Page 97 of Tight End

I’m heading toward the bench, passing some of their offensive players when I get shoulder checked. Hard. My helmet is off in seconds, and I’m ready for a fight, when a very familiar set of eyes meet mine. They’re the same eyes I see when I look at my son, the same ones I see in the mirror every day, and the same eyes we share with our piece-of-shit father.

Anders fucking Kingsley.

His teammates call him the King.

I’m unfortunate enough to call him my half brother.

“Watch where you’re going, Devlin.” His lips are curled into a snarl, and every word drips with disdain.

These are the first five words he’s ever said to me.

Despite playing football for years, I’ve always gone out of my way to avoid this, to avoid him. And the way he’s looking at me, like I’m a speck of dirt on his cleats, has me wondering—does he know? Does he know what his father did? Who I am to him?

I can tell you one thing, I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to tell him.

“Fuck off, King. Don’t see your name on this stadium.” I have a lot more things I’d like to say, but I bite them all back.

He laughs, starting to walk past me, but pauses just long enough to whisper, “Don’t see yours either,brother.”

And he’s gone, leaving me standing there, staring after him until the whistle sounds and Coach yells my name. What. The. Fuck. He knows, right? He has to.

But you know what? He doesn’t affect me in the slightest. He can try to cause problems. He can talk to me like I’m beneath him. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. I don’t care. I have my son, my girl, and that’s all I need. He has an asshole father and a legacy tainted in lies.

Besides, he’s on a different team and hundreds of miles away from me.

It would only be a problem if he were traded here, and it would be a cold day in hell if that happened.

I turn, searching for June in the bleachers, and find her almost immediately. Her eyes are on me, and she gives me a wide smile. Yeah, Anders can fuck himself right up the ass. I’ve found my happy ending despite the cursed blood running through my veins.

I love her with my entire being, and as soon as she lets me, I’m going to put a ring on her finger and another baby inside her.

Epilogue

Heath

“I won’t knowfor sure until we get an MRI this week, but I think you have a hamstring sprain.”

Fuck. What he was supposed to say wasWow, Heath, this is the best-looking leg I’ve seen this season. Don’t worry, it’s no big deal. You’ll be good as new tomorrow.But the orthopedic resident has a pinch between his brows, and his mouth is tilted in a frown. Wait a minute ... nope. Definitely still a frown.

I swipe the sweat from my forehead and try not to wince as he feels along the back of my leg, but still maybe it’s not terrible. “Sprain. That’s not bad, right? I ice it for a couple days and then I’m as good as new?”

His frown deepens and, well, that’s not a good sign. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Remington. Without the MRI, I can’t say for sure. Best case it’s a partial tear, whichcould put your recovery between four and eight weeks.”

“And worst case?”

“Worst case, it’s a full tear, and that could mean more like three months of rehab.” He stands, tapping my knee. “And that’s assuming all the ligaments in here are intact and there’s no more damage.”

Fuckity fuckfuck.

This is not how my first game with a brand-new team was supposed to go. Not even close. We won, so that’s something, but instead of walking home with a touchdown, I’ll be limping home with my name on the injured list.

Assuming I can get home. “Can I drive?”

And that’s when I hear it. A laugh that’s supposed to be mocking me, but all it does is make my balls tingle. “Sure, newbie, you can drive if you want to kill yourself or anyone stupid enough to be around you when your leg seizes up.”

London Wolfe.

Temptation all wrapped up in one deliciously curvy package. She’s like a siren, the sweet melody of her voice leading me straight into certain death, but I couldn’t give two fucks. There’s something about her that calls to me.

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