Page 102 of Beautifully Conflicted

Damien’s positioned directly across from me, and I give him a little wink as he puckers his lips in a mock kiss. It’s not unlike the way we’d taunt each other before, although now the gestures are accompanied by an affectionate glance rather than a wicked one.

The center hikes the ball, and Damien and I shoot off the line, racing downfield for the catch. I run the route to perfection, but so does Damien, so it’s no surprise the ball goes to Jagger instead.

It’s a twelve-yard gain, which means we’ve got about a minute to get back to our respective positions while the chains are moved to reflect the new line of scrimmage. As we trot back, I feel Damien’s palm cup my ass in one of those prolonged pats I used to hate.

“Nice route,” he says.

“You, too.”

Damien lines up across from Jagger on the next play, so I’m a little surprised to see the ball go their direction. I’m assuming Coach wants to test Jagger’s ability to catch the ball when he’s thoroughly covered,and despite wanting the offense to win, it’s hard not to grin when Damien disrupts the play.

Until I see him smack Jagger’s ass on their way back to the line.

Three more plays are run before we’re lined up across from each other again, only one of which advances the ball, but our progress is the furthest thing from my mind when I look at my boyfriend.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I warn.

His eyes grow wide under his helmet. “Do what?”

“Touch anyone else’s ass but mine,” I say through gritted teeth.

The ball snaps before we can say anything else, and while we’re both a little delayed getting off the line, we quickly make up for it, racing nearly fifteen yards before I turn to look for the pass. Though Damien’s got me covered the ball is perfectly positioned between me and the sideline, and I stretch out to get it making sure to keep my left foot in bounds.

I’ve barely got my fingers on the ball before I pull it into my chest to secure it, and by the time I hit the ground I’m definitely out. But the ref rules that I had control with a foot still on the field of play, making it a catch.

Damien offers a hand to haul me to my feet, cupping my right butt cheek tohelpme stand fully. I arch an eyebrow at him, and he gives me a sly grin and quips, “That’s within the rules.”

My catch sets us up for a touchdown, which only counts for one point during the scrimmage. Soon, the offense is up three points to the defense’s two at the start of the third quarter.

I line up across from Jackson, the guy who was considered our top corner before Damien transferred in. Jackson’s a solid player, angling to reclaim the number one spot just like anyone in his position would. So, I understand why he gets to me a little too early, interfering with the pass coming my way in his attempt to prove himself. Unfortunately, hedoesn’t just hit me early, but awkwardly, and my knee buckles under my weight.

I feel the stabbing pain before I’ve hit the ground, and the world around me goes black. Logically, I know that’s because my eyes are squeezed shut, but I also know the darkness will still be there when I open them. That my life is going to look different than what I envisioned from this point forward. That doesn’t stop me from recitingpleaseover and over again in my mind, as if my plea might change the outcome.

The ground shakes beside me, telling me the trainers have arrived, and one recites a litany of diagnostic questions while the other probes at the knee he had to pry my hands off of. I answer through a locked jaw, not so much because of the throbbing ache in my leg but because I’m trying not to cry.

Eventually, the trainers help me up and onto the flatbed cart that will take me to the ambulance, which will take me to the nearest hospital. The crowd cheers as the cart starts to move, and teammates slap my arm or my shoulder as we pass by in a gesture of support. But one hand clasps my wrist—only for a brief second since we’re still moving—yet long enough for me to distinguish it from the rest.

That’s when the tears start to fall.

***

My eyes flick to the door when I hear it open, narrowing at the body that slips inside the dim room. “What are you doing here?”

“Where else would I be?” Damien pulls a chair to the side of my bed and takes a seat, and while I can’t deny I’m happy to see him, I also can’t deny I’d prefer to be alone, so I don’t have to talk toanyone.

My mind is a jumbled mess of disappointment, fear, and regret that I’m not sure how to put into words, and he of all people deserves better than the incoherent thoughts running through my brain. Especially after the way I’ve treated him in the past.

“I’m not gonna be good company, right now.”

“That’s nothing new.” He takes the remote off the bed and mutes the already low murmur of the TV. “I brought your phone, so you can call your parents.” He sets my mobile on top of the blankets.

“They’re in Europe for their anniversary. They probably don’t know about this, and I’m not going to ruin their trip over something they can’t fix.”

“Fair enough.”

We sit quietly for a beat, watching the silent TV without even the rhythmic beat of a heart monitor to mark the passing seconds. I keep waiting for Damien to say something. Anything. But the normally chatty bastard doesn’t move his lips.

“How long are you gonna sit here?” I finally ask.

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