Page 40 of Changing the Play

The rest of the game is more of the same. West getting sacked over and over, then yelling at his teammate. And with only three minutes to go, there’s almost an all-out brawl. West jumps up, throwing the ball to the side and taking off across the field, grabbing his own defender by the jersey and shoving him backward.

There’s more yelling, a collective gasp through the crowd, and then the guy shoves West. They grapple for a second before the ref steps in and forces them apart.

“What’s happening?” I ask, leaning toward Parker.

“I’m not sure, really. Something must have happened at the half because they weren’t acting like this before. It almost seems like the defender is letting people through on purpose.”

“What? That makes no sense. Why would they do that?” I ask.

“I have no idea.”

From the brief flashes I can see of his face and his heaving chest, it’s clear that West is mad. The team ends up winning, but only because they managed to score a field goal and the defense showed up.

I jump up from the stands, dragging Parker with me. “Let’s go wait for him by the locker room. That’s where they’ll come out from when they’re done, right?”

Parker nods, following me.

The area right outside the locker room is packed, so we’re standing by the exit, waiting. A couple of players have come out, but not the player I’m waiting for. Parker is scrolling on their phone, and I’m scanning the crowd. Waiting. So impatiently, I might add.

Finally, the door opens and West walks out. His face is a thunderstorm. The anger is there for sure, but there’s a million other emotions flying across his face too. So many I almost can’t keep up.

Someone walks out behind him, shoving him forward. “Going to find your little faggot boyfriend, Hale?”

My blood freezes. What did he just say?

Parker tenses, putting their phone away quickly, fully on alert.

West turns, slamming the guy into the wall, pressing his arm over his throat. “I already fucking told you. Don’t talk about him like that.”

The guy laughs. “What? Is he not bending you over enough? You’d think getting laid would loosen you up some. Or maybe it’s just that boy pussy isn’t as good as real pussy. Is that it, Hale?”

Someone else jumps into the fray. West’s receiver, I think. “Bro, shut the fuck up. No one wants your bigoted-ass comments.”

The guy West has pinned to the wall laughs again. I’m not sure I’d be laughing if I were him, but hey, maybe he’s not concerned.I’mconcerned, though. This isexactlywhat I was worried about. “You can’t deny it, Hale. We all saw his little fag ass sitting up there in your jersey like he was something special.”

West’s face twists in anger. “Don’t fucking talk about him like that. You have no idea what type of person he is. You’re not even good enough to say his fucking name. I’m going to let you go, and you’ll leave without another word, or I’ll have your ass off this team.”

I should probably say something, right? Do something? I can’t. I’m frozen. Ihatethis. He’s defending me to some jerk I couldn’t care less about, and I can’t even do anything.

West releases his grip on the guy and steps back, his entire body shaking. I’ve heard bigoted things so many times.So many times.It’s life. It is what is it, but West? He hasn’t. And I hate that he’s having to hear it from his own team, and it’s all because of me.

“This was a bad idea, Park,” I choke out. “We should go.”

I’m grabbing Parker’s arm and starting to walk away when West sees me. Before I can even blink, he’s making his way to me—apologies written all over his face. He drops his gaze to my jersey and looks up at me, and even though there’s still anger burning in his eyes, I can tell it’s not for me. If anything, it looks like he relaxes more and more as he makes his way to me. His eyes fall again, and then he’s smiling. A bright, breathtaking smile that makes my knees weak and my heart soar. I can’t believe he’s looking atmelike that.

God, I’m about to do something so stupid. I can tell. My brain isn’t working right. I can’t be trusted to make smart decisions right now. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Not when he just defended me that way. Not when he’s rushing toward me like I alone can solve all his problems.

He stops in front of me, and seemingly without conscious thought, traces the number nine on the front of the jersey I’m wearing.

His eyes find mine, and with my heart pounding heavily in my chest, I raise on my tip-toes, reveling in the sound of his quick exhale. “I’m going to do something. And if you hate it, you can stop me,” I murmur, my lips so close to his that they catch on them as I speak the words. Before he can respond, I’m pushing forward and pressing my lips to his.

Chapter 13

Weston

We should be celebrating the win, and some of us are. The locker room is all cheers and happiness, but I’m simmering with rage.

Rage I haven’t felt before. Sure, I’ve gotten mad, but never like this. This feels personal. It fuckingispersonal

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