Page 44 of Only Between Us

According to the play called, the pass isn’t mine. I make a run for the end zone anyway, luring defenders with me and away from Hartley’s real target at the other end of the field. But Adams gets caught between opposing players, so I slam on the brakes, killing my forward momentum so fast my defenders make it yards away by the time they realize I didn’t go with them.

They converge on me the second I catch Hartley’s pass, but I’m faster. I manage to split them, but just barely. One of them is a scrappyfucker. He knocks me off-balance just as I pass him, and I scramble to catch my footing.

Pain erupts in my left leg in response, but fuck if I don’t keep tearing down this field anyway, not stopping until I cross into the end zone.

Fuck yeah.

A couple receivers meet me in the end zone, smacking me on the back. Just as the adrenaline starts to fade, someone hollers “He’s still got it, baby,” at the top of their voice.

Somehow, I manage a laugh.

Coach calls us in. The boys on the field head for the benches and the stacks of water bottles on the sideline. I follow them slowly, sucking long breaths through my nose. Grinding my teeth.

I don’t need to work to catch Siena’s eye as I move for the bench, because she’s already looking. She’s shaking her head with something like awe. By the time I make it to the sideline, though, the wonder has faded off her face. She takes the stairs, meeting me at the railing.

“What’s wrong?”

We’re far enough away from the other women that she doesn’t need to whisper, but she does anyway, her expression laced with concern. I don’t know how she figured out something’s out of place from that far away. But her gaze moves over me, trying to pinpoint the problem.

I rip the helmet off my head. Grip the back of her neck and bring her close like I’m kissing her cheek. Instead, my lips meet her ear. “I fucked up my knee.”

Chapter15Siena

My body chills, all the way down to my marrow.

I fucked up my knee.

Five devastating words for an athlete. Brooks keeps his face smooth, the picture of calm when he pulls back, but I see it right there in his eyes: devastation alongside frustration.

“How bad?”

I brace my hands on the fence between us, white-knuckling the metal, feeling so incredibly sad for him. Maybe we’re not the best of friends, but Brooks is just a guy trying to do what he loves most in life.

I admire that—respect it. Not all of us have that option.

He’s worked for this every day for months from what I hear. He wants this so badly he entered into a fake relationship with me, just to hedge his bets. And now this.

Brooks pries my hands from the fence, lacing our fingers. His hands are big and warm, rough and calloused around mine. He’s the one who’s hurt, upset, yet he caresses his thumb over my skin as though trying to erase my concern.

“People are watching, Pip.” Brooks glances to the side, whereplayers shoot the shit on the sideline and women do the same in the stands.

He flashes me a smile.

Right. He’s acting the part.

Like we did at our last show, I lean in, trying to make this look like a breezy conversation. Playfully tipping my head to the side. To anyone on the outside, I’m just a girl flirting with her hot-as-hell boyfriend, who—despite the secret injury—just pulled off an incredible touchdown.

“I went one way, and my knee went the other. Don’t think it’s much more than a sprain, but I won’t know for sure until Parker or Summer looks at it.”

“You don’t want the team doctors to have a look now?”

Brooks raises our intertwined hands and brushes the hair off my cheek. His fingers graze my skin and my heartbeat thumps in response.

It’s fake. Fake, fake, fake.

“They can’t know,” Brooks tells me. “I can’t come off as this fragile.”

“But won’t they know something’s wrong when you don’t go back out there?” I ask gently. My stomach sinks when the corner of his mouth flicks up in a tight smile. “You’re not seriously planning to keep playing on an injured knee.”