Page 108 of Sneak Attack

Kissing Cole reminded me I was home—or that I’d find my home wherever he was, and I never wanted to stop.

“I hope this helps for you and Jasper.”

“He asked if he’d see you again. I hope you don’t mind, but with what Selma said, I told him we’d keep our friendly visits to family dinners for a while.”

It meant more sneaking over here and hiding, but I understood. “I get it. I told you we can go slow.”

“Problem is I don’t want that. Not with you. But I do need to be careful with Jasper so for now, it’s as slow as I can reasonably speed.”

We finished our wine, foundTheLastKingdomon Netflix and watched two episodes while we made out like teenagers and laughed about it. We spent the next few hours talking about nothing and everything and when I couldn’t fight my yawns anymore, Cole once again walked me to the car, kissed me like a gentleman and stayed in my rearview until I pulled onto the street.

We hadn’t met under the best circumstances. Certainly, hadn’t always done things right and I still held a lot of regrets.

But as I pulled away from Cole’s house, for the first time since I’d returned, the pain I’d held on to for so long was nothing more than a whispering breeze in the air.

In its place, was a contentment, for once in my life.

CHAPTER33

COLE

This was it. Our first home game of the season. We won in Texas last week, thirty-five to fourteen, and came home high on our first road win only to get straight to work preparing to host Atlanta.

On either side of me stood Dawson and Davis. Jefferson and the rest of the offense spread out on the five-yard line while we stretched, did quick sprints and loosened our muscles. Half of us had noise-canceling headphones or AirPods in to drown out the noise, but I didn’t. I lived this moment.

The stands filling with fans. Men old enough to be my father, or older, with their faces, sometimes their hairy bodies, painted with red and black paint. The weather was gorgeous, the sun was out, and thankfully it wasn’t going to be brutally hot. My body was warm, limbs loose, and from their seats at the twenty-yard line, eight rows up behind the home team’s bench side sat my parents, with Jasper and Marley in front of them.

Selma’s seat was empty, and while she could still show up, I doubted it. I received papers in the mail from some attorney she’d hired asking for double the amount of child support I’d put in my offer. Like I cared. I signed everything and my attorney said it'd be filed with the court within thirty days, making it official.

Since then, the only time I’d heard from Selma was when she sat in her car when she picked Jasper up for school in the morning, or when I knocked on her door to pick him up before she left for her night shift. We hadn’t exchanged two words, and while it was nice, I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Unless Theresa and Irv scared the absolute crap out of her with her behavior I told them about, I figured Selma was planning something, biding her time and waiting until I became complacent before striking.

Hell, more than once I’d considered she’d never really wanted me in the first place but the money. If an extra ten grand a month was all it took for us to be decent co-parents, I should have done it sooner.

A whistle blew, and I lifted my hand and waved to Jasper and Marley. She didn’t wave back, but Jasper stood and threw both hands wildly in the air and behind him, my parents waved back. I’d run over to them earlier and tossed a ball with Jasper for a few minutes, like I usually did before games, fully aware of the cameras on me while I did so, so I kept it quick, only allowing them a few shots of me throwing the ball with my son.

I hustled off the field with the team toward the locker room, Davis slapping my back as we ran.

“You ready?”

“So damn scared I might piss my pants.”

Ah. I remembered that feeling. So full of nerves there was nowhere else for it to go except out your throat or the other end.

“Hey.” I clasped his shoulder before we reached the locker room. “You’re good.”

He grinned beneath his helmet, all cocky swagger, but the worry in his eyes told me he was faking it. Not bad.Fake it ‘til you make it, right?

But I needed him focused. “You’ve got this. You’ve already played five games. You have the lowest dropped pass percentage in the entire fucking league so far. You’re fast, and Atlanta might have prepared for you but you’re faster. And don’t forget—you’ve gotme.”

“Right. Right.” He nodded quickly. Puffed out his cheeks and shook the nerves out of him, shaking his legs and arms to keep them loose. “I know. It’s all good. As soon as I’m lined up it’ll be fine. Just another game, right?”

It wasn’tjustanother game. It wasthegame. Every game was. This was the NFL. Where dreams came true and were crushed in equal measure depending on the player, the luck, and the ferocity of the opposing team.

“Want to know what I thought of that first year when I lined up? And my very first starting game?”

“What?”

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