Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance (26 page)

I roar into her kiss as I come, pumping again and again inside of her as I fill her with my cum. She holds me fiercely, hands clawing at my skin, lips bruising mine, breath panting into my mouth as we crash together.

Perfect.

S
unlight
.

Sunlight is the first thing I’m aware of, even before my eyes are open. White, bright light, filtering in before I’m even really aware of what’s going on.

The second thing is the feel of grass under my outstretched hands.

‘They use fake stuff in the NFL, but it’s real here.’

Here.

Here being, the fifty-yard line of the Hawks football stadium.

Oh holy shit.

The interview.

I sit bolt upright, pulling myself out of Dalton’s arms as the full weight of the world and of reality comes crashing into me.

We fell asleep
.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

I’m in hysterics, searching through the pile of my clothes for my phone as Dalton jolts awakes.

“Oh,
shit.
”

“Yeah, ‘
oh shit
’ is right!” I snap. I’m acutely aware that we are both completely stark naked in the middle of the damn football stadium, but it’s also the farthest thing from my mind as I grab for my phone.

The interview. Columbia. My entire future hanging in the balance and I went and fell asleep in the middle of a fucking
football stadium.

With Dalton.

I finally yank the phone out of my pocket, and when the screen lights up, I actually scream.

My interview started two fucking hours ago.

Not ‘I’m about to be late’, not fifteen minutes, not even a wildly unforgivable
one
hour late.

I am
two fucking hours late
to the most important meeting of my life.

Dalton’s yanking his jeans up as I do the same, and I’m slipping my t-shirt back over my head when he grabs me by the arm and starts running. “I’ll drive you.”

“Wait, my shoes!”

“Leave ‘em!” He barks, dragging me across the field.

And then it’s just a blur. A maddening, horrifying, nauseating blur of anxiety, and panic, and just gut-wrenching
dread
. I’m sort of aware of staring out the window of Dalton’s SUV as he roars across campus and into town, to the restaurant I’m supposed to meet the interviewer at. And I’m aware of the
pain
inside - the complete and utter self-loathing that I let this happen.

Because I did
let
this happen.

I was an idiot, and I let myself get swept up and carried away by my stupid
emotions
and my damn shortsightedness. I had a
plan
. I had a freaking roadmap of how to get from point A to point Columbia and then on to my future, and I
did not follow
that plan.

Because
he
got in the way.

I’m staring haggardly out the car window, disheveled, barefoot, and confused, as the tears threaten to roll down my cheeks. I’m angry at myself, but I’m also angry at the distraction sitting at the wheel next to me.

The perfectly messed up, perfectly
wrong
, perfectly beautiful distraction that sent me spinning off my path.

The car is barely to a stop before I’m jumping out and running headlong to the trendy, brunch-friendly restaurant where I’m two hours late for my meeting.

“Hailey Garrison!” I gasp out, pushing frazzled hair out of my slightly sweaty, sleep-bleary face and panting at the host. “I’m here for a-”

“Party of two?” The host says sharply in an affected tone.

“Yes!” I practically shout, my heart jumping into my throat.

Oh my God, I haven’t blown it. They’re still here, they still want to-

“Oh,
yeah
, your party left about an hour and a half ago.”

The host gives me a look that vaguely looks like thin sympathy, but I hardly notice.

I’m too busy feeling my heart drop through the floor.

I’m opening and closing my mouth as if to say something, but the words aren’t coming. I turn, not seeing clearly as I start for the door before turning and stepping blindly into the dining room of the restaurant.

“Oh,
hon?
” The host quickly steps in front of me, looking like he’s not sure what I might do next. “Um,
yeah
, we have a
shoes
requirement here.” He wrinkles his nose as he looks down at my bare, dirty feet, at my slept-in look, at my wild hair that probably still has grass stuck to it.

“Uh,
honey?
” He shakes his head patronizingly as he leans close to me. “Are you
drunk?
”

“She’s
fine
.”

Dalton’s voice cuts sharply in from behind me. He grabs my arm, pulling me back even as I struggle to focus on anything in front of me.

“I- I-” I’m mumbling, shaking my head and blinking as the reality of it all starts to pull me under. Dalton’s got me by the arm, escorting me out of the dining room and away from the host and tables full of guests staring at the crazy girl with grass in her hair.

“It’s going to be fine, Hailey,” he says quickly as he pulls me away.

No, it’s not
.

And suddenly, without even really being aware of it, I’m screaming it out loud.

“No it’s not!”

The whole room goes quiet, silverware clattering to tabletops and heads turning to see what’s going on. The host is hopping from foot to foot, holding his hands up as if willing us to leave.

Dalton’s eyes burn into mine as he pulls me close. “Hailey-”

“No!” I shout again, not even caring who’s looking, or who’s listening, or who’s
judging
.

“Do
not
tell me it’s all going to be
fine
, or it’s all going to
work out
, Dalton!” I’m yelling as I push him away from me, shoving a finger into his chest. “Because that
isn’t fucking true,
is it?”

His eyes blaze into mine, his jaw tensing, though he says nothing.

“
Is it?
” I shriek.

“Um, hon,” the host steps forward, putting a hand on my arm. “I’m afraid I really do need to insist that you leave.”

“I’m leaving, okay!” I yell, yanking my arm out of his hand, pushing past Dalton, and storming out of the restaurant.

Dalton is right on my heels.

“Fuck, Hailey!” He yells, running to catch up to me. “I’m sorry, Hailey. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I whirl on him, my face livid, the tears already coming down my cheeks. “Why did you let us fall asleep?”

His jaw is tight, his eyes pained as he reaches out to hold me. I shake his hand away.

“I-
fuck
, I- Hailey, we just
fell asleep!
”

“Yeah, no
shit
, Dalton!” I know I’m angrier at myself more than anything else, and that Dalton doesn’t deserve my wrath. But he’s right here, right in front of me, and right now, he’s the object I can project this on, as horrible as I know that is.

“Hailey-” His face tightens as he narrows his eyes at me, shaking his head. “Hailey I wasn’t thinking-”

“Neither was I, and that’s the problem!”

The words cut through both of us like a slap, I can see it just from looking at his face.

I slowly shake my head, dropping my face into my hands. “Neither was I, Dalton,” I say softly. “About any of it.”

I turn and start to walk away, in the vague direction of campus.

“Hailey-” his hand catches my arm, pulling me around to face him.

“Let me fix this,” he growls, his face tight and his eyes searching mine. “How do I fucking fix this?”

And I want to give in. I want to bury my face and my tears and my pain in his chest and let him take it all away.

But that’s exactly why I’m here, right now.

My perfectly beautiful distraction.

And so I pull away instead, shaking my head. “You don’t, Dalton,” I say quietly, shaking my head as I take one more step away from the man I care about more than anything.

“You don’t fix this.”

He’s reaching for me, calling my name, but I’m heedless of it as I turn and walk way.

L
osing sucks
.

Hailey walking away, ignoring my calls, staying away from my mom’s house, and not answering knocks on her dorm room door for the next week is a loss.

But even worse is knowing I failed her.

I’m not used to losing, I’m used to
winning
, no matter what it takes. Except there’s no game plan here with Hailey. There’s no fake hand-off, there’s no crowd-stunning seventy-yard touchdown pass at the buzzer.

And I hate to say she’s right, but after a week of it, I think she might be.

Because I have no idea how to fix this.

I fucked up, and I lost the girl -
the
girl; the
one
girl who meant it all.

And after that, it’s all sort of a blur. Practices become this bleed of pass-drills and flatline conversation with teammates. I’m vaguely aware of popping into a few classes here and there, I’ve got some memories of eating some food, and maybe even a few hours of sleep stolen at odd hours.

I’m aware of putting on my pads and my uniform for the game that next Saturday. I’m
aware
of the long walk up the gangway from the locker room to the field. I’m even dimly aware of the cheering, the band, the bright lights, and Coach with all my teammates huddling-up and hashing out plays.

I’m aware of briefly scanning the crowd, as if I’d somehow even
see
her in a crowd of forty-thousand people. I’m half-aware of stepping onto the field and up to the line. A voice I recognize as my own calls the play.

There’s the snap of the ball back to my hands, but then there’s nothing.

Nothing at all.

* * *

T
he visiting team
locker room at Tallahassee U is almost totally silent after the game. But the whispered murmured conversations between players - as if we’re in some sort of memorial service or a funeral - go utterly silent as Coach steps through the door.

He’s not happy.

I mean shit,
none
of us are happy. The whole place
is
like some sort funeral - like we’re gathered on benches and bended knee to mourn a death or something. And the fucked up thing is, we sort of are.

We’re mourning the death of being untouchable, invincible, and
unbeatable
.

Because we just lost.
Hard
.

Well, no, I should amend that.

I
lost.

I
lost in front of the fans, and the cable sports networks.
I
failed spectacularly in front of the cameras and talent scouts.

Me
.

This was no team fuck-up, this was me not being on my game. This was me, lost, scrambling, and everywhere
but
that football game. This was me with my mind squarely on
her.

Like I said, losing sucks.

Coach is roaring at us, tearing us all down as if they all deserve it the same as me. But even when I’m only half-hearing him, I know that’s not true at all.

This is on
me
.

“Dalton.”

The rest of the guys are finishing getting changed when Coach beckons me over.

“Coach?” I stare at my feet as I step into the coaching office, wishing I could meet his eyes like a man in that moment but failing to do so. Shit, there’s a lot I wish I could do or say in that moment.

Sorry I let you down.

Sorry I let the team down.

And of course, the most important one. The one I want to tell him the most if I could just sack up and be the man Hailey seems to think I am. Or
thought
I was.

I’m sorry for hurting your daughter.

Except I don’t say any of those things. I just stare grimly at the floor.

“You wanna tell me what happened out there?”

I shake my head, my jaw tight.

Coach swears. “We talked about this, son. What is it? You drinking too hard again?” He peers at me as he leans close. “Were you drinking tonight?”

I shake my head again. “No, Coach, that’s not it.”

Because I
am
drunk
,
and fucked up, and loaded.

Except it’s not from anything out of a bottle.

“Then what? Grades? The team?” Jim pushes a hand through his silvered hair and shakes his head. “C’mon, Dalton, work with me here, son.”

He tosses his clipboard on the desk and leans back against it, crossing his arms over his chest and leveling his eyes at me. “A girl?”

My jaw tightens, and for a second, I want to tell him. For a brief half second, I want to tell him everything - tell him exactly how I feel about Hailey, tell him how she makes me want to be a better man, how she makes me feel things I’ve never even considered feeling before. I want to tell him all those things and then take whatever fallout comes my way like the type of man I know he’d want me to be.

But I don’t.

“Well whoever she is?”

He sighs.

“Whoever she is, it’s not worth it. Get your head in this game, son. Step up, and fix what needs fixing.”

And right then, I do look up. Right then, we lock eyes for just a second, and right then, it hits me.

She makes me want to be a better man.

We’ve been hiding it all behind the banter, and the silly jokes, and the “oh it’s only a one-time thing” crap, even when the whole thing got bigger than I’m betting either of us ever imagined it would. Or could.

Yeah,
damn
right she makes me want to be a better man. She makes me want to be a better everything, because what I feel for her…well, shit. What I feel for her I’ve never felt before about damn near anything - not even football. She makes me want to move the fucking Earth off its damn axis, for
her
.

Except I’ve never told her that.

And right there, the painfully obvious hits me right in the damn face like a pass I never saw coming even if it was headed right at me.

Goddamn, I love that girl.

Not “like”, not “want to get a piece of”.

Love.

Jim shakes his head. “Well anyways, you coming back to campus on the team bus or are you catching a ride with Hailey and her friend?”

My body freezes.

“Hailey’s
here?
”

He shrugs, “Hey, I’ve been trying to get that girl to football games for eighteen damn years, I’m not even gonna
ask
what got her to this one.”

Fix what needs fixing
.

I look up, and I’m meeting his eyes. And when I open my mouth to say the most serious thing I’ve ever said in my life, I’m facing him like a man.

Like the man she knows I can be.