Page 38 of Mr. Irrelevant
Boomer snaps the ball, and I roll back, allowing the play to develop as my line hits their blocks. They’re on point today, giving me plenty of time to wait for an open receiver as I scan the field for the best option. Jett executes a perfect in route, shaking his defender right before I fire the pass his way. It hits him directly in the numbers about twenty yards downfield, and he manages to gain another five before he’s pushed out of bounds at the fifteen-yard line.
“Fuck yeah, Kingsley!” I shout through cupped hands, jogging toward the new line of scrimmage. But Deacon Underwood falls into step beside me, the signature grin I’d love to punch off his face on full display asI prepare for him to pull something. He’s been trying for the entire first half, but I’ve tuned it out, choosing to lick Livvy’s taste off my fingertips every time he looks my way. He may not know what I’m doing—claiming her while he watches—but it’s a good reminder to myself that I got the girl.
“Nice throw,” he says, and I wait for more because I know it’s coming. “Hey, tell Liv I found her old iPad in my—ourroom.” Rolling my eyes, I beeline for the huddle, but he keeps talking. “I thought it was broken, but imagine my surprise when it fired right up. Did you know that she has it set so every device on her account syncs to one another? All her texts, pictures,videos,” he drawls, making me freeze as his grin grows dark and sinister. “I have access to all of it. Tell her to give me a call. It would be a shame if something like that ended up in the wrong hands—or, God forbid, on the internet.”
I freeze, turning my head in his direction as his grin grows even more ominous. Blood hammers against my pulse points, the sound of screaming fans completely overpowered by my own heartbeat in my ears. My hands ball tightly at my sides, the veins in my arms pumping pure rage throughout my body and filling me with the overwhelming urge to destroy everything in my path. I take a step into him, ready to attack, but I’m pulled away before I can.
“Dane, don’t,” Emmett says, his voice somehow breaking through the deafening noise inside my head. I keep my gaze locked on Deacon, but don’t protest as I’m pulled back toward my own huddle.
“Don’t give him what he wants,” he grunts quietly, his hand still clutching the edge of my shoulder pad as though he thinks I might dart away if he lets go. “There’s a minute until halftime. Keep your head in the game, then you can cool off in the locker room.” I swallow, nodding in affirmation as I try to push the possibility of Livvy’s ex having our private photos and videos to the back of my mind. Anger still ripples through me, but Emmett is right. If I fuck up, and we lose this game, he succeeded. And I refuse to let that happen.
The next sixty seconds of gameplay are a blur, ending in a field goal after they stop us in the red zone. I’m on autopilot as I pull my helmet from my head, following my teammates down the tunnel that leads to the locker room. I walk mindlessly through the double doors, dropping down onto one of the padded chairs and taking a few deep breaths as my chin falls to my chest. I need to get a grip on my emotions right now and worry about everything else later. The entire city of Cleveland has put their trust in me to give one hundred percent, and I can’t let them down. Liv’s face pops into my head, a reminder of the time she put into coaching me because she saw something that nobody else did. She made me a better quarterback—a better man in general—and I want to give her the playoff run she deserves.
“Hey,” Jett says, his voice low as he takes the seat next to me. “You okay? What did Underwood say out there?”
I look over, trying my best to mask the frustrationand anxiety that’s likely evident in my expression. The last thing I want is for anyone to think I’m easily rattled by a little shit talk, even though what actually went down was so much more. But I certainly can’t tell them that without blowing my own cover, so I’m more thankful than ever that he knows about my relationship with Livvy and has offered his support.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “He said he has access to some private photos and videos of Liv—of us. I have no idea if he’s telling the truth, or if he’s just trying to fuck with me, because the whole thing was really vague, but it sounded a little bit like a threat.” My jaw clenches, teeth gritting together so tightly that pain radiates up the sides of my head. “I don’t give a shit about myself, but if he does anything to hurt her, I’ll kill him.”
He leans in close, nothing but sincerity and understanding behind his eyes. “He knows she’s your Achilles’ heel—that his best chance at throwing you off your game is to come for her. But he can’t do anything right now. So, let’s go out there, win this game, and if he tries to do anything dumb?—”
“We’ll make him eat his fucking teeth,” Emmett says, lowering into the chair on my other side. I whip my head his way, panic flowing through me at the thought of him hearing our conversation. Thankfully, nobody else is within earshot as they settle toward the middle of the room, waiting for Coach to begin his halftime speech. “I saw her sneak into a dark room on my way to grab some new gloves from the equipment manager earlier—the same room I saw you walk out of when I was coming back.” My eyes go wide, stomachswirling with unease, as he puts two cautious hands out between us. “I was alone, and I swear I won’t say anything. Whatever’s going on between the two of you is none of my business. I just wanted you to know that if he tries to pull anything, on or off the field, I’ve got your back.”
Memories of our bye week flood my mind, realizing that I had mentioned the girl I was seeing…the girl he now knows is Livvy Grant. There’s not an ounce of judgment in his expression, only understanding and loyalty as he reassures me that I’m covered for the rest of the game.
I swallow the giant lump in my throat, giving him a grateful nod just as Coach Hendricks launches into the usual assessment of our first half performance, focusing on the things we need to correct moving forward. I do my best to lock in, remembering Jett’s words. Underwood can’t hurt Liv from the field, but he’ll do whatever it takes to break my concentration and end our season today. Fuck him, though. I’ve worked too hard—she’s worked too hard—to let that happen.
He may have access to something that could ruin us, but that can wait. Right now, I’m ready to block out the noise and win one for my girl.
THIRTY-SIX
LIVVY
“Where’s the fucking flag?”I shout, shoving my hands through my hair as I watch Maddox take yet another sack from Deacon. It’s not that the offensive line isn’t doing their jobs, because they are. They’ve been getting held left and right, but for some reason, the refs aren’t seeing it.
“Sweetheart, calm down,” my dad says, looking up from his seat. “We’re up on the scoreboard, and we haven’t seen any injuries. They’re blowing some calls, but Dane seems to be handling it well.”
My nostrils flare as I throw my arm up in a sweeping gesture toward the field below. “He shouldn’t have to handle it at all!” I bite out. “This is the same crew that threw Maddox out last time without even asking why he lost his shit! Now they’re letting Deacon get away with the whole thing all over again! We need to file a complaint.” My blood is boiling in my veins, my cheeks bright pink as rage pounds through me.
It’s been going on since the first half, starting with afew comments here and there. If you didn’t know there was something personal between the two men, you’d assume it was just normal shit talking between division rivals. But I know better. Every time Deacon leans in, a sardonic smirk spreading across his face as he mumbles things only Maddox can hear, I want to tear the door off this room. I’d give anything to be down there right now, putting an end to this nonsense once and for all, even though it seems to be rattling Maddox less today than it did the last time. I’m proud of him for keeping it together.
“Olivia,” my dad begins, his tone cautious and deliberate, “is there something going on wi?—”
“Three more minutes and we’ve punched our ticket to the Wild Card game!” Tony says as he bursts through the door, a bag of popcorn from the lower levels of the stadium clutched in one hand. He swears they use more butter down there, although I’ve never noticed a difference. But I’m grateful for the interruption, because it almost sounded like I was seconds away from being grilled about something I definitely don’t want to discuss right here—or anywhere for at least another week.
My dad looks back at his best friend, the worried expression he was wearing just moments ago replaced by a huff of disbelief. “Who’d have thought we would even be here during our first year?” he says. “I know it was a perfect storm, but we’ve made history.” He’s right. While we picked up momentum during the second half of the season, our record is by no means mind-blowing. Teams in our conference suffered moreinjuries than anyone has ever seen before, putting us on a more level playing field when it came to staying alive for a playoff run. Nonetheless, a win here will make us the first expansion team in the Super Bowl era to see the postseason.
I tune them out as they talk, focusing on the field where Maddox completes a checkdown pass for eleven yards. My eyes flit to Deacon as he attempts to close the space between them, but Emmett cuts him off with two hands on his chest. He shakes his head, causing my ex to shove at his shoulder before finally giving up and returning to his team. Between Emmett and Jett, Deacon hasn’t been able to taunt Maddox the way he did earlier in the game, leading me to believe that they’ve both been brought up to speed. I feel like the worst human being in the world for continuing to hide, and my anxiety is at an all-time high with the impending shitstorm that’s brewing within the organization—one that I created and will have to explain myself for very soon.
The final seconds tick off the clock, and the Renegades’ sideline runs onto the field, celebrating a ten-point win over the Impact. They played their asses off, breaking records against all odds when the world offered them nothing but doubt. My eyes find my boyfriend as he looks to the sky, pumping his fist over his head in triumph. He’s beautiful, shrouded in black and purple like a king who just led his men into battle. With all the apprehension I have about what comes next, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride at how he’s grown, both on and off the field, over the last handful of months. He went from struggling tobelieve that he had a place as a starter in this league to showing the city of Cleveland that they have so much to look forward to.
Thankfully, the suite is in full celebration mode, because it gives me a chance to sneak out after a quick goodbye to my dad. If he really was about to ask if there’s something going on between me and his quarterback, I’d rather have that conversation in private, after I’ve had time to prepare. Even though I’ve known since the beginning that I’d eventually have to face the music for my decision to go behind everyone’s back, I’d be lying if I said I was sure of how I’ll defend myself. How could I, when I would turn around and do it again a hundred times over if it meant helping Maddox realize what he’s capable of?
The drive back to Cleveland feels longer than ever, probably because I hate the idea of putting space between us when all I want is to hug him and tell him how amazing he is. Instead, I settle for a quick text, knowing he’ll spend at least the next couple of hours doing press conferences and interviews, then they’ll head back to the hotel to sleep before the team bus makes the three-hour trek back home. I’ll be counting down the minutes until we’re together again, even though I know it’s just the calm before the storm since they play the Blizzard in Boston on Sunday night. I’d be willing to bet that Coach Hendricks is already plotting ways to have the entire team doing run-throughs in their sleep. I don’t blame him one bit, though. The Blizzard, even plagued with injuries, will be our toughest matchup yet.
As soon as I walk into my apartment, I strip down, shower, and get cozy in Maddox’s hoodie, pulling it up over my nose like I always do. His soft sandalwood scent invades my senses, and my chest twists, wishing it were his arms I was enveloped in right now.
I slip into bed, hoping to find a goodnight text, but the screen is devoid of notifications, making me sigh in disappointment. I’m sure he’s exhausted, and I’ll hear from him in the morning, but I’ll admit I hate not getting a chance to tell him I love him before he closes his eyes.
