Page 63 of Blitz'd

This is their best game all season, something that pisses me off beyond belief. West Virginia State is a team no one in the conference takes seriously because they suck so bad.

Those fuckers showed up today.

It’s fourth and long and I have to make something happen if I’m going to take home the win. Memories of the picture Zander sent me dance behind my lids. Ineedthis.

I take a breath and steel myself todo this. I’m drawn out of the thought as something knocks into my shoulder—I don’t even have to look up to know who it is, but I still turn my eyes so I can level him with a glare. Easton looks over at me, a hard edge to his voice. “Way to fuck us with this win, Slade.”

I grit my teeth, close to fucking decking him, but the cameras are trained on us, so I keep my temper in check.

In the huddle, I give the play, and my entire O line looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. And I have. It doesn’t matter. If anyone can pull this off, I know I can. I know Ihaveto.

“Just be where you fucking need to be and it’ll work,” I say, raising an eyebrow as I look at everyone. Shrugging, we break the huddle and line up.

Blowing out a long breath, I step behind the center and call the play. When the ball is snapped, I grip it tight and scramble in the pocket, avoiding a sack.

Almost… almost.

Just as I see a defenseman from West Virginia State gunning towards me from my left, I see my tight end all alone at the ten-yard line. Cocking my arm back, I launch the ball, watching it spiral in the air before I’m tackled to the ground.

Hail Marys never work, but maybe that’s becauseI’mnot the one fucking doing it.

My field of vision is obscured for a brief moment, but the roar of the crowd makes me smile.

Fuck yes.

And somewhere in my chest, something feelswarm, because I know at least one person would realize how absolutelygodlythat play was. I pick myself up from the ground with a cocky smirk that Iknowprobably eats Easton alive, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not who I’m thinking about.

My eyes flick in the direction of the parking lot where I have my bag and phone stashed. I wonder if Zander watched? I wonder if he already sent me pictures, or if I can text him and tell him I expect him to be in that red lingerie waiting for me…

The smirk that starts to cross my features dies in a wash of ash that coats my tongue when I catch sight of who is in the stands.

Of course they’re already making their way down to the field like they have any right to greet me.

My dad’s smile is full of pride, but I can see behind the bullshit—it’s fucking proprietary. Calculating.

He’s looking at the way I played like a pro and seeing the dollar signs. That’s all I’ve ever been to him, though—a dollar sign. An extension ofhisaccomplishments. I’ve never really been a person. Just something he could break or brag about.

I freeze on the field and watch as my mother’s mouth pinches into a frustrated line a second before her pretty red lips lift into a smile.

“Kerian! Sweetheart, what an amazing game.” She sounds so sweet, and she holds her arms out to me like I asked them to be here.

When she does, all I can see is every time she kept them at her side while Dad beat the shit out of me. All I see is a childhood of her looking the other way while I learneddisciplineandrespectand whatever else his bad mood wanted to dole out on me any arbitrary day of the week.

My brows snap together and I turn without a word, refusing to give them the satisfaction of speaking to me, of seeing me. And I’m definitely not giving them the chance to make me wear a fucking mask of respect and spout platitudes just because I’m in front of my team.

Fuck that.

“Slade, we won, what’s your fucking—” I push past Easton hard enough that he goes flying, and ignore the sound of the low curse that tears from his chest.

It’s worse, because I canhearthem call my name as I make my way silently to the locker room, and I know I’m going to get an endless stream of calls later until I pick up.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I look over my shoulder, and sure enough, they’re still there. I can see the expression on my dad’s face.

Fuck this.

---