Page 130 of Against The Rules

Disgusted, I rip my helmet off.

“Now’s not the time to develop an attitude,” our defensive coordinator tells me.

“Yeah, great advice, Dale,” I retort.

I’m sick of him, too. If he’d done a better job, we wouldn’t be in this position. Fuck.

Mostly, though, I’m sick of not getting to see Savannah as often as I would like. If she lived with me, it would be different. But she’s keeping a low profile right now, lower than normal, worried that someone on the cheer team is going to find out about us.

I’m sick of hiding it. I want to hold her hand in public.

I want her in my jersey at all my games, damn it.

I want everyone to know she’s my wife because I couldn’t be more proud of her. It’s cold as hell out, and I grab the beanie one of the trainers holds out for me, shoving it over my head.

“You seem distracted,” Dale says. “What’s going through your head?”

“I want to win,” I tell him. “I’m not distracted. I want a QB who can throw the damn ball where he says he’s going to.”

Dale’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Give him time. One play—”

“At a time,” I finish. “Good practice,” I say, knowing I’m being an asshole but too pent up to smooth it over. Instead, I jog off the field and into the showers, ready to see Savannah.

Seeing her always smooths me over.

When I get to Savannah’s house, though, she’s a mess. Her roommate, Presley, is there too, looking at me like I have a clue what to do.

“I’m just so stressed out,” she says again, crying as she clings onto me. “The Thanksgiving game, my mom coming, keeping you a secret, and I think the team knows it was me. Plus the go-live for my business in a week? I feel like screaming!”

I pat her back, holding her tight.

“I can’t take it anymore, it’s too much,” she continues.

“Peaches… Savannah,” I say, holding her as she gives another shaking sob. “A wise woman once told me if I was feeling out of control of my emotions, I should talk to someone.”

“I am talking to you!”

Presley shoots me a concerned look from the kitchen, and I shake my head. I have no idea what to do to calm her down.

“She’s been like this for an hour,” Presley tells me.

“I feel sick,” Savannah continues. “It’s too much.”

“One thing at a time,” I tell her. “What can I do to help? Do you want me to clean? Pay for a hotel for your mom? Have your mom stay at my house? You could both stay for Thanksgiving.”

“She’ll murder me if she finds out we got married in Vegas.”

“Sav, that is not true,” Presley argues. “She won’t be thrilled, but she’s not going to go homicidal.”

Savannah’s shaking harder now, and I stare at Presley, completely at a loss for how to help.

“Tea,” Presley says as a kettle starts screaming behind her. “Tea fixes everything.”

“No,” Savannah says. “No. I break everything. I ruined the season for the rest of the cheer team by talking to Kelsey. I’m a traitor. My mom is going to be furious if she finds out about us. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

“Breathe,” I tell her, her upset spiking real fear in me. “Savannah, you need to talk to someone. I mean it. Dr. Kim has helped me change the way I process my thoughts. I swear, let me put you on my insurance, okay? Let me help you.”

“They’ll know I married you!” she wails.

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