Page 73 of Fumbled Into Love

He didn’t score, but he also didn’t shit his pants, so I would say that deserves celebration.

A blur of yellow and blue flashes along my peripheral vision. I spin, and my stomach drops, nausea settling deep in my gut.

I stare at Blake Houghton, a defensive end on the Nevada Raiders. My brain glitches as I stand face to face with my past, the history I left behind after I was drafted.

Realistically, I knew this interaction was inevitable. I’ve had luck on my side the last few years since Nevada isn’t always on our schedule.

I had forgotten he was traded to Nevada, and he doesn’t play often, so I didn’t see him on the field.

It’s petty, but smugness settles in my chest, knowing he rides the bench.

“It’s great to see you, man.” Blake slaps a hand on my shoulder, and I recoil from the touch. “Even if we lost,” he chuckles, and my stomach riots at the sound. “How long has it been?”

“Five years,” I grit out, stepping away from his touch. He has no right to speak to me, not after what happened.

“Right...” His face sobers, and part of me wants to punch the look straight off his face. He has no right to act like the distance is anything but a product of his choices. “Why haven’t we spoken in so long? We used to be close.”

The question shocks me. Knocks me off my axis. He can’t be serious. I scan his features. Holy shit, heisserious. The fact he is making me dig up what should stay buried boils my blood.

“You knew, Blake. You knew she was sleeping with Brian, and you saidnothing. You were someone I confided in. I told you about how I felt about her, the worries I had, and you sat back and allowed me to believeIwas the problem.” The words begin to flow, five years of pent-up anger and betrayal released like a broken dam. “I-I thought I was a bad partner; that Savannah was distant and cold because I did something wrong and notbecause she was sleeping with my teammate. You let me believe that, and it’s not something I’m willing to forgive or forget.” His face pales, and I turn away, finished with the conversation and the painful memories it dredged up. “Don’t speak to me again.”

Jack stands by the tunnel, a questioning look on his face, as I jog away from Blake. I refuse to dig up the past, not when I’ve fought so hard to trust again, to put my faith in my friends and teammates.

I refuse to let Blake take away everything I’ve built here.

“You good?” Jack whispers, noting the tension in my shoulders. I nod, and he lifts an eyebrow. “Would you tell Maren the same thing?”

I falter a step. I would rather risk castration than lie to Maren. I am far too afraid of losing pretzel privileges, and she knows it. But Maren also loathes divulging her emotions, meaning she doesn't ask questions or pry when I don’t want to elaborate, so there is no need to lie to her. Frankly, I have a healthy dose of fear and admiration for her.

“No,” I answer truthfully.

Jack nods his head in understanding and pats my shoulder before calling out to Henry, who pauses for him to catch up.

I drag my feet into the locker room; the lingering anxiety is an incessant buzz in my ears. A small hand halts my movement, and I glance down at the five-foot-four woman who instills the fear of God into me every time our paths cross.

“I’ll cover the media today,” Jack says, saving me from being dragged into hell by Victoria. “Deon needs to stretch his quad.”

“I do?”

“Yes.” Jack gives me anAre you an idiotlook.

“Right. Gotta stretch the quads.” I do a quick lunge for good measure before darting away into the visitor locker room.

I slip into the room, chatter filling the space as I find my space in the back corner, surrounded by Henry and Declan. I pull my phone out of my bag, and a dozen messages from Nathalie fill the screen.

Good luck!

Gordie says meow. That translates to 'Beat Dallas, Dad!'

OMG.

You look really hot in those pants.

But also, like you’re ready to fight in the Revolutionary War. I’m super turned on by the duality of the outfit.

The camera needs to focus more on your butt. They’re missing out.

Insane move to slip the rushing defender. Well done.

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