Page 48 of Hart Breaker

The fact I get that feeling in my chest, and now it has a real face …

This ain’t good.

FOUNTAINS

Hudson

“There’s just something about playing on a college field again,” I say as we head toward the bus.

“Stands full of hot babes who still believe in love and don’t just see us as a paycheck,” Grimes states sullenly.

Boone gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Pretty sure it’s more about us not being able to shower in the visitor locker rooms before hitting the bus, smelling like sweaty ball sacs.”

“That shit, for real,” I agree. “It's an adjustment practicing in the desert heat after playing in Blue Valley, where it’s already been snowing off and on for a couple of weeks now.”

I reach into my duffle bag to pull out my phone, checking in with The HartHive, our family group chat. That’s all the social media I need or can handle, to be honest. Having no phone for close to twenty-four hours messed with me. I had my tablet at my place, but that plane ride was brutal.

Boone leans in and whispers, “Stay off the social gram, Hart.”

“Why? What’s up?” I ask, confused.

“Oh shit.” Grimes laughs from behind us, and we both turn back. “She’s really gonna marry that tool, and she’s doing it Vegas style.”

Grimes holds out his phone, showing us a picture of … Riley Mae Brooks wearing her wedding dress in front of that iconic fountain here in Vegas.

Livid that I returned the dress, basically allowing this, I scan her little paws and see no sign of a wedding band, but it’s only a matter of time.

I don’t even realize my feet are moving until I hear my name being called from behind me. But I don’t stop. I’m locked in and going hard, the endzone has taken a new form—a black Camary with a decal telling me it’s some sort of cab thirty yards away, dropping off a chick. I need to catch it.

“Hold that car!” I call out, and thankfully, the student who got out hears me and stops.

“Thank you,” I call over my shoulder to them as I slide in. “I need to get to that fountain in front of that hotel, the?—”

“Bellagio?” she asks.

“Yeah, that’s it.” I sit back in my seat. “It’s an emergency. Break whatever traffic laws you need to; I’ll pay your legal fees to make it all go away.”

She peels away from the curb and nails the gas.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” My laugh is unrecognizable to me. It’s nervous.

I’m fucking tweaking.

Breathe, man, I tell myself as I turn my focus out the window, hoping to see the strip coming into view like now. There is nothing I can do but sit and wait, maybe pray.

I reach into my bag when I hear the faint sound from the new phone that I haven’t set up completely yet, just added the numbers I knew by heart and Boone’s, only to realize it’s in my other hand.

I read the text from Boone.

Boone: Heads up, the only thing I could think of to tell Coach Cox was you thought you shit your pants before getting back to the hotel, so you grabbed a cab. Proud of your crazy ass, Hart.

I hit him back.

Me: Thanks for covering. No clue what I’m doing right now or will do if I get there in time, if anything at all. So hold your praise. See you back at the room.

Boone: See you then, Champ.

When I look up, I see we’re entering the city, and the streets are already buzzing. Normally, I’m intrigued by that, but that energy has nothing over the adrenaline surging through my veins right now.

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