Page 89 of Offside Devil

“It's not that simple. Think of it like… You and your wife become a team against your kid. But the goal isn't to destroy them—it's to make sure they brush their teeth, eat something green every day, and go out into public with all of their clothes on.”

I snort. “Sounds like you’re really shooting for the stars.”

“You have no idea,” he laughs. “Gallagher tried to wear only his pajama shirt and his Mario Bros underwear to the park a few days ago. Rachelle had to bribe him with fruit snacks to get him into pants.”

Jace is the one who has no idea. He doesn’t know about Aiden, and I’m not going to tell him. I’m too drunk to have that kind of heart-to-heart right now.

“Speaking of, where is Rachelle? Shouldn’t you two be making out on a table, too?”

“She and her sister took Gallagher to the game and then went back home for a movie night. Going out with the team sounded like more fun than listening to them cry over The Notebook for the dozenth time.” He takes a long drink. “What about you? Was Mira at the game tonight?”

“Nah. Didn’t invite her.”

“Why not? It looked like you had fun at the party.”

“Because she’s not my fuckin’ girlfriend,” I snap.

Jace frowns, but Davis pops his head between us. His cheeks are burning red and his eyes are glazed. “Beer chugging relay. Right here, right now. Rookies versus veterans.”

“No way,” Jace says, waving Davis off like a fly. “I’m free tonight, but my kid will still be awake at seven tomorrow morning.”

“I wasn’t asking you, old man.” Davis turns to me. “Don’t let me down, Whitaker. We need you!”

Jace leans forward, looking from Davis to me. “What are you talking about? Zane doesn’t even?—”

“I’m in.” I push away from the bar before Jace can grab me and join the line forming on the back wall.

“A pint glass for everyone,” Davis proclaims, doling out the beer. “You know the rules: no drinking until the man in front of you has finished the last drop and placed his glass on the table. Last team to finish runs sprints at practice. Are we clear?”

Everyone closes in, teammates and fans alike. Phones are out and people are snapping photos and taking videos. All I can do is stare down at the drink in front of me, waiting for my turn.

It’s just a drink. It’s not like I’m using again.

This is fine.

This is fine.

This is fine.

A blur of motion off to my left. Davis finishes his drink and slams it down. Nathan is a few seconds behind him, slamming his empty pint glass down. Cole next. When he finishes his drink, I don’t hesitate. I unhinge my jaw and down the entire glass in a few swallows.

It burns going down in a way it absolutely shouldn’t.

I slam my glass down before the fourth man for the rookies has even taken a drink. Crowd goes berserk. Same way they did when I scored tonight.

This is what I’m good at.

Davis jabs a finger in every rookie’s face, handing out sprints like he’s fucking Oprah. “You get a sprint! You get a sprint!”

I manage my first smile in hours—until someone grabs me by the collar and slams me back into the wall. “What the fu?—?”

“You’re drinking?” Jace hisses, his top lip curled back. “I knew something was wrong with you.”

I shove him off of me, staggering forward a few steps. “Nothing is wrong with me.”

“You’re drunk, Zane. You’re supposed to be sober. Does Owen know you’re here?”

It’s like the little voice in my head turned into a six-foot-three pain in my ass. Just hearing Jace accuse me of being drunk sends my BAC through the roof. All at once, I feel every bit as hammered as I am.

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