Quarterback Sneak (Red Zone Rivals #3)(30)

His Adam’s apple bobbed hard in his throat, the muscle of his jaw flexing like he was restraining himself.

I closed my eyes.

Looking at him that closely was too much. But it was even worse once my sight was gone because every other sense kicked into overdrive. I heard the labored inhale he carefully drew, felt where I leaned into his palm even though I should have torn away.

My eyes popped open.

“You can’t have me,” I reminded him, though my voice was shallow, weak.

“Says who?”

“My father.”

His eyes fell to my lips, his next breath warming them.

“As long as it’s not you saying it, I don’t care.”

Holden tilted my chin even more, angling his mouth for mine. And I sucked in my last haggard breath, closing my eyes again, surrendering.

For the split second before good sense found me.

Because I knew regardless of what his words said, it wasn’t true. He did care. He had to care.

Or he’d be off the team.

And just two weeks of that had nearly killed him already.

I could almost taste him, his lips brushing mine when I said, “Then I’m saying it, too.”

I pressed a hand into his chest, and Holden paused, his lips still hovering so close to mine that just a fraction of an inch would give us both the reprieve we longed for. But we were drunk. We were being reckless.

There wasn’t a world that existed where Holden Moore could have me, and I could have him in return.

“Goodnight, Cap,” I breathed.

And he released me.

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Holden



Blake Russo must have really taken the advice I’d given him to heart because that Saturday he led our team in a win against the Vikings.

And the following week at home, he did it again.

It was invigorating — for him and the team and the coaching staff, too. All the odds had been stacked against us, but the backup quarterback had shown grit, and the team had pulled together, and we had won.

It should have been invigorating for me, too. It was what I’d wanted.

And yet, I felt the all-too-familiar sting of being useless.

And even worse — the team had been fine without me.

I never spoke those selfish, whiny, child-like thoughts out loud, not when we were on the road and not when we were back at the stadium, either. But they were there, deeply rooted in my chest and the seeded fear I’d always had of being defective, of not being needed.

I woke with night sweats, panic zipping through my spine like lightning at the realization that this could be it for me, it could all be over. I saw the draft slipping out of my fingers no matter how I tried to tighten my grip, saw scouts turning their gaze to other prospects with me on the bench.

Inside, I was treading water in a sea of doubt and fear.

But on the outside, I was the same Holden Moore — level-headed and sure, calm, encouraging.

I had to be.

And it was being captain that kept me going, that gave me the life raft to stop myself from drowning.

The wins lit a fire in me, just like they did the rest of the team. Whereas they worked harder on the practice field, readying themselves for our next home game that weekend, I pushed myself to the edge every day in rehab. The steroid shot had me feeling good, along with the exercises we’d been doing and the anti-inflammatories. I’d rested, and then I’d stretched, and then I’d introduced movement, and then I’d strengthened that movement. We were already introducing the passing motion, and it felt good.

I felt good.

Now, I was anxious to get back on the field.

I knew better than to push, than to ask Julep or JB or any of the other training staff to put me in before they recommended it. I was almost afraid to ask, like if I pushed too soon, it’d raise their warning flags and they’d hold me back even longer.

So, I showed them I was ready through physical therapy, through ignoring any little grimace of pain I might have felt and proving I could perform despite it. No, I wasn’t in perfect condition yet, but that would come with time. With practice.

With being back out there with my team.

If I was in the NFL, I’d already have been on the starting line-up. When money was involved, everything was different. But as it was now, the university was responsible for my well-being and health, and as much as I hated it, I was a liability.

They weren’t going to rush it.

The Thursday before our home game, I stretched out on the table after a grueling session of PT with Julep, sweat sluicing over my skin as I did. My chest heaved for a while as I lay there, as she carefully stretched my shoulder while it was warm.

She’d been all business since the party at the Pit more than two weeks ago.

I didn’t push her, not that night when every inhibition I had told me not to let her go, not to release her without kissing her first, when everything inside me yearned to claim her and show that I could have her — would have her.

And certainly not once I woke the next morning, sober enough to realize that she had been right.

Thank fuck she’d been the smart one, the strong one, to realize that line we toed was one we could never pass over. I understood that fact just as much as she did, but that night, with my judgment impaired…

I hadn’t cared.

I’d been willing to risk it all.