Page 97 of My Secret Bandit

“Better. As long as you keep doing that.”

“You know I wish I could, but we need to get going.”

“What is happening?” I whispered. Standing from my chair I stared down at the field. For at least the fifth time since the game started, not even ten minutes ago, the entire stadium watched as the opposing team’s tight end puffed up his chest and went facemask to facemask against Mateo with so much animosity, I could damn near taste it.

Cool and collected. The first few attempts to goad him went ignored. It wasn’t until this last one that he had enough and sent the tight end stumbling back and flipping over himself with one hard shove.

Just as fast as he hit the ground, a different player ran to defend him, pushing Mateo. Unlike the tight end, he stayed upright, barely moving a step. Back to normal, he didn’t react. He simply put his hands up and walked backward toward the huddle and a screaming Coach Porter once the referees sent their yellow flags flying.

“Personal foul, defense number fifty-two. Personal foul, offense number thirteen.” The official’s voice sounded over the stadium speakers, then echoed on the TV behind us a second later. “The penalties offset. Repeat third down.”

Taking my seat, I groaned. How were tensions this high and we hadn’t even made it to the second quarter yet? A better question was why were tensions this high? The Texas Lonestars weren’t in our division. There was no scandalous history of rivalry. The two teams only played each other every couple of years. Beyond all of that, Mateo was one of the best-liked guys in the league. So why were they so focused on him?

I’d never seen a game quite like this one, and then Mateo getting chop blocked on the next play was my undoing. All the nausea I held at bay since this morning rushed up and I took off for the restroom.

After flushing away the sorry amount of breakfast I’d forced down, I brushed my teeth, returned to my seat next to Suzanne, and pushed a stick of mint gum into my mouth.

She gave me a concerned look, but before she could get the question out, I said, “I’m fine. Just a little stomach thing.”

She nodded sympathetically, then went back to focusing on the game.

Irritation rolled over me when I saw my time spent puking my guts up resulted in a Texas touchdown.

Alec made up for it, breaking every tackle to carry the ball sixty yards to the end zone.

Tied up at seven to seven, the defense took the field again.

This round of plays went better than the previous ones.

Well… there was no shoving.

There was obviously a lot of shit talking judging by the way the players danced around Mateo, taunting him.

My irritation shifted to full-on boiling anger watching as it took Quincy, Taylor, and two refs grabbing Mateo to restrain him from going after the tight end again.

“He’ll be fine,” Suzanne soothed with a pat against my clenched fists. “He’s smart, he knows not to let them get into his head.” She said it with so much genuine honesty, I knew she believed it. But his hands bunched together at his sides. His shoulder pads rose and fell with deep breaths, and I could practically see the rage-filled puffs of steam slipping out from under them. His teammates stood in front of him, likely giving him a talk similar to what Suzanne gave me.

*text notification*

Xander: You good? And don’t lie. I already know you’re not. I’ll be there as soon as I get Mom cooled down.

Somehow that paired with Suzanne supplied me with enough comfort to keep from locking myself by the nearest toilet, giving the reins over to my nerves and letting them finish the shitty game they started this morning.

While I waited for Xander to show up, a stream of scenarios entered my brain about why Mateo was being targeted after just about every play.

Maybe he isn’t as liked as I think he is… Right. That’s fucking doubtful.

Maybe he said something they didn’t like.

Or they’re trying to keep him from getting the tackle record… only a franchise record has nothing to do with them.

Jealousy, maybe? That must be it.

Maybe it has nothing to do with football at all…

“TíaJamie!“ The little voice entered the room.

“Milly!” I said, returning her excitement, feeling lighter with her bright green eyes and dimples taking over the room.

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