think.
How the hell was I supposed to do my job when someone roamed the field looking to kill me?
The first quarter ended without a score. The second started with us encroaching on their territory. Jack opened up the offense with a thirty-yard pass to Lachlan, but our quarterback still looked to me to get his yardage. He audibled the next play into a run, but hell if I could remember which way I was supposed to cut on it. I let my mind fog, and I ran on pure instinct instead.
I spun to the outside as the pocket collapsed. The offense cleared a path for me, and I rushed along the sidelines, finally pushed out after an eleven-yard gain. I slowed my steps near the white boundary line.
But Eric sped up.
He slammed into me after I crossed out-of-bounds, crashing both of us to the ground in a late, dangerous tackle. We smacked into the grass. It hurt.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shoved him away and adjusted my helmet, yanking out a handful of grass from the visor. “That’s a late hit!”
Eric held his arms out, welcoming the penalty flag called on him. “Next time I hit you, you’re staying down.”
Jesus Christ.
We were grown men. We’d worked our entire lives to reach this point, to don our jerseys, to play in the league. Why was Eric fucking everything up to come after me?
What an idiot.
Maybe he deserved to get hit too—maybe it’d make him realize I wasn’t the one who had betrayed his sister. I was the one helping her.
We lined up once more. Jack audibled off the run and called for a pass instead. This play I remembered. I rushed forward, helping as an additional blocker against the blitz.
But the one rushing through our offensive line wasn’t aiming for Jack.
I crashed against Eric, but running back versus defensive end wasn’t a matchup I was going to win. Jack dumped off the pass. The hits didn’t stop once the whistle blew. Eric threw a punch at me that went unnoticed by everyone except Lachlan, rushing in to separate us.
“Ohh.” Lachlan understood. “That’s Honeybun’s brother?”
Eric pointed at me. “You’re dead.”
This had gone on for long enough.
The time ticked down at the end of the first half, and I lost my patience. Late hits. Stomped fingers. Dangerous tackles. The rage blended with a headache that already tunneled my vision. Sounds faded. The pain tore through me. Eric still harassed me.
And I was done with it.
We lined up on our forty, and Jack called a run.
“Don’t twinkle-toes it,” he warned. “Get the yardage then get down so we can call a time-out.”
I didn’t answer. I knew how to play the fucking game. The crowd roared—the fans on their feet, stomping and screaming and throbbing my head.
At least I was used to the pain.
The ball snapped. Jack handed it off to me. I cradled it to my chest with both hands and ran, churning through the smallest hole the line could open for me. I managed six yards before hitting the safety that pulled up to protect for the run. I went down quick, preparing for the time-out.
Eric leapt on me.
Late. Again. Only this time, he’d aimed for my head.
I saw red.
The fury erupted through me. I lost my sight. My hearing. My rationality. My every thought burned in violent instinct to protect myself.
And I did.
I launched upright, slamming my hands into his chest. Eric reared back to punch. I was quicker. I dodged, jammed my shoulder into his gut, and drove him onto his ass.
Whistles blew. The stadium erupted into chaos.
I didn’t care. I’d hurt this man for daring to push me, to bait me, to aim for my fucking head. This wasn’t about Rory anymore.
This was about me.
My safety.
My future.
My vengeance.
I shouted and ripped my helmet away. Eric did the same, but he launched at me first, fists pounding. I dodged one. The other clipped my jaw.
I threw myself at him, but Jack and Lachlan leapt between us. The offensive line filled in the gap, and the referees blew the whistles and tossed the flags.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” I shouted at him. Didn’t matter if he couldn’t hear me. “You wanna settle this? Let’s fucking fight!”
“Enough!” Jack hauled me away by my shoulder pads. “Off the field. Go. You’re done.”
The coaches agreed. The offensive coordinator pushed me towards the locker room. “Go. Cool down. Wait for half-time.”
Jesus fuck. I’d never been tossed off the field before. I checked the