Page 1 of Playing for Keeps
CHAPTER 1
HANNAH
Just like every morning, the loud buzzing of my alarm pulled me from my slumber, destroying my peaceful serenity. Rolling over, I slammed my palm over the top of the snooze button. I needed just five more minutes. Pulling the cover over my head, I sighed, snuggling back in my spot. The idea of starting the day was a dread for me; I knew what it would be like, what would come that night. I wished for a way out of it, an excuse I could use for any reason. I had a headache. Maybe I lost my keys or fell and hurt my ankle. Hell, I would lie and say I started my monthly if it would get me out of my promised activity that night. I knew better, though; I was kidding myself; nothing would get me out of my promised obligation.
That night was the opening night of football season, and the Sandusky Jaguars took the field. Not that I was a huge football fan; I hated the sport, the players, pretty much everything about it, but I didn’t have the luxury of pretending it was just another sport I could not watch. I was born in Sandusky, yet I didn’t grow up there long. I didn’t grow up in one place, for that matter. Nope, I wasn’t an army child; I was the only daughter of a football coach who was excellent at his job and highly soughtafter. From elementary to junior to high school to college, I was shuffled with my family as he advanced through the ranks.
One team after the next, he won title after title and made a name for himself. I was proud of him and honored to be his daughter; it was glorious to watch him shine on the field. However, sharing him with the press and football players made me a little jealous and mega resentful. They got a side of him I never did. He loved me, and I loved him; however, it’s hard to ignore the critical parts of my life that he missed to cater to the needs of players that he would end up leaving seasons later for another batch.
Traveling from one state to the next, only known as the coach’s daughter, got a little much. Men are using me to get free access to the games. Girls pretending to be my friend, under the illusion that I had a hookup with the players. It was not a happy conversation with my parents when I announced I would return home and start my own life. I promised to watch the games on TV constantly, and I kept my promise. However, independence was something I needed and deserved. It was hard at first, but I found an apartment with my childhood best friend, Marty, and got a job with her at the local bar and grill, Hail Mary. I became known simply as Hannah, and I loved it.
Then he secured the head coaching position with the Jaguars, a team well-known in the world of football. They had won many titles and possessed some of the highest-paid players with the skills to match. You’d have to be living under a rock not to know that, especially in Sandusky. My father had hit the major league; he had come back home, and just like that, I was once again the coach’s daughter. As the five minutes ended and the loud buzzing of my alarm clock tore me from my thoughts, I heard my bedroom door fly open, with a loud bang against the dresser positioned next to the doorframe.
“Girl, get your ass up,” Marty demanded as she ripped the cover from over my head and hit my alarm off.
Grunting, I sat up and pressed my back against the headboard of my bed, my gaze shifted to my best friend as she took her place next to me. “I have no desire to get out of this bed.” I declared. “I feel like I’m coming down with something.” I continued with a fake cough.
Marty shook her head with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’re fine. Now get up, I want to go get a new outfit before the game.”
“You realize you’re not going to meet any of these players, right?”
“You don’t know that.” She snapped back instantly with a smile. I loved Marty, whose real name was Martha, but she refused to answer when called it, though she was delusional if she thought I wanted to be anywhere near the players.
“As soon as that game clock hits thirty seconds till the end, I’ll be heading toward the door,” I admitted, though I knew she thought I was kidding. Not sure why, though, since I’d been very vocal on my distaste for the game, the environment, and the players. I had worked so hard to gain my freedom from it, so to be thrust back into it, and at this level of the game, I felt violated, and all my hard work was pointless.
“You’re ridiculous.” She scoffed and stood, moving from the room. “Get your ass up and get ready.” She yelled.
All my life, Marty had been the best friend anyone could ask for. Even when I moved away, we kept in contact by any means, even the handheld snail mail route. She and I had no secrets; she was a sister to me, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her. She knew that. She’d always been a football fan, a Jaguar fan through and through, even before my father became the coach. Though the best seats she could ever get were in the nose bleeds, so I understood the excitement she had going to the game, getting the VIP treatment, just being with me. For that, for her,for my father, for my mother, I would suck it up and put my best face on.
Stepping from my bed, I walked with a slow, sluggish step to my bathroom, pulling my hair up in a messy bun. Placing my hands over the edge of the sink, my gaze lifted to my reflection. I could do this. I reassured myself. Forcing a smile to my face, I rolled my eyes and shook my head with a spin to the shower. Turning on the water, I ran my hands under getting the temperature just right, my thoughts moving to the press. I needed to avoid them, not because I was shy but because I knew nothing of my father’s team. Not a single player by name or face, just the basic information that Marty had told me. How bad that would reflect on my father, I wondered. Bad.
The ding from my phone turned my attention back to my bedroom. With a smooth stride, I picked the device up from the nightstand, my eyes falling to the word mom stretched across the screen. I wish I could have been surprised by the text, but I wasn’t. My mother and I had an even more strained relationship than my father and I; her full attention was always on him and his needs. She was the picture-perfect Stepford wife. I loved them both, but I once wished they had thought of what I wanted more than the stupid sport. There was no good morning. No, how are you? Just short and to the point instructions on arrival time, where to park, and, more importantly, how to access the box. With a simple thumbs up, I tossed the phone on the bed and made my way back to the bathroom. Let's get this over with, I thought.
CHAPTER 2
CAMERON
Standing at the foot of my bed, I fixed the collar of my white button-up shirt, twisting my head, and a pop came from my neck with the motion. It was another day, filled with press and the constant talking points required. We were happy to have the new coach. We worked well with him and were excited about the new season and what he brought to the field. It wasn’t as if I hated the new coach; it was the opposite. I believed he could take the team to a new level, bring more attention to players who usually would be lost in the shadows. I had no problem expressing these thoughts, but I hated having to. I just wanted to play the game I love; why all the bullshit of public speaking had to be involved never sat well with me.
Glancing at my reflection in the full-length mirror that sat in the corner of the room, I nodded my head and exhaled. With a smooth motion, I spun and grabbed up my bag from the floor, heading into the main room of my penthouse. My gaze drifted to the city line view, dropping my bag next to an end table as I passed. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee hit me like a ton of bricks. I would have loved to enjoy a cup on the balcony, watch the city come to life, and take in the brisk breeze, but not on game day. I had a ritual when it came to gamedays, and it neverfailed me. No physical activity the night before. No coffee in the morning, oatmeal with fruit and nuts for breakfast.
I stepped to the counter, pulling my phone from its charger, and saw that I had missed three calls and six text messages. I exhaled and tried to prepare myself for the chaos that the day would bring. Not only the game, but the press, and the task of reining in the few players who were still upset about the new coach’s changes. They were young players and still had the mindset of their college days. They were big names who thought they would get certain perks for signing with the Jaguars, but when they didn’t get everything they wanted right out the gate, they blamed the coach. Quickly, I flipped my fingers over the keyboard with a short reply, hitting send as I felt a grip around my shoulders.
My eyes closed to the pressure of the squeeze, my head dropped down, and a light groan sounded behind my closed lips with the hard push of fingers against my neck. My lips curled into a grin as their hands left me, and I heard the shuffle of their feet as they moved to my side. My gaze shifted to Lana as she smirked and popped one of the blackberries from the bowl that rested on the counter into her mouth. She knew what she was doing.
“Long morning?” she asked, popping another of the berries into her mouth.
My brows arched with her question. “And it’s not even eight,” I answered with my attention back on the phone as a new message came through.
“You might need to see the trainer before the game, you’re pretty tense.” She suggested, her voice soft.
“It’s just gameday stress, it will work out.”
“This isn’t just a normal game, though.” She quickly added, bringing my attention to her. “New coach and all.” Lana had been such an essential fixture in my life that she knew mythoughts before I could even express them. She and I met when we were both in elementary school and kept in contact through different colleges. She even moved to Sandusky when I signed with the team.
“He’s not bad, just a few more rules than some of us old schoolers are used to.” I joked, though it was far from a joke. Coach Marshall was a decent guy all around, but he did have his rules and gave no room for mistakes, even off the field. We were to conduct ourselves in honorable ways, never to reflect poorly on the franchise, the city, or the team. On his first day in camp, he made sure we all knew that one rule break would get us benched for a game. Two would be four games: three, the entire season. There was no fourth.
“So, he’s ready? The team’s ready?” She asked the very questions I knew reporters would ask me in a few short hours.
