  Jones, one of our linebackers, gave me a slap on the ass and I waved him off with my middle finger and a smile.

  “Luk,” a soft female voice said from the phone.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Aunt Merline.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and I could hear it trembling with emotion.

  And this feeling came over me. It was like I knew. My stomach dropped. My face felt hot and my hand shook around the phone I held tightly to my ear.

  I swallowed hard. “What’s wrong?”

  She was my mother’s sister, but she never called me. Sure, I saw her when I went home for holidays and breaks, but that was the extent of our relationship.

  She gasped and hiccupped out a sob that I felt in the deepest, darkest depths of my soul. “It’s your momma, baby.”

  My head shook of its own accord. No. There couldn’t be anything wrong with my momma. I’d just talked to her on the phone right before the game. She’d called and told me to break a leg as usual. She was a drama geek and I was a football player, so I informed her like I always did that you never said that to a quarterback. She’d laughed the way she always had. Carefree. Like she didn’t have a care in the world when she shouldered more than most people could. But that was just my momma. Amazing.

  It couldn’t be. Aunt Merline was wrong. She had to be. Just no. She and Ella were all I had left. Them and football. That was my life.

  “No.” It was a whisper, a plea, a prayer. I’d already lost my father to a drunk driver when I was fourteen. How could my mother be gone now, too?

  “It was a heart attack. Instantaneous. She didn’t suffer. It was quick.”

  Why did people say that? That they didn’t suffer. Was that supposed to make me feel better? Make me feel like a pivotal part of me wasn’t missing? My eyes stung. My chest burned. I dropped the towel from my hand and placed my palm there right over my heart, where it hurt the worst.

  I leaned into my locker, my head nearly inside. I didn’t want to be here in this room. I needed to be alone. A lone tear slipped down my cheek and my jaw worked, but nothing came out. What could I say?

  “You there?” Aunt Merline croaked out.

  I took a deep breath that felt like I was inhaling water instead of air and swallowed again, because there was a question I desperately needed the answer to.

  I pushed the words out that my body wanted to hold hostage even as my brain was screaming them. “How’s Ells?”

  A deep sigh came from the other end of the line. “I don’t know if she gets it. I don’t know if she understands, Luk.” Silence was heavy over the phone until she finally said, “I think you better come home.”

  And that was that. It was the beginning of the end for me really. I’d leave behind my team and the Super Bowl ring in exchange for a mediocre team closer to my hometown and much farther away from my dreams.

  I always knew what would happen when my momma passed. I’d get Ella. After all, she’d never be able to live on her own and I’d rather die than see her in one of those homes. She needed me and I needed her. And as I lay here at night, I couldn’t help but think of how I was failing her. It’d only been two months since my mother died. Since I’d been traded to the Alabama Cougars. Since I’d been juggling more than I could handle. I felt like I was drowning every day. So I swam. And swam and swam. Against the tide, into waves that knocked me clear over and took me right back to shore, and still I tried again.

  I did it for her, the little girl who had stolen my breath from the beginning of her life. I’d been fourteen when they’d told my mom she was having a girl. It had felt like fate to Momma and me. Daddy had left us the greatest gift before he’d passed.

  My momma had sat me down with tears shining in her eyes and explained that our lives were going to change forever and not just because she was having another baby. No, this baby would have a genetic disorder called Down syndrome and she’d need extra attention and care and most importantly love. And God, did we love her. She was the shining light in all of my grim days since my mom had passed.

  And I’d never give her up. I’d swim and drown. I’d jump and I’d fall. I’d try and I’d fail. But I’d just keep going. For her. Because Ella was my everything even when I felt like I had nothing.

  I pulled down the flap-doohickey sun blocker thingy and looked at myself in the car mirror. Oh, sweet baby Jesus. My usual wavy, red tendrils were more like frizzy, red snakes at this point, but that was the price you had to pay for not remembering to set your alarm clock the morning before you had to be at work early. My vibrant green eyes shot daggers back at me from the mirror. And crap, but I had parent/teacher conferences today. My poor parents were just going to have to suffer right along with me. Did they think I liked looking like this? Just as I flipped the doohickey back up to the roof of the car, the car behind me honked and my foot came off the brake in shock before I stomped it back down. And that’s when I felt it; the warm, wet feeling of my still hot coffee that was sitting in the console, in my pretty Ms. Knox tumbler Alex had given me for Christmas last year, soaking into the cream linen of my nice work pants. Oh. My. God. This could not be happening and why the hell did that car honk at me? I frantically searched for a napkin or anything to try to clean up the mess and came up empty.

  Morning traffic was still at a dead stop in front of me, so I rolled down my car window and leaned my head out, fluffy red clown hair and all.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled at the man in a black Lexus SUV behind me. I already knew what was wrong with him. He was a pompous, entitled asshole and I could tell from his flashy car alone.

  His window came down and his head popped out, expensive sunglasses covering his eyes. I couldn’t get a good look at him, but I was sure he was good-looking like most men who acted like douches. “You need to be watching the road instead of giving yourself a look over in the mirror, sweetheart,” he snapped.

  I pulled my fluffy head back into the car in complete shock. Oh no, he didn’t. I had half a mind to get out of the car and charge over to his window and scream in his face like a banshee. What the hell did it matter if I checked my face in the mirror when traffic was stopped? And where the hell did he get off calling me sweetheart? Freaking lunatic. God, I wanted to get out of my car and give him a piece of my
mind. My face was hot with anger and I sure was fired up. My mother referred to these tendencies and outbursts as my redheadedness. Her mother had been born with this affliction as well. And when my redheadedness wanted to come out there was no stopping it. Well, there was. Today what stopped it was warm coffee crawling up my butt crack.

  I pushed my head out of the window again with the strength of a gale force wind. “I’m not your sweetheart! You turd!” I yelled before I rolled the window back up of my small, blue Mazda 3 and ground my teeth. Traffic started moving in front of me, thank the sweet Lord, because I was only two seconds away from a full-on hissy fit. Yet another symptom of my redheadedness.

  I cranked up the radio, blasting “Little Red Corvette” because in my mind there wasn’t anything that a little Prince couldn’t fix. Traffic had only made me slightly late for school. I was only a bit behind my usual schedule, so I was still in before the students and I dashed through the hallways of The Cottage School. I darted in and out of dark corners as I practically ran to my classroom like a secret agent. In my head Mission Impossible music played in the background as I darted and weaved, determined for no one to see my coffee pants.

  I made it to my room with time to spare and ran to the supply closet in the corner behind my desk for a change of clothes. When you taught children with special needs, you had to be ready for anything. Especially a clothing change. Alas, today I had no one to blame but myself.

  I was leaned up and into the closet when I heard a tiny voice from behind me. “Did you poop in your pants, Ms. Lettie?”

  I spun around, shocked and mortified, backing my coffee stained behind up and mostly into the small closet. With a red face, I answered, “No, Joshua. I spilled my coffee in the car this morning.”

  His face screwed up in confusion. “But how did you spill coffee on your butt?”

  “An accident in the car,” I said lightly, like it wasn’t a big deal so he would stop talking about it. But I should have known better. I taught kids with autism. Down syndrome. And almost none of them had a filter. Especially sweet Josh. He was a child with high functioning autism and I could almost always count on him keeping it 100 percent real. Sometimes that was awesome. Sometimes it sucked. Like today.