Page 1 of Beautifully Conflicted

Prologue

BENNET - TEN YEARS EARLIER

Loved onescheer as I race down the sideline, anticipating the next catch. Deep down, I know we could be running in circles and the crowd would still roar, seeing as we’re twelve, and they want to be supportive. However, I’ve always imagined those shouts are for me, and me alone. They egg me on and have my legs pounding against the turf.

Glancing over my shoulder, I realize I’m already almost out of range. Our quarterback is good for our age, but he can’t throw as far as I can run. If I travel much farther, I’ll be taking myself out of play.

As I slow down, the defender on my heels closes in, and I watch in horror as our quarterback switches gears. Instead of the ball coming down the field to me, it goes to my teammate Justin who’s as open as they come.

At least we get a few yards out of the play…

I suck in a deep breath, reading myself to celebrate the catch with the others, despite not being the star of the show. Except I only get one step. A force slams into my side, twisting my body as I freefall toward the ground. And as the air is forced from my lungs and the impact rattles my bones, I find myself face to face with the bane of my existence.

The kid who’s been trying to shut me down all game. Whose smug attitude has grated my every nerve.

“What the… What did you tackle me for?” I grunt beneath his weight, eyes narrowed on his stupid grin.

How dare he smile at this. It’s embarrassing enough as is. He doesn’t need to rub it in.

“So you couldn’t score.”

“I don’t even have the ball, stupid.” I shove him to get him off me, but he doesn’t budge.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Clearly, you’ve taken one too many hits to the head. Now,get off of me.”My hands plant against his chest, but once again the brick wall doesn’t move. “Tackling people without the ball is a penalty, and this is the third time this game.” I shove him again, and finally he rolls to his side, kneeling on grass as he studies me.

“They didn’t call it,” he says.

“They might now.”

“Maybe I like tackling.” The kid shrugs.

“Damien!”

The kid whips his head around to his sideline at the sound of his coach’s voice. “Gotta go.”

He jogs off toward his bench while I push myself up from the ground and all but limp to my own.

“Why does that kid keep tackling you even when you don’t have the ball?” my teammate Tommy asks.

“I dunno. I’m not sure he understands the rules.”

“Tackle the guy with the ball is the easiest rule there is.” Tommy snorts.

I lift my shoulders, which makes my pads bump the bottom of my helmet. “He said he likes tackling. Maybe the ref will actually call a foul this time.”

“He only does it to you though.” Tommy points at the field.

Sure enough the kid, Damien, doesn’t make a move to tackle the receiver who’s in for this play, even when the ball does go to him and he drops it.

“Did you do something to piss him off?” Tommy asks.

“I don’t even know him.”

The next time I’m on the field, I run toward the end zone for a pass. Except, the ball wobbles in the air and I have to double back. It won’t make it to the end zone. Not like that.

Pumping my legs as hard as I can, I do my best to close the distance, but it’s not enough. The ball lands on the ground about four feet in front of me.

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