Page 103 of Play Maker

“You think I gave ashitabout that?” Cross growls. “You weremyperson.”

“You …” Kolby shakes his head. Silence. Then voice breaking. “I thought you’d hate me. I thought you’d blame me for everything.”

“I did,” Cross whispers.

Kolby nods. Doesn’t fight it. Just takes it.

And me? I’m pressed to the wall, breath caught in my throat, heart aching so loud I can’t hear anything else.

“You need to face what you pulled, talk to Coach D. Kiss your coaches’ asses so they don’t throw you on the practice squad for the rest of your contract. Do not waste this!”

“And then what!”

“Then you never look back. You live, you let people in, you find control, and then, Cross, when you’re good, you let love in. And then, when you’re done tearing me down every time we meet on a field, you and I, we talk and figure it out from there.” He turns and walks away, right toward me.

“You ready to go?”

“Where we going?” I ask.

“We’re going home, Lo.”

* * *

We drive straight to my place, barely speaking, because we don’t need to. Not after everything. His hand stays in mine the entire ride, his thumb brushing slowly across my knuckles like he’s grounding himself, like I’m the only still point in a world that hasn’t stopped spinning since kickoff. I want to tell him it’s doing that for me, too, that inside, I want to go back there and rip Caleb Cross’s life into shreds because he hurt him. He hurt what is mine to love and protect.

I pull into the parking lot of the Brewery. It’s packed, which is not a surprise.

“We need to stop. Need to?—”

I gently squeeze his hand. “They’ll be there next week, too.”

“I’m okay, Lo.”

“I know you are. You just won the Knights the division.”

Head resting against the headrest, he rolls it to the side and looks at me. “There was a whole team doing that.”

“Huh.” I wink. “I only saw you.”

I park right by the porch and hop out, planning to open the door for him, but when I round the Jeep, he’s already out.

Inside, I slip out of my coat and tug his off, too. He moves slow, eyes heavy, body wrecked in that beautiful way that only comes after giving everything on the field.

“I’m going to feed the stove. Sit, please.”

“Lo, I can help.”

“You’re a guest until I’ve worn you down and convince you to move in.”

He sits and asks, “You want me living with you?”

And in me, I think, but I know already if I said that, no matter what shape he’s in, he’d be giving me all he had.

“Yes.” I close the stove and move to the fridge, grabbing him a drink and taking it to him. “Get hydrated. I’m drawing you a bath.”

He doesn’t argue. Just leans close and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Never want you to have to fight my battle, but what you said …” He places his hand on his heart.

“You and I”—I kiss the top of his head—“we’ll do that for each other no matter what.”

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