Page 123 of Bump and Run

It’s her.

Eliza knew about this and she didn’t tell me. I like to think I know her pretty well and after ninety minutes of letting this sink in, I’m sure I know why she kept this from me.

She’s scared. She knows how important this sport is to me and how much opportunity I have now that Cary Pierce is leading me straight to the pros.

She met my family. She spent time in my childhood home. She knows I’d never get to the pros on my own and her having my baby right now could derail that into oblivion.

“Her existence made achieving my dreams a whole lot harder.”

Cary Pierce told me that himself in his office and I’m damn sure the bastard said the same thing to her when he found out. That’s why she broke up with me. It wasn’t because she wanted to. She thought it was the best thing to do for me and my future.

Well, I disagree.

I stand up off the bench and drop my helmet onto the grass.

“Junior.”

Coach’s bark carries over the rest of the fray. He stares at me with hateful side-eyes, firing a dark warning shot for me to sit back down.

I ignore him.

“Junior!”

Eliza doesn’t know how much she means to me. She doesn’t know how I’d go to hell and back just to see her smile again. She doesn’t know how much I’ve fallen in love with her.

But she’s about to.

I turn away from the field, cutting through the haze of cameras and screaming voices, rushing down the ramp towards the stadium exit.

A hand grips my shoulder. “Junior—”

I jerk away from his grasp; away from Cary Pierce, my childhood hero.

“I’m out,” I tell him.

His hard eyes twinge with amusement. “I never thought you were this stupid, Junior. Don’t give up your dreams over something like this.”

“Playing ball isn’t my dream, Coach.” I turn away. “She is.”

He says nothing and I turn my back on him one last time.

I break into a sprint, peeling off the layers weighing me down as I move. I toss my jersey to the ground, along with my shoulder pads. I won’t be needing them anymore.

I cut through the quad, weaving through the grass, dodging the confused faces of students hanging out, and plow right through the doors of Talon Hall.

The lobby is so silent, I hear the gentle echo of voices on the stage before I even reach the auditorium, including hers.

My Eliza.

“Whoa — hold on.”

Some douchebag stops me in front of the auditorium doors. He stares at me with an upturned nose, flashing me what little authority the theatre department has bestowed upon him. “You can’t go in while the show is on.”

“I need to talk to one of the actors,” I say, nearly choking as I realize how out of breath I am. “It’s important.”

“It can wait until curtain.”

I grunt at him with impatience and take off down the hall, following the sound of her voice around the corner until I find the backstage door.

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