Page 49 of Love at Second Down (Boys of Ann Arbor U #2)
AVERY
T he plane’s wheels hit the tarmac with a jolt that matches the sickening lurch in my stomach. I grip the armrests, my knuckles white, though it’s not from fear of flying.
I’m all keyed up—about my parents and my fight with Damon, his father, and whether he’ll make good on his promise.
“Hey, you okay?” Brynn’s voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts, concerned eyes studying my face from the adjacent seat.
“Yeah, just tired.” I manage a weak smile.
But I’m not tired. I’m hollow, scraped out, like someone has taken a spoon to my insides and scooped until there’s nothing left but a hollow shell. The memory of Damon’s face, disbelieving and angry, replays in my mind for the hundredth time since we left Houston.
“My dad has his faults, but he wouldn’t blackmail anyone. He’s not that guy. Unlike your father, mine actually has a moral compass.”
I can still feel the tightness in my chest, hear the bitter laugh spilling from my lips at my reply. “Right. And what about me? You just think I’m lying for the hell of it?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Is that how he saw me?
Would he always view me as a liar, someone he can’t trust?
“Did something happen with you and Damon?”
Charlotte’s voice jerks me back into the present, and I glance to where she’s peering at me from across the aisle, concern in her dark eyes.
I try my best to offer her a reassuring smile.
“We had a little fight,” I say with a shrug, like it’s not that serious.
And maybe it’s not, but I can’t be sure, seeing as how I left without smoothing things over.
“Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Whatever it is will blow over.”
I nod. “Probably,” I say, even though I have no idea what the future holds. If his father goes to the authorities, will Damon stick by me? Even if it means risking his future in football? Do I want him to, knowing I’m the reason he didn’t reach his dreams?
I can’t blame Damon for not trusting me.
I hadn’t exactly been forthright. Maybe if I had told him his father visited my hotel room and threatened me, he would’ve reacted differently.
But his father’s threats were fresh in my mind, and I wasn’t ready to call his bluff.
I wasn’t prepared to tell Damon and have him retaliate.
Either break up with Damon, or his father goes to the authorities. Tell Damon his father threatened me, and his father goes to the authorities. No matter what I do, I’m screwed.
The seatbelt sign dings off, and passengers start to stand, eager to retrieve their belongings from the overhead compartments. I sit, frozen for a moment longer, not quite ready to face whatever future awaits me.
“Come on,” Brynn says, gently nudging my shoulder. “Let’s get our stuff.”
The walk through the terminal feels like a bad dream I can’t shake, and my body is on autopilot as we make our way to the parking lot. The ride back to campus is just as bad. We’re mostly silent, everyone exhausted from the tournament and traveling.
I stare out the window, watching familiar landmarks appear as we get closer to school, dreading and longing for my dorm room in equal measure as my mind races.
Ever since last night, I’ve been blaming my current predicament on Vinny Huhn. But the truth is, he’s not the problem.
My entire life has been dictated by my parents, mostly my father—friends, hobbies, jobs, school, love.
He’s always had a plan for me, molded me into the perfect accessory for his public image. The dutiful daughter of hotelier Reginald Astor. Mom and I have single-handedly endured his demands to uphold the family image. Katie, in her own way, has also played a role.
The truth is, Dad has never been hands-on with Katie.
Behind closed doors, he barely acknowledges her most days.
It’s Mom who cares. Mom’s the one who’s fought tooth and nail to get her the best care, the best technology money could buy to make her life better and easier.
The only time I’ve ever seen my father look at Katie with anything resembling love and admiration is when the cameras are rolling.
He’s selfish. He’ll always be selfish. So, why am I protecting him?
Still, after all this time, why am I even giving him a second thought when I don’t give a damn about our legacy or money?
The memory hits me as we turn onto University Drive, the headlines from three years ago scrolling through my mind like a news ticker: Astor Walkway Collapse Claims Six Lives. I can still see the photos of the rubble, hear the sound of sobbing from the families of the victims on the news.
Six men and women with families, hopes, dreams. Lives cut short because my father decided to cut corners on materials, bribing inspectors to look the other way.
I remember the way he paced in his study, not grieving the dead but calculating damage control.
“It’ll blow over,” he’d said, his voice steady, unaffected. “The lawyers will handle it. We’ll make a generous donation to the families and issue a statement with our deepest condolences.”
My stomach churns at the memory. Generous donations. Deepest condolences. As if money could replace the people those families lost.
I’d been eighteen then, still believing in my father’s version of reality—that accidents happen, that business was business.
Until he and my mother came to me a few months later with the truth and told me that if I didn’t break up with Damon, we risked my father’s freedom, our legacy, and our fortune. And Katie’s future.
Katie. It was the one thing he knew I’d care about.
But if she knew the truth, what would she choose? What kind of person would she want me to be?
“We’re here,” Brynn announces, pulling into a parking lot in front of Hyde Hall.
I step out of the car, the weight of my bag nothing compared to the burden I’ve been carrying. The crisp afternoon air hits my face as I stare up at Hyde Hall, its brick facade looming like a silent witness to the turmoil swirling inside of me like the eye of a hurricane.
We head for the front doors, the girls chatting about classes and making up work while a decision crystallizes within me like ice forming in my veins. I’ve had almost three years of carrying this poison inside me. Three years of letting my father dictate my happiness, my future, my very identity.
It’s not Vinny Huhn who holds all the cards or even my father; it’s me.
“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” I tell the girls as I split off for the elevator.
Brynn calls after me, “Text us if you need anything,” but I can only manage a halfhearted wave as the elevator doors close between us.
My mind is racing faster than my heartbeat by the time I reach my floor. The hallway stretches before me. Fluorescent lights hum as I make my way down the hall, my stride heavy with purpose.
My key slides into the lock with a familiar click, and I push the door open, tossing my bag unceremoniously inside. It lands with a dull thud against the wall.
Without removing my coat, I sink down into my desk chair and power on my laptop. The soft blue glow illuminates my face as I dig into my pocket, fingers closing around the small metal object I’d pocketed during the confrontation with Vinny.
The USB drive feels heavier than its actual weight as I pull it out, turning it over in my hand before sticking it inside my computer.
A folder labeled “Astor Walkway Project” appears on my screen. I double-click, and a cascade of files spreads before me?everything Vinny Huhn had collected over the years.
My breath catches as I open the first document, then another, and another.
Email threads between my father and contractors, demanding cheaper materials while maintaining the appearance of luxury.
Architectural plans with redlined modifications, systematically weakening critical support structures.
Correspondence with building inspectors, including copies of checks with suspiciously round numbers.
Photos of the construction site showing rusted rebars where there should have been reinforced steel.
Each file is more damning than the last. The evidence is meticulous, overwhelming. I feel sick, but I keep reading, forcing myself to confront the full scope of what my father did. Six people died because of these decisions—these deliberate choices to prioritize profit over human lives.
I’m not sure I fully understood the gravity of it until now. Until the evidence of it is right in front of me.
And suddenly, I know what I need to do.
My hands tremble as I close the spreadsheet. There’s no ambiguity here, no room for misinterpretation. No way to pretend this was just a business decision gone wrong.
I take a deep breath and open a new browser tab. My fingers hover over the keyboard for just a moment before I type “Pittsburgh Police Department” into the search bar. The results load instantly, the main number for the department displayed prominently at the top of the page.
This is it. The moment where I choose.
Seven simple digits stand between my past and my future. I can either wait for Vinny Huhn to call my bluff, or I can be the kind of person who isn’t afraid of the fall if it means doing the right thing.
With a deep, shuddering breath, I reach for my phone, punching in each number with deliberate precision and wait as it rings.