Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,97

low.

He walked with me to the field. “I thought you weren’t playing.”

“I tried.”

“What happened?”

“I…wasn’t given a choice.”

He swore. “Can you handle this?”

“It’s never stopped me before. I’m gonna get you that win.”

“And I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

I followed our quarterback to the field. We led the guys through the warm-ups and returned to the locker room before player introductions.

This was it.

Ten minutes to go until the biggest game of our fucking lives.

My heart pounded too quick, keeping most of my nerves suppressed under the rush of blood through my ears. The constant woosh was a comfort at least. Better than the crush and grunts of the linebackers who would soon aim for me.

Jack gathered the team in the tunnel, pulling us together with shaken hands and slaps to our helmets. He didn’t have to hop a bench for his speech, we gave him our attention. He shouted over the roar of the crowd.

“This isn’t a game anymore! We have an opportunity, men. And we’re going to seize it.”

The guys cheered. Jack held up a hand to silence them.

“I’m looking around, and you know what I see?” he asked. “Men who have been defined not by their actions, but by their reputations. Men shackled to their images. Bad boys. Beasts. Adrenaline junkies. All-Stars. They define us by what they think they see in us. Trouble-makers and men looking for a score. Men who aim to hurt. Men who live dangerously. Men who are nothing but a statistic.”

The guys quieted. Jack grinned.

“I see more. I see men who I’m proud to call my friends. Men who want to be protectors instead of monsters. Men who put their families first. Men who are just learning what family is, and that they aren’t in this world, on this team, alone.”

A few men clapped. My adrenaline surged, and it felt good. Clean.

I was ready.

Jack held his arms out. “You know we aren’t stereotypical, bad boy jocks. We’re a team. And we’re not just taking the field looking for a win. We’re playing tonight to prove who we really are. We’re proud.” The team cheered. “Fierce!” They grunted. “The baddest motherfuckers on the field!” The guys hollered.

“Fertile!” Lachlan pumped his fist in the air.

Jack crossed his fingers. “Holy fuck, I hope so.”

The guys laughed, but Jack wasn’t done. He met every single stare, faced his men, and grinned.

“We are more than just the number on our jerseys and the reputations that precede us. We’re a team. We’re a family.” He held his hand up. We joined him, each man reaching into the huddle. “We made it where we are fair and square. And now? We’re gonna win!”

The team roared just as the announcers introduced the players.

The stadium rocked with excitement, and we rushed onto the sidelines to prepare for the greatest game of our lives. Music swelled. The fans screamed. And the team braced for kickoff.

Then we hit a goddamned wall.

I’d played twelve years in the league. Held more rushing records than I could count. And I’d never played a game where every yard, every inch we gained was wrung from our own blood.

We managed a field goal in the second quarter after Jack took a blistering hit and nearly stayed down. He clawed his way out of the grass, hobbling to the sidelines. His limp matched Lachlan’s. And no one bled as much as Cole, breaking his nose the old-fashioned way and dripping over his jersey, the field, and every towel offered to him.

Half-time was a welcomed relief. We crowded in the locker room, fucking exhausted, staring at a score of seven to three. I didn’t expect to go into the second half losing, but I sure as hell wasn’t letting it stand. I’d been stuffed at the line, held, tackled the instant the ball touched my hands.

No more.

We dragged our broken and bruised bodies into the fourth quarter, but the score stayed the same.

We needed a touchdown, and no way in fucking hell was I letting this game end without earning those six points. Not now. Not after the career that got me here, the blackmail that kept me on the team, and the woman watching in the VIP seats above.

With five minutes remaining, Coach Thompson ordered a hurry-up offense. Time had stopped while we lined up on the thirty, and we were closer to the end zone than we’d been all day.

Jack relayed the play to the huddle. A pass.

“No.” I grunted the words through sheer exhaustion. “Give me the ball.”

Jack