Page 163 of The Forever Play

Damn, if that idea doesn’t make me the happiest man on this planet.

CHAPTER 62

CARSON

I shoot down the road, shaking off the happy family vibes radiating out of Football Frat right now. I mean, what the actual fuck?

Hockey guys and their girlfriends? Kids running around like it’s a fucking Christmas movie?

As if Thanksgiving coming up isn’t bad enough. Zander’s taking over our fucking house with his daddy bullshit, and I’m done.

I don’t want to live with a toddler. Yes, she’s damn cute. And yes, when I found out what that prick Fisher did to her, I wanted to smash the guy’s head in. How dare he scare her that way? That fucker!

I didn’t even find out about it until the early hours of the morning. I got home at like two and Zander was still up, sitting in the darkness and stewing. He told me everything, and I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t called me. I would have been there in a heartbeat. I could have helped.

But he probably thinks I hate his little squirt.

I don’t. She’s fucking adorable, okay?

She just doesn’t belong at Football Frat, and no one seems to understand that.

I am a junior in college, and I should be partying it up and having a good time, not living with a kid who still shits their own pants.

Shaking my head, I drive a little faster, heading for the one place I know I shouldn’t go. But the reminder text came through twenty minutes ago, and I could only respond with an “I’ll be there.”

I can’t seem to stay away, even though I know I should.

If I get caught, there’s a strong chance I’ll get kicked off the team. Coach doesn’t care that I’m one of the best wide receivers Nolan U has ever had. He cares more about character and shit, the type of men he’s training in his football program. It’s not about results; it’s about integrity and all the other horseshit he won’t shut up about.

Despite all that, football has been a lifeline for me. I really shouldn’t risk losing it.

But as I pull up next to the curb and spot her waiting on the sidewalk, I know I’m gonna go. I’m gonna cross that street, because she’s a fucking tractor beam.

She has been ever since I met her three and half weeks ago…

I turned up to practice a little hungover.

Anyone would think that was a crime against humanity the way Coach was acting.

“If you can’t be here ready to give it your all, then you shouldn’t bother coming!” he barked at me.

I resisted the urge to give him the finger and then tried to prove that I was fucking capable of being slightly buzzed and still giving it my all.

He saw straight through my bullshit and made me stick around after practice.

“I wanted your best, and you gave me barely half of what you’re capable of. So you can stay behind and run a few more drills, sweat that stuff right out of your body.”

“What? That’s bullshit!” I’d snapped at him, my insides raging as my roommates tried to signal me to shut the hell up and just take it.

“You’re gonna give me five minutes of up-downs, then you’re gonna give me five on the ladder, then five around the cones. I’ll set up a course for you.”

“No,” I barked like an idiot.

“Okay.” Coach nodded, his calm smile riling me up another notch. “Let’s make it ten minutes of each, then.”

“I don’t want to do that shit!”

“Then turn up to my practices sober!” Coach yelled. “Now, you get your butt on that field, and you give thirty minutes of your best.”

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