Page 5 of Whatever Happens

The accident destroyed everything.

The doctor said I was out for the season. No football for me. Right when I was on the cusp of becoming the top quarterback in the league. This was going to be my season. The Knights were going to make it to the Super Bowl, and I was going to lead them there. Or, at least, I was until the accident.

My ability to play for the season wasn’t the only thing I lost that night. I lost my brother, too. No, not physically. He survived with barely a scratch on him. Prick. Since that night, though, I haven’t spoken to him. I don’t want to. The fact of the matter is, he did this. He put me in this situation, and I hate him for it.

I’ve spent years trying to help him battle his drug use. While I wouldn’t have liked hearing it, if he had just told me he had used that night, I could have stopped all of this from happening. Hell, a lie would have been better. Tell me you're fucking tired. Tell me you don’t want to drive. Tell me anything except putting our lives in jeopardy and my career on the line.

Then there’s the icing on the cake. The Knights quarterback, all-around good guy, was now a drunk driver. Sure, I didn’t blow the legal limit, but when you crash your car into a fucking tree, that doesn’t matter. The media has had a hell of a field day with it.

The only silver lining? I was able to protect my parents. Relieve them of the burden of having to visit their son in jail. Without a doubt, that’s where Cody would have ended up. One too many brushes with the law. One too many accidents.

He gets to be high as a fucking kite and here I am drowning.

“I’m done,” I tell Todd, the expert physical therapist the team hired for me.

“Like hell you are. Coach Masterson…”

“I don’t give a damn what Coach Masterson says. I’m done for today.” There is only so much a person can take, and I am at the end of my rope.

“You better give a damn if you want to keep your spot on the team, hot shot.”

“I am busting my ass, and nothing is working.” I get in Todd’s face. “How about cutting me a little slack?”

“The minute you quit fucking up your arm and having to start from scratch… that’s when I’ll cut you a little slack.” I give him a quizzical look, unsure how in the hell he knows I did something to my arm. “I’m not an idiot, Carter. Your arm isn’t going to take a turn like this unless you did something. Something stupid, I’m guessing. So until you get your head out of your ass and your arm back on track, your ass is mine, and you do what I say.”

“Fine,” I shout, tossing my bag to the ground. “One more round, then I’m out.”

Todd seems okay with that, but I can tell by the look in his eye, he’s not going to make this one easy on me.

By the time I get home, my arm is so sore, I can barely move it. The worse the pain is, the more my mind wanders to that night, to the memories, to the anger and frustration I can’t let go of. Sounds fill my ears, images fill my head, and once again, I find myself needing to find a way to drown it all out.

Normally, alcohol would be the go-to, but between the accident and the bar fight, I’m trying to stay away. The last thing I need to do is give anyone more reason to worry about me or hate me.

Sitting on the couch, scrolling through social media, I come across an ad for a club that’s hosting a DJ I really like. I might not be able to drink, but the music sure as hell will help drown out the noise. Maybe a woman, too.

Heading to the club solo isn’t something I normally do, but I don’t feel like entertaining anyone tonight. At least not anyone who doesn’t have a pussy they’ll let me bury myself in. At the moment, I’m a little low on regular prospects, so it’s just me and whatever game I can muster trolling for a distraction tonight.

Despite showing up solo, I wasn’t alone. One of my teammates, Green, was already there. He is the last person I want to deal with tonight. The guy is loud and makes stupid decisions. Like introducing me to the woman that I just sent away.

At first, she seemed like the perfect distraction. That was until I noticed the tan line on her finger, which told me there’s usually a wedding band there. No doubt, a wedding band she took off right before she approached me and is probably now sliding back on. Or worse, isn’t, and is going to try this trick on someone else, someone more willing.

I may be the king of bad decisions lately, but there are some lines I won’t cross, and married women are definitely one of them. Though I must admit it about killed me to turn her away.

Clearly, I’ve used up any good luck I may have had.

Running short on prospects has never been an issue for me. I’m a fucking NFL quarterback. Still, since the accident, the line of women willing to fall at my feet has definitely decreased. Another side effect of protecting my asshole brother. The jerk never even thanked me for saving his ass. Instead, he just slunk back into his life like nothing ever happened, never once disputing that his brother, the football star, nearly killed him.

The asshole barely had a scratch on him. Me, however? I’m one false move away from losing everything I worked for.

A woman on the dance floor catches my eye—tall with long black hair, olive skin, and a body that makes my dick stand at attention. My eyes scrape over her body and the designer dress that hugs her curves. Curves that I hope to hell I can slide my hands over. My eyes settle on her hips, how they move, how they turn me on like no other woman ever has.

She looks like trouble. Exactly the kind of trouble I’m looking for—the very distracting, very orgasmic kind.

And she’s looking right back at me.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as I approach her.

“I’m Carter.”

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