Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Huh? What game?” I lift a hand and shield my eyes from the sun to look at her.
Mia rolls her eyes dramatically. “The football game, of course.”
“Oh.” Oh! “Why do you want to go to that?”
“I want to take a closer look at your guy. What’s his name? Cage?”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, it will be fun. Have you ever been to one of his games? Or any football game?”
“Well, no.”
“Okay, it’s decided then. Let’s go.”
“Fine, I’ll change.”
“Change? Why would you do that? You look amazing. Let’s go silly.” Mia gets up from her seat and motions for me to get up too.
As if he heard us thinking about leaving, Zeke appears in the doorway. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Calm down, I was about to call you. We’re going to the football game.”
Zeke nods and walks away without another word.
“Is he always like that? Like a robot?”
“He has his moments.” Mia gives a vague answer as we walk back inside.
I would interrogate her more, but that would be weird since Zeke could hear us. We put our shoes on and grab our phones before heading out.
Twenty minutes later, we pull up to the Blackthorn Elite campus. I always thought North Woods was gorgeous, but Blackthorn is next level. Large area flowerbeds, water fountains, and perfectly trimmed hedges make the grounds look more like a botanical garden than a university.
The building mimics a castle, dark with high peaks. I can’t imagine the ghostly secrets that this place holds. The dark heroes and damsel in distress heroines. A shiver snakes up my spine. Okay, I need to stop reading so many romance books.
When we pull up to the stadium, I’m shocked by its sheer size. It reminds me of a colosseum. Together we get out, and Zeke escorts us like we’re celebrities up to a gate. There are people everywhere, and there is so much to take it. I’m almost overwhelmed as we enter the stadium. People are pressed side by side into seats.
It’s so loud I can’t even hear myself think.
People are screaming and cheering. Overhead lights shine onto the field, blocking out the night sky. The stadium is overflowing with people, bursting at the seams. The air feels thicker and zings with energy.
The game has already started, and players on both teams are on the field.
“Which one is he?” Mia yells into my ear.
“I don’t know,” I reply with the same exuberance.
Mia pulls her phone out, but my eyes are drawn to the field, and away from whatever she is doing.
“Forty-five.”
“Huh?” I say, still staring out onto the field. I look over each guy, becoming completely immersed in the game. Players hit players, and a ball is thrown.
“Number forty-five is Cage,” Mia yells as the crowd around us erupts. I’m not sure what happened, but I scan the guys on the field and stop on number forty-five.
It isn’t until he turns around, giving his back to us that I realize Wilder is in letters on the back of his jersey, though they’re hard to see. Trudging off the field, he throws himself down on the bench and rips his helmet off. It bounces across the turf, and another player picks it up. Coach Willard turns and walks over to where Cage is sitting. Another teammate takes a seat beside him, and Cage seems to bury his face in his hands.
He doesn’t just seem defeated but exhausted too.
“You’re staring at him.” Mia leans into me.
“He doesn’t look happy. Shouldn’t he be happy,” I ask, turning to her.
“They’re losing, Blair. That wouldn’t make anyone happy.”
I don’t say it, but I know it’s more than that. It isn’t just the fact that they’re losing, it’s something else entirely. If he loved football as much as he claims, he would be cheering his team on, he would be trying to boost morale. Instead, he continues staring down at his hands even as Coach Willard speaks into his ear. He doesn’t acknowledge him, not as he talks or even as he walks away. The crowd chants boo, and the players switch, running off the field. Cage stands, grabs his helmet, and slowly jogs out to the center of the field. There is no pep in his step, no joy, no drive whatsoever.
They make a tight circle and then break away, moving into their positions. Words are yelled, and the ball flies into the quarterback’s hands. Cage pushes forward, a wall of muscle. I’m not sure how someone as massive as him maintains such perfect balance. It’s obvious he’s good at what he does, and yet, at the last moment, the guy he’s holding back slips past him moving with agility, tackling the quarterback to the ground.
Cage turns and shakes his head, dropping his hands down at his sides. I can’t see his face, but I know I’d see a drained and completely broken man if I could.