Page 106 of Who's Saving You
“Well, Miss Investigative Reporter, you should have picked up on the fact that when Nik plays with something to lose, he turns into a monster on the field.”
I raise my brows. “Something to lose?”
“Someone,” Dante corrects, grinning like he already knows the ending to a story I haven’t read yet. “The best athletes? They don’t just play for themselves. They play for someone who makes them believe they can’t fail. You’ve become that for him.”
“I told you! I knew you two couldn't resist each other. From that first night you complained about him, I knew it was only a matter of time,” my sister chimes in and then stands tall, nodding along with Dante.
Traitor.
Heat creeps up my cheeks, and I glance down at the stem of my glass, swirling the deep red liquid because I can’t meet his eyes. After talking to Stone earlier and now Dante, to know others can see the love, it’s not embarrassing, but it's telling, and I'm not sure I was ready to spill all yet. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Am I?” His tone shifts, becoming softer and dead serious. “I’ve seen him stumble, Noelle. I’ve seen him fight for every inch. Tonight? He’s fighting because he’s already won, and now he wants to keep it. That’s the difference.”
Dante has such a way of speaking; his words are smooth like honey, but hit with a punch. And he’s right. Nik kissed me like he was promising forever before he left for the stadium, and now everything is building upon that promise.
“Guess I’ll just have to see for myself,” I murmur.
Dante smirks, leaning back, completely at ease. “You’ll see. And when he scores, just know he scored for you.”
~~
The room below is buzzing with an electric current I can feel even from this floor looking down. Bodies are pressed close at the bar, and money is flying over counters as the odds flash across the screens. The game is displayed on the big screen in the middle of the room, and my pulse kicks up the moment I see him, helmet gleaming under the lights, and number eleven on his back. He looks calm, but I know him well enough now to see the restless energy simmering beneath his stance.
This is the game to solidify their place in the playoffs. Win this and move on. Lose this? Go home until next year.
After all that’s gone on, especially over the last twenty-four hours, I’m worried. This is a whole different game tonight, and the outcome will have a massive impact on Nik, the team, and, I’m sure, everyone in this room.
I clutch my glass a little too tight, keeping my eyes glued to the screen. The whistle blows, the Warriors have the ball, and they surge forward in the first drive, the crowd in the club roaring almost as loud as the one in the stadium. Nik is fast, and I watch as Jameson finds him almost immediately and throws to him. Nik is like a blur, cuttingthrough defenders, but he’s there, making the catch seamless.
“Damn, Noelle. He’s on fire tonight.” My sister hasn’t left my side as we watch the game.
“See?” Dante nudges my elbow with his. “Laser-focused. He’s already in the zone.”
My heart beats faster with every snap. Minutes blur into what feels like hours, and I wonder how this is enjoyable to anyone. Every play, every tackle, every whistle feels like a stab to my lungs. But Nik is relentless, playing with skill and a fire I haven’t seen before. And when Nik makes the catch that carries them into the lead going into halftime, the bar erupts, and I’m jumping right along with everyone, clapping and yelling. We’re up by a touchdown, and though it’s not enough for them to be comfortable, I still feel a bit of relief that we’re ahead.
But the high doesn’t last.
The team comes from the tunnel, taking the field right after halftime. Those same nerves come over me, and I find I’m holding my breath as I watch. The other team comes out sharp, stringing plays together and picking up first-downs. Long passes and strong runs have them in scoring position in no time. And then they do. The crowd at the bar falls quiet, a hum coming from below.
Dante stands beside me, yammering on with the guy next to him about plays and point spreads. I watch Nik’s team, and something feels weird. They seem to be moving too fast, too manic. I watch as Jameson brings them into a huddle, waving his hands with his palms down, trying to tell his teammates to slow down. There’s plenty of time on the clock, but still, the next series of plays moves quickly. Jameson lines up again, there's a snap, a run, a wall of bodies colliding mid-field. I spot Nik breaking through,pushing off his opponent with a stiff-arm, but he doesn’t see the guy coming from the other side. There's a hit from the left, and I swear I canhearit. It looks brutal as his body twists at the wrong angle, and he crumples to the turf.
I freeze.
The room gasps, then falls into a hush so thick it feels like it’s sitting on me, pushing me down. On screen, teammates wave frantically for the medics. Nik isn’t moving.
“What’s happening?”
No response.
“Dante, what’s happening? Why isn’t he getting up?” My sister grabs my hand as Dante moves closer to us both, all three of us willing him to move, through the screen.
“He’ll get up. He probably just got his bell rung.” He stares at the screen, murmuring, “Come on, Nik. Get up.”
The camera zooms in. Trainers kneel over him, and players circle close with heads bowed. I see Coach Gage run out, pushing his guys back as he steps right in and kneels beside Nik. The commentator’s voice is grim, muffled like it’s coming from underwater, and then they cut to a commercial.
“No…” The word leaves me, barely a whisper.
“Fuck,” Dante lets the curse slip out, and I know he and I are both thinking the same thing. Cutting to commercials on an injury isn’t good.
