Page 95 of The Wrong Quarterback

There was a surprised pause.

“Well, then, I can’t wait to meet her,” he said quietly. “Let’s make that soon.”

I said goodbye to him and promised to update him about Mom.

And then we were back to sitting in silence.

We stayed there for hours, the room quiet except for the sound of her breathing and the faint beeping of the machines that monitored her vitals.

“Tell me something about Ben,” I murmured, my eyes locked on my mom’s face.

Her hand squeezed mine for a second. “He considered himself my protector. Every morning, before Daddy would go to work, he’d kneel down and look Ben right in the eye. ‘Now you’re the man of the house while I’m gone, Ben. You need to take care of our ladies,’ he’d say. Ben would puff himself up and nod, and for the rest of the day, until Daddy got back, he’d try to take care of us.” Her hand trembled in mine, and I rubbed her knuckles with my thumb. “One day, Daddy didn’t come back, he got crushed on a construction site. But Ben never forgot what he’d told him. He was always our protector.”

“I love you, Casey,” I murmured, not expecting anything back.

But to my surprise, she took a deep breath and said, “I love you, too.”

My breath hitched, and my chest got tight, like maybe I was having some kind of heart attack brought on by getting something I’d been wanting more than anything else. When I looked at her, her face was tense…scared, like she couldn’t believe she’d said the words either.

I’d have to make sure I never gave her a reason to regret that.

“Thank you,” I answered, feeling like I’d been given a gift. I pulled her into my lap. My emotions were raw, exposed in a way I hadn’t let them be in a long time. But I felt lighter, like maybe, just maybe, I could carry this sorrow a little longer. Because I wasn’t alone anymore.

A soft knock broke through my thoughts, and when I looked over Casey’s shoulder, Martha stood in the doorway, her frame backlit by the morning light spilling into the hall. She held asteaming cup of coffee in her hand, her expression calm but warm. Martha was in her fifties, with silver strands woven through her dark hair, which she always wore in a neat braid down her back. Her face was lined and kind, her gentle eyes seemed to see everything without judgment.

She walked over, taking a sip of the coffee. “You should get back to school, Parker,” she said gently, a reassuring smile on her lips. “I’ve got this. She’s in good hands.”

I nodded, feeling relieved that she was here. There was no way I could miss another practice today. “Thank you, Martha,” I said, the words thick with gratitude. She patted my shoulder softly.

I leaned over and gave my mom’s cheek a kiss. “Bye, Mom,” I whispered, and then I led Casey out of the room, not sure what kind of goodbye I’d just said to her.

“Thank you for coming with me,” I said quietly, turning to Casey.

She gave me a small smile, her eyes soft. “Always,” she answered, repeating my words back to me.

CHAPTER 24

PARKER

We’d gotten our asses kicked in practice, and I was looking forward to food and a fuck…not necessarily in that order, as I rounded the hallway that led to Casey’s room, stopping dead in my tracks when I saw him—Gray, standing in front of Casey’s door.

My jaw clenched, and I stepped back, slipping into the shadow of the hallway so I could watch. He looked desperate, his posture tense as he ran his hands through his hair frantically and stared at the door.

“Casey, open up,” he yelled, banging on the wood so hard that all the doors in the hallway rattled.

I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that at all.

I wanted to kill him.

The door opened a crack, and Nat stuck her head out, her eyes narrowing the second she saw him. “Get lost, you fucking asshole,” she snapped, her voice sharp and dismissive.

I grinned at that, happy my lady had such a good friend. I hadn’t been too sure of her when I’d met her—if she was being nice to Casey to get in with the football team or something. But so far, there hadn’t been any red flags. Which was good. I had enough red flags to go around.

Andrews didn’t back down. “I need to talk to her,” he insisted, his voice low and pleading. “Just for a minute.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed, slamming the door in his face without another word.

You go girl.

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