Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Max
WE MARCHED ON THE FIELD for the second half, the smell of popcorn and beer filling my senses. I checked the stands. Still no Sunny.
Back in the locker room, when Coach had taken a restroom break, I’d snatched my phone to see if she’d sent me any texts. She hadn’t. I sent her one.
Where are you? Worried.
She hadn’t replied, but then I’d had to put my phone away when halftime was over. I didn’t care about the appearances; I just wanted her to be okay.
Resolving to get back in the game, I slapped Tate on the back. “Dude. I’m throwing you the ball all damn day and you better catch it and hang on. We’re gonna win.”
He nodded, a gleam in his eyes. “Bloody hell, I like your pep talks.”
“Let’s do this,” I called out as we lined up. Several agreeing murmurs came from my guys. The ball snapped, and I connected a gorgeous pass to Tate, who ran a route straight to the end zone. The crowd went nuts.
At a time out, I grabbed water from one of the boys and sat on the bench with Harley, the offensive coach. He walked me through some possible scenarios of the Taylor defense.
Felix approached although I pretended to barely notice. “I see your fiancée isn’t in the stands. Wonder where she is, Kent? You think she found someone else?”
Now that I’d scored, I felt more in control. “Don’t be such a baby, Felix, just because you aren’t playing in the biggest game of my career. Fuck off.”
His ears reddened. “I hope we lose this game.”
I shook my head at him and smirked. “You will say anything to make me blow up. Guess it really doesn’t matter anyway. The police will handle you.”
His eyes narrowed. “What lies are you spouting?”
“I know what you did in the library to Sunny. Bianca told me. I skipped campus police and went to the Atlanta PD today and told them everything. Hell, I hate my father, but I even took him with me.” I forced a laugh. “Everyone loves him, you know . . . big famous NFL player and all. The cops were more than willing to listen to us. He even signed a few autographs. They’re waiting for you just outside the stadium because I asked them to let you be part of the team—just in case I got hurt.”
Part of that was true and part of that was utter bullshit. I had gone to the police, but the cops weren’t waiting for him. They didn’t have enough evidence . . . yet.
I smiled a shit-eating grin, enjoying the shock on his face. “See ya.” I jogged out on the field for another run.
We started off at the fifty, and when I saw the double coverage, I sidestepped, took an opening in the defense, and ran like hell, the sound of the crowd louder the further I went.
Touchdown! I tossed the ball in the crowd and a fan caught it.
I glanced up to Sunny’s seats and kissed my fingers—out of habit—but she still wasn’t there.
Let it go, Max. She’s okay.
I concentrated on the next possession. We lined up, the ball was snapped, and like perfect choreography, I looked down the left sideline and connected with Tate for a twenty-yard pick up. Another pass to the tight end put us within thirty yards of a touchdown.
We moved the ball further down the field.
But we had to score to win. Time was ticking.
I caught the snap, looked down the center, and saw Tate wide open. I sailed it through the air, and he caught it on the ten and ran it in for the final touchdown.
The noise in the stadium was deafening. Confetti went everywhere. The marching band cranked up our fight song.
My heart raced as I looked at the scoreboard and watched as the seconds counted down. Three, two, one . . .
I tossed my head back and yelled my victory into the now darkened sky. That’s for you, Mom, I whispered into the chilly air.
Like a horde, players and fans swarmed the field, jostling each other. It was an assault of flashbulbs, reporters, and the other team coming to congratulate us.
Someone nudged me in the back, and I turned around. Felix. He whipped his helmet off and held it with a tight grip. “Were you serious about the police?” His eyes darted around the stadium.
“Hell yeah.” I slapped him on the back. “Can’t go to the NFL if you’re in jail, asshole.”
Hardness grew in his gaze, and I could tell he was getting ready to mouth off.
Fuck that. I ignored him and turned away.
This was my team. My moment.
Someone shoved me from behind, causing me to stumble into a lady reporter who was busy getting her mic out. Mortified, I quickly regained my balance and apologized. Once I made sure she was okay, I flipped around, expecting to see some random person. It was Felix. Again. He curled his lip as people milled around us.