Page 60 of My Secret Bandit

Five wins to zero losses.

By the second half, their odds of keeping that untarnished record diminished.

Atlanta led by over twenty points, and unless Tampa controlled the ball for most of the time remaining, they likely wouldn’t catch up. With the third quarter dwindling down to five minutes remaining, we sat in silence as Atlanta’s quarterback reared back. Stepping forward, he launched the ball into the air. The spiral looked like it’d go on forever, only to stop thirty yards later when a pair of red and white cleats leapt into the air, bringing the ball down cradled between large hands. Hands that roamed my body hours earlier in the steamy seclusion of our hotel shower.

The thrill of Mateo’s interception instantly crumbled when the intended receiver slammed him onto the field before his feet ever reached the ground. The sound of his helmet connecting with the turf rebounded through the stadium and vibrated my chest.

I didn’t realize I jumped from my chair until Suzanne reached up to hold my hand, pulling it away from my mouth. The blood running through my veins echoed in my ears as he lay there, motionless, for seconds that drug on like hours.

Slowly, with a shake of his helmet, he rose. Training staff met him halfway and held on to him as he finished walking toward the sideline, back hunched, his arm clenched around his torso. I turned to leave, but Suzanne’s grip stayed secure around my wrist.

“They won’t let you see him,” she said while a pair of trainers escorted him down the crowded sideline and through the tunnel. The anguish in her gaze said she understood how much Mateo meant to me.

“I know. I just—Suzanne, I need to make sure he’s okay.” My heart ached at the thought of him lying on the field and the image worked to brand itself into my memory.

“He’s okay. Sweetie.” She turned my face away from the field. “He walked off on his own. That’s good. He didn’t look dizzy or lose consciousness. He’s okay.” I let her wrap her arms around me even though her words or embrace did little to settle the hammering in my chest.

I needed to make sure Mateo was okay. Yes, I saw him stand. I watched him walk under his own power through the tunnel, but that didn’t make mefeelany better. I wouldn’t until my eyes were on him and my arms were around him.

I didn’t pay attention to the rest of the game. The repeating image of Mateo getting slammed out of the air onto his back haunted my mind.

Suzanne rubbed my back and asked if I needed anything. If she wasn’t next to me, I undoubtedly would’ve made a fool of myself.

I imagined marching to the locker room doors, screaming, threatening, demanding entrance. That would never happen, of course, because stadium security was about as penetrable as the guards of Buckingham Palace.

God! I’d be blacklisted from ever going into another locker room, and my career would’ve been over before it even started.

Instead of ruining everything I worked for, I waited until the game ended and as calmly as possible followed the other reporters out of the press box. The team already filtered into the locker room.

Quincy entered last. We made eye contact before the door shut, his eyes filled with worry, which to me, meant he knew as much as I did.

After an eternity of waiting, we were finally let in. The atmosphere of the room lacked the enthusiasm it held after previous games. No laughter or music, only inaudible whispers filled the air.

I went straight to Mateo, throwing away the concern of who might see us or what they might say about it.

He sat alone in one locker, staring at the floor. His elbows resting on his knees and hands holding his head.

One trainer grabbed my arm to stop me. His fingers dug into my bicep as I tried to pull away. “He needs a break from repor—.”

“Watch yourself,” Xander warned, cutting him off. He eyed the man with a death stare until his grip loosened enough to yank my arm free. Conflicting feelings of anger and mild understanding swirled together as I glanced at him, absently rubbing the dull ache where he’d gripped me.

He was just doing his job—albeit a smidge forcefully—but he impeded my process of checking on Mateo. Xander gave a squeeze to my shoulder before I went to Mateo.

“Hey,” I murmured, pulling his hands from his face. I kneeled so his legs pressed against either side of me.

“Hey, baby.” He grimaced a smile as if it hurt to move even that small bit.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m all right. Just some bruised ribs and a bitch of a fucking headache.” He tried to laugh it off but ended up wincing instead. His eyes, normally bright and sparkling, dulled from the pain. A pain I knew all too well thanks to the sleepy driver that left me with a couple of broken ribs.

Slow to stand, he pulled me up with him and wrapped his arms around me. I did the same, my arms staying low so as not to bump an injured rib.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he whispered.

With my head in his chest, I nodded. My eyes clamped closed to keep off the sting I felt building up. Even while hurt, he still had me at the forefront of his mind.

He kissed the top of my head. Exhaling a long sigh, he relaxed into me. “Good. ‘Cause I really need this right now.”

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