Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,30

us past the scheduled AM practice slot. The coaches allowed it, and the players didn’t complain. No one wanted to be the first to admit they were exhausted after a full morning of drills.

“Let’s run through the game plan again.” Jack huddled us together. “I know I’m being a hard ass.”

“No one’s ever complained about that ass,” Lachlan said.

“And no one ever will.” Jack pointed the ball at him. “Don’t get jealous, Charming.”

“Just saying…one of us is the actual tight-end.”

The ball was pitched at his head. Lachlan didn’t duck in time.

“Here’s the deal,” Jack said. “I’m not sure how this season’s gonna go. Last year we…had some trouble after all that cheating bullshit. Apparently, that intel did help us win some games. We suffered without it. But not this year. We’re going to be prepared. We’ll practice these plays until they’re muscle memory. We’re gonna work together until all you see at night is my face. You’ll dream football. Eat football. You’re not gonna drill your girl without hearing my cadence in your head.”

“Fine by me,” I said. I dunked a cup of water over my head. Was it always this hot on the field, or was the headache screwing with me? “I’ve got a lot to learn.”

Jack grinned. “All-Star, you’ve probably forgotten more about football than we know.”

He wasn’t lying.

“This is a new offense. Gotta learn the ropes.” I nodded to the linemen clustered behind Jack, my guardians on the field. I’d owe them plenty of steak dinners by the end of the season. “I want to make sure I’m working well with all you fine gentleman.”

“He’s such a sweet-talker.” Lachlan laughed. “Dude, you’re Jude Owens. Ain’t no one gonna stop you…unless she’s got a lab coat and clipboard.”

I followed his gaze. Rory joined the trainers on the sidelines, swiping some information into an iPad and asking questions of a defensive player.

She glanced over, caught my gaze, and dropped her iPad. She conked heads with the safety as she tried to pick it up, groaned, then clutched her stomach. She bolted off the field and threw up behind a bush. Hidden from the team…but in full view of the fans seated in the stands.

No tears though.

This was an improvement.

“I wouldn’t mind a little TLC from Doctor Honeybuns.” DeSean, the center, winked at the linemen. “No offense, Daddy.”

Jermaine, our left guard, offered a thrust of his hips. “He’s been playing doctor himself.”

I hated anyone disrespecting Rory, but I let the comments pass. The guys needed to have some fun.

“Doctor/Patient confidentiality, boys,” I said. “Come on, let’s get this done so I can get home for my check-up.”

The offense hooted, but Jack pointed at me and Lachlan. “You two. You’re my fucking world this year. I’m gonna rely on you.”

“Just give me the ball,” I said. “I won’t stop running until we’re in the damn championship. I’m getting my ring.”

“And we’re gonna win it for you,” Jack said.

He called the team to huddle up and checked the play with the offensive coordinator.

I breathed deep, loving the scent of the grass, the sweat, the stale plastic of the pads. I’d give everything for a championship. My knees. My head. My pride.

This was my chance.

I wished I could say I was prepared for it. But lining up in the sun, sweating my weight in water and aching with a migraine, I was lucky I could even hear the play call or the coach’s whistles.

After eleven years in the league, I could rely on instinct. My mind might have fogged in the pain, but I watched the plays—how Jack planted his foot, where the line pulled, how they shifted, when the gaps appeared. My strength pulled me through the plays and got me where I needed to go.

Problem was I didn’t always recognize where I ended up.

Jack called the play, a quick run up the middle with an audible. He snapped the ball, I surged forward, taking the handoff. I cut once, and, had we faced a real defense, I’d have found daylight to run.

“Good!” Coach Thompson joined the offensive coordinators and took over the drill. “Run another audible, Carson.”

He did as the coach asked. We set for the play. Jack shouted the audible.

“Two-Fifty-Five!”

I listened.

“Dumbo Simba!”

It was a pass.

No—

A run.

“Hercules Red!”

My mind blanked.

The fog drowned my thoughts, memories, emotions.

I blinked. Nothing.

The play was gone.

And so was everything else.

The time. The day. The fucking team I played for. My migraine fractured icy nails across my temples. The pain blitzed as the ball snapped.

I froze.

What the