Thousand Yard Bride

by Nora Flite

  "Fair enough," he said, double fisting the glasses. "Sounds like New York has been good to you, and you to them. I wasn't worried about Week Seventeen at all before . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Before I joined the Krakens because my dad cut me out? You can say it, that’s what happened. I’m all good now, Reese. No complaints.”

  His shoulders slid a hair lower. “I’m glad to hear that. It sucks not having you on the team. Coach Bauer has somehow become more of a dick in your absence.”

  “I don't miss that,” I snorted.

  “And everything with Jo?" he asked, scooting closer like it was still a secret. "She must be ready to pop.”

  “Soon,” I told him, wishing I had a drink after all.

  He went to clink his glass on mine—then he remembered I was bare handed. Grinning, he lifted both of his and knocked them together. I was beaming at the gesture, but then his eyes flicked behind me, widening. “Oh shit," he mumbled.

  “What?” I asked.

  He pointed sharply. “Benny is here. Coach forbade him from going out on Friday, so I thought the coast would be clear.”

  Spinning, I spotted Benny sidling along the wall. There were a few half-naked girls there, each of them making eyes at him. “Why does Coach care what Benny does?” I asked

  “He’s taken over your whole bad boy football player thing." I gave him a sour look; he shrugged, like it wasn't his fault the category existed. "Fuck, he looks pretty drunk already. Let me talk to him, see if I can’t convince him to go home.”

  “You know what, Reese? Don’t worry about it. I can handle Benny,” I said, getting up.

  “That’s what I’m worried about. Don’t do anything stupid,” he called at my back as I walked away.

  Benny saw me heading in his direction and started stumbling over. His breath hit me first, his mushy words getting muffled by the music. “Motherfucking Hunter Daniels. You still think you shit gold? You don't belong here anymore. Get the fuck out.”

  Folding my arms, I looked him up and down. “It’s a bar, Benny. I can be here if I want."

  His hand flew my way and nearly smacked me. Either he didn't mean to actually touch me, or his intoxication had made him miss. “The Clubhouse is Hawks territory!”

  Reese shoved between us. “Step off, Benny.”

  I hadn't budged, I simply stood there and studied the man who'd gone to great lengths to ruin my life without ever explaining why.

  Benny refused to be held back, he struggled against Reese to get at me. “No, no way. This pretty boy here gets to do whatever the fuck he wants, and then gets to just walk away clean as a whistle? No way.”

  I got up close to him and lowered my voice, attempting to keep the argument between us instead of making the entire bar our audience. “What’s your problem with me, Benny? First you sleep with Poppy. Then you hit on Jo. Then you pull that stunt with the stolen messages. Why?”

  Have you ever seen a rabid animal? The way they give off this sick aura, a kind of bad energy that speaks volumes about how they might maul you at any moment or drop dead on the spot? That was Benny. That was how he looked at me; like he was vicious and sick.

  He said, “Because you’re an over privileged douchebag who sails through life. You don't deserve all your fame. You’re just riding your daddy’s coattails, and it fucking pisses me off. You didn't deserve Poppy, even after I told her I'd give her anything . . . even after that, she still wanted you. I—" Hard lines ran over his tight lips; he shut himself up, probably seeing my honest surprise.

  He'd been in love with Poppy?

  “Just go home and get some sleep, Benny,” I said. “You need to be rested for Sunday. Trust me.”

  Faster than he had any right to be, Benny exploded—shoving me backwards towards the bar. “Fuck you, Eighty-Three! You too scared to fight me like a man? Need your daddy to do it for you, or better, your wife?”

  I was able to catch myself on the hard wood; there wouldn't even be a bruise on my back. Fire ran through my veins, a voice begging me to just let go and tear this guy into tiny wet bits. But as upset as I was, there was a smothering sadness squirming in me.

  He'd really wanted to be with Poppy. She'd never given him a chance, though. She'd just fucked him to get back at me because of the phone call in the Bahamas.

  This thing with Benny had been my punishment. I'd known that part.

  I just hadn't known it had been his punishment, too.

  “We need to go,” Reese said, hooking an arm around Benny. The fucker eyed me up, but he wasn't too drunk to know it was stupid to mess with me further. He cared about his career almost as much as he hated me for mine.

  Sitting there alone, the music was suddenly metallic and boring. The gin scent became putrid and off putting. Once, I'd loved this place. There was nothing better than feeling like a King and getting my way, girls chasing me, begging for my cock or just a small kiss.

  Something better was waiting for me in my bed these days—warm and sweet, smelling like apples, tasting like a rain storm. A girl who loved Titanic and didn't care that I did, too.

  By the time Reese returned, I was already long gone.

  30

  Hunter

  Jo and I drove together to the stadium on the morning of the last game of the season.

  It was a cold January day, but her hand was warm in mine. I was psyched that Jo would be at the game. ClimbTime had even reserved seats just behind the Krakens' bench. Their campaign, “Mountain Top Touchdown,” was off to a great start and they wanted to show Jo their appreciation, so she, along with a few ClimbTime execs, would be right there cheering me on.

  Even Lanie had a seat, which made me feel better, since Jo was so far along in her pregnancy.

  “You’ve got this," Jo said, hovering by the entrance to the stadium, like she didn't want me to actually leave.

  Sweeping her into my arms, I dipped her—carefully—so I could trap her mouth with mine in a kiss meant for the movies. But this was reality. This was my everything.

  Touching her cheek with mine, I breathed her in. I could have drowned in that scent. “Just as long as I’ve got you," I whispered.

  The rest of the morning passed by in a flash. Coach went over the strategies with us, all of us bending a knee and praying to whatever we each believed in that we would win. As for me, I looked at a picture of the sonogram Jo gave me from her last doctor’s visit. It was a flimsy piece of black and white paper. It was worth more than every dollar on Earth.

  Today, I felt invincible.

  Crouching there, facing down the row of helmets in front of me, I tried to pretend the familiar colors weren't my team. This wasn't the Hawks—it couldn't be. Somewhere to the side, I caught a pair of filthy brown eyes that seethed laser-hot at me.

  Benny.

  The coin flip was in our favor. We chose to receive; I set up, moving to the end zone and waiting for kick-off to start. Sweat was already collecting under my padding. Holding still, being patient, these were challenges for me.

  The kicker's leg shot forward, the ball flying upwards. A roar cascaded up from the crowd, but I heard none of it. Everything became white noise. My vision tunneled into a pinprick.

  The air vibrated like a tornado was about to fall on all of us. I was a fucking bloodhound—the smell of the football haunted me, I knew I'd catch it even before it dropped into my waiting grasp.

  Grass shredded under my cleats, reds and blues blinding me. There were so many bodies rushing my way. With the stampede of legs shaking the ground, shaking my lungs, I came to life. This was what I fucking lived for.

  I broke from the crowd, careening down the field. The goal posts rose in front of me—I had this. I was going to score and it would set the tone for the rest of the game. Lighter than a soap bubble I floated towards victory.

  The hit came from my left; so violent it sent me spinning. No! I thought in a panic, watching helplessly as the ball fumbled from my fingertips. It was gone and away, escaping me just be
fore I crashed into the ground like an off-course satellite.

  Breathing heavy, I struggled under the weight of whoever had taken me down. Benny's groan hit my eardrum. "How's it feel to show your old team what a waste of air you are?" he laughed in his throat, no one hearing him but me.

  Someone yanked him off of me. Hands groped for my arms, yanking me up, and while I expected my team mates . . . I saw it was Reese. Through the slots of his helmet, he gave Benny a severe glare. "Easy," he said, smiling through his teeth. "The game just started, brother. Don't get cocky."

  "Whose side are you on?" Benny scoffed, starting to shove back my way. He didn't get far before a whistle blew, the ref declaring I'd lost the ball and that it belonged to the Hawks now. The crowd was screaming and hissing—I could have sworn I heard Jo call my name.

  From there, it was downhill.

  The Hawks were on fire, scoring again and again. Reese might have shown he was still my friend, but he wasn't going to give up the game for me. His throws soared further than ever, their defense shredding ours to pieces.

  By the time half-time arrived, the energy around the Krakens was in the gutter. Yanking my helmet free, I followed everyone into the locker rooms. In my experience, my old coach would have slapped us silly for performing so terribly.

  A room full of eyes turned towards me, making me freeze. Coach Smith said, "Listen, Daniels. This is your old team. You know them best." Pulling off his cap, he tucked his chin and stared up at me. "Tell us what we need to do to win."

  I was stunned—flattered, even. Coach Bauer had never asked me for advice. These guys were watching me like I had all the answers, and maybe I did, but I didn't want them to feel that way. We were a fucking team. We won together, not because of anything I said.

  Still . . . I stood taller, glancing at Josh. "We have to step it up,” I told him.

  “I can’t throw as long as Reese, Hunter,” he argued, acting as if I had put him on the spot. In a way, I had. I knew the Hawks, and if my play was going to work, Josh would have to push himself to the limit.

  “Yes, you can," I said seriously. "You have to. We have to get some distance, gotta run corner routes. They'll never catch me."

  Hank gave Josh a light shove. "What did you say to me when everyone started calling me fucking ‘Slippery Hands Hank’? Huh?"

  Grinning with only one side of his mouth, Josh laughed. "I said show them what you're made of."

  "And I did. You can too." Leveling his stare on me, Hank said, "Hunter knows we can do this. Otherwise, he'd have never joined our team. Right?"

  Guilt swam in my guts. I'd only joined because they were the only team that would take me, my only chance at playing with my dad ruining my career by cutting me from the Hawks. But . . . I was here, and we'd made it this far.

  "Right." Looking over each of them, I shouldered my helmet. "We came to win. So let's get out there and fucking win!"

  Coach clapped—loud and sharp—but he didn't give us time to enjoy the moment. He marched us back out on the field, leading us like a general into war. This feels like a real battle, I thought somberly. One that we have to win.

  The stadium cheered as we appeared. The low murmur that rolled through them, though, made it clear the mood was tense. If we won, the Krakens would play their first playoff game in years. They had a lot to prove. On top of that, it was personal.

  I could feel my father’s presence in the stadium. I’m sure he was up there in his fancy box, lording over his territory, swilling his drink, being an asshole to my mom.

  We were relegated to receiving again. But even with all my efforts, we kept getting countered. Play after play, and we'd only managed to tie things up.

  If we didn't score big now . . . we were done for.

  Coach called me and the rest of the special teams into a huddle. I’d never been on special teams before, but now that I was on the Krakens I was a kick returner since I was the fastest guy they had.

  When I got in the huddle, I saw that Coach Smith was out of sorts, chewing gum hard and muttering in some unintelligible southern accent. Eventually he said, “Josh, what's the plan here?”

  Our QB was supposed to be a leader. He was nothing like Reese, though—a guy who never struggled with guiding the Hawks. But maybe my pep-talk had clicked something into place for him, because now, he faced us all with his jaw in a square line. “They kick. Hunter gets the ball and runs it in. The rest of us make sure that happens. It’s our best bet. Otherwise, we risk losing this.”

  “That’s an all or nothing play, Josh,” Coach said. “Hunter, think you can do it?”

  “I’m fast, but it’s gotta be clear,” I said. “I got this.”

  Holding up his fist, Josh bumped mine. “We can make that happen. Wish I could be out on the field with you for this, Hunter."

  A lot of things had to go right for this play to work out. But Josh was right. We could win it right here. We could make history.

  We’d be legends.

  Strutting onto the field, I lifted my eyes and scanned the crowd. I knew where Jo was sitting; I didn't see her, but I didn't need to. Reaching into my back pocket, I brushed the sonogram photo.

  Bending low, I squinted at the holder. The kicker was waiting, and I swore he was sizing me up. My heart skipped—had Reese realized what our play would be? I knew the Hawks, but he knew me. Had we fucked up?

  Arching back his leg, he kicked the hell out of the ball, sending it spinning into the icy-blue sky. I focused. This was the single most important moment in my career. In the few split seconds that it took for the ball to travel, I told myself that if I caught this, it would have made the last few fucked up years of my life worth it.

  Jo would see me.

  My dad would see me.

  The whole world would see the real Hunter Daniels . . . and on my terms.

  I grabbed the ball out of the air just as I saw Benny running towards me. Reese had definitely figured out our play—and Benny was delighted to try and wreck it.

  I had to do some fancy footwork to get out of his path. Amazingly, he caught up to me and even gained some distance ahead. I couldn't afford to change my path. Wind clawed at my lungs, the burning sensation driving me, spreading down to my core and my thighs until all I knew how to do was run.

  Just as I was rushing past Benny, he elbowed me in the chest. Our mouth-guards rattled together, elks battling for dominance in the middle of a forest. He wanted me to lose—more than he wanted to even win, I think. Why else risk an illegal move?

  My ribs ached as I pushed on. The edges of my tongue tickled, tasting like copper; I'd bit it and hadn't realized. It didn't matter. Pain was nothing when balanced against proving my worth to the universe.

  Hank blocked a guy coming at me fast from across the field. I made it to the twenty-yard line, the ten, and I felt a hand scrape the back of my leg trying to tackle me before I was there.

  With a final surge of adrenaline pumping through my body, I tore into the end zone.

  The stadium roared.

  Throwing the ball down hard, I crowed to the heavens and laughed until I was sore. "I'm king of the world!" Jo would have loved that.

  The crowd was still going wild. I could hear the cheering from the Krakens’ side of the stadium. People jumped up and down, hugging each other. My teammates rushed towards me, lifting me up on their shoulders.

  Popping my helmet off, I sucked in clean air. The announcers were shouting, still amazed at what had just happened. The Krakens were going to the playoffs because of me.

  Benny was hovering beside me, as if the yard line on the grass was a wall he couldn't pass through. There was hate in his eyes—but there was also exhaustion. Defeat.

  Facing him, I held out my hand. He eyeballed it with unease. "Listen," I said. "Forget about Poppy. You deserve someone who won't use you just to try and get even. Life isn't about getting even."

  My own words resonated with me, reminding me how hard I'd worked to prove myself to my father. How much t
ime I'd wasted bothering with such a thing.

  Benny's hand closed on mine. It was brief, but solid. "Good advice," he said. "Thanks."

  The swarm of players surrounded me, cutting Benny and me apart. I wanted to high-five every single one of them. "You son of a bitch!" Josh cried, holding me in a headlock. "We did it! We won!"

  "Exactly," I chuckled, struggling from his arms. "We won." His eyes glowed with pride.

  As I crossed the field I waved to Reese. He came over to me, shaking my hand as cameras flashed around us. “You earned it, brother,” he said with a smile.

  The sidelines were packed; I worked my way through them, enjoying the attention, but truthfully, there was only one person I wanted to see. That I needed to see.

  “Hunter!” Jo screamed. I hadn't seen her coming, which was amazing, considering her size. People moved away, conscious of the super-pregnant woman as she threw her arms around my neck to kiss me. “That was amazing! I could barely sit still, I was losing my mind. Fuck, my heart is still going!" Her grin cracked on the edges, falling apart as she suddenly grasped her stomach and bent in two.

  My ecstasy immediately vanished into the atmosphere. “What’s the matter, Jo? Are you okay?” I followed her eyes down to the ground. The grass was soaked, so was the front of her pants.

  A nervous smile spread on her pale lips. “I think my water just broke.”

  I whistled to one of the team medics. When he got in reach, I gripped his shoulders and shook him roughly. I couldn't help it—this was scarier than any fucking football game. “My wife is going into labor. We need to get her out of here.”

  The medic nodded, motioning for the security guards. We formed a protective circle, helping Jo off the field as people looked on, always snapping their damn photos.

  “You have to give a post-game interview, Hunter,” she insisted in my ear.

  “Are you seriously still in P.R. mode, Jo? You’re crazy,” I said, kissing her forehead. "I'm staying with you. That's final."