Page 152 of The Play

“Hey, just ’cause I like it a hell of a lot when you put your dick in me, I wouldn’t be averse to the other way around. Could be fun to have you at my mercy.”

Deacon shuddered a little, like he was already imagining it.

“Well, then, we’ve got that. And . . .” Deacon paused, and Grant twisted his neck, craning it until he could look Deacon right in the eyes. “And the rest of our lives, too.”

Grant didn’t think Deacon had ever lied to him.

But a different kind—a brand-new kind—of belief settled inside Grant at his words.

“Yes,” Grant said. “No matter what happens with the last game, we’ll have that. Forever.”

“Forever,” Deacon echoed.

Chapter 22

One more game.

Deacon walked onto the field. This might be the last time he did this, before a game.

It had been a bittersweet week, knowing that every practice he went to, every drill they ran, every time he looked over and saw Nate on the other side, in the spot that he’d made his own after Jem’s injury, each teasing remark Micah and Beck tossed back and forth, might be the last.

It was sad. But it was also something more, too. Not happy, not quite yet, but Deacon had carried what he’d said to Grant with him all week. We’ll have the rest of our lives. We’ll have forever.

This was just the end of this chapter. Not the end of everything.

“Hey,” a voice called out, and Deacon turned, because he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Maybe Nate had made that spot on Deacon’s other side his own, overcoming the intense pressure of replacing Jeremiah Knight in the lineup—and in Deacon’s trust—but nobody could ever occupy that spot the way Jem had.

And now Jem was here. Not to play, but here. Because Deacon had known he wouldn’t miss it.

“Hey,” Deacon said, greeting his best friend with a big embrace. Jem didn’t let go right away, just held on.

“Hey, big guy,” he murmured. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Deacon said, and to his surprise, yeah, he was.

The same way Jem had figured out how to go on after football, he would, too. And there was so much life left.

So much happiness and love and possibility.

“Good,” Jem said and then turned to the man next to him—because yes, there was a guy next to him, clad in a t-shirt with a plaid shirt thrown over, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, with a thick beard and kind eyes.

“Murphy, this is Deacon. My best friend.”

“Good to meet you, Murphy,” Deacon said reaching out to shake his hand. But Murphy just smiled, those eyes twinkling, and pulled him into a twin of the hug he’d just shared with Jem.

“Feeling’s mutual,” Murphy said, letting him go.

He’d seen pictures of Jem’s guy, of course, because the two of them seemed inseparable these days, but pictures didn’t do the size of him justice. Deacon felt like he was craning his neck, and he rarely ever had to do that with anyone.

“I figured I’d either find you here, sobbing into the turf, or calm and resigned.”

“I’m calm,” Deacon said. “But not resigned.” He wanted more games—not another season of games, maybe, but he didn’t want this one to end. He wanted to go to the playoffs with his guys and prove everyone wrong who’d said the Condors were done and finished.

“Sounds like the Deacon I’ve always known,” Jem said with a nod of approval.

“You gonna watch from the sideline?” Deacon asked, and he already knew Jem’s answer before he shook his head.

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