Page 49 of Mr. Irrelevant (Rock City Renegades #1)

THIRTY-SIX

LIVVY

“Where’s the fucking flag?” I shout, shoving my hands through my hair as I watch Maddox take yet another sack from Deacon. It’s not that the offensive line isn’t doing their jobs, because they are. They’ve been getting held left and right, but for some reason, the refs aren’t seeing it.

“Sweetheart, calm down,” my dad says, looking up from his seat. “We’re up on the scoreboard, and we haven’t seen any injuries. They’re blowing some calls, but Dane seems to be handling it well.”

My nostrils flare as I throw my arm up in a sweeping gesture toward the field below.

“He shouldn’t have to handle it at all!” I bite out.

“This is the same crew that threw Maddox out last time without even asking why he lost his shit! Now they’re letting Deacon get away with the whole thing all over again!

We need to file a complaint.” My blood is boiling in my veins, my cheeks bright pink as rage pounds through me.

It’s been going on since the first half, starting with a few comments here and there.

If you didn’t know there was something personal between the two men, you’d assume it was just normal shit talking between division rivals.

But I know better. Every time Deacon leans in, a sardonic smirk spreading across his face as he mumbles things only Maddox can hear, I want to tear the door off this room.

I’d give anything to be down there right now, putting an end to this nonsense once and for all, even though it seems to be rattling Maddox less today than it did the last time.

I’m proud of him for keeping it together.

“Olivia,” my dad begins, his tone cautious and deliberate, “is there something going on wi?—”

“Three more minutes and we’ve punched our ticket to the Wild Card game!

” Tony says as he bursts through the door, a bag of popcorn from the lower levels of the stadium clutched in one hand.

He swears they use more butter down there, although I’ve never noticed a difference.

But I’m grateful for the interruption, because it almost sounded like I was seconds away from being grilled about something I definitely don’t want to discuss right here—or anywhere for at least another week.

My dad looks back at his best friend, the worried expression he was wearing just moments ago replaced by a huff of disbelief.

“Who’d have thought we would even be here during our first year?

” he says. “I know it was a perfect storm, but we’ve made history.

” He’s right. While we picked up momentum during the second half of the season, our record is by no means mind-blowing.

Teams in our conference suffered more injuries than anyone has ever seen before, putting us on a more level playing field when it came to staying alive for a playoff run.

Nonetheless, a win here will make us the first expansion team in the Super Bowl era to see the postseason.

I tune them out as they talk, focusing on the field where Maddox completes a checkdown pass for eleven yards.

My eyes flit to Deacon as he attempts to close the space between them, but Emmett cuts him off with two hands on his chest. He shakes his head, causing my ex to shove at his shoulder before finally giving up and returning to his team.

Between Emmett and Jett, Deacon hasn’t been able to taunt Maddox the way he did earlier in the game, leading me to believe that they’ve both been brought up to speed.

I feel like the worst human being in the world for continuing to hide, and my anxiety is at an all-time high with the impending shitstorm that’s brewing within the organization—one that I created and will have to explain myself for very soon.

The final seconds tick off the clock, and the Renegades’ sideline runs onto the field, celebrating a ten-point win over the Impact.

They played their asses off, breaking records against all odds when the world offered them nothing but doubt.

My eyes find my boyfriend as he looks to the sky, pumping his fist over his head in triumph.

He’s beautiful, shrouded in black and purple like a king who just led his men into battle.

With all the apprehension I have about what comes next, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride at how he’s grown, both on and off the field, over the last handful of months.

He went from struggling to believe that he had a place as a starter in this league to showing the city of Cleveland that they have so much to look forward to.

Thankfully, the suite is in full celebration mode, because it gives me a chance to sneak out after a quick goodbye to my dad.

If he really was about to ask if there’s something going on between me and his quarterback, I’d rather have that conversation in private, after I’ve had time to prepare.

Even though I’ve known since the beginning that I’d eventually have to face the music for my decision to go behind everyone’s back, I’d be lying if I said I was sure of how I’ll defend myself.

How could I, when I would turn around and do it again a hundred times over if it meant helping Maddox realize what he’s capable of?

The drive back to Cleveland feels longer than ever, probably because I hate the idea of putting space between us when all I want is to hug him and tell him how amazing he is.

Instead, I settle for a quick text, knowing he’ll spend at least the next couple of hours doing press conferences and interviews, then they’ll head back to the hotel to sleep before the team bus makes the three-hour trek back home.

I’ll be counting down the minutes until we’re together again, even though I know it’s just the calm before the storm since they play the Blizzard in Boston on Sunday night.

I’d be willing to bet that Coach Hendricks is already plotting ways to have the entire team doing run-throughs in their sleep.

I don’t blame him one bit, though. The Blizzard, even plagued with injuries, will be our toughest matchup yet .

As soon as I walk into my apartment, I strip down, shower, and get cozy in Maddox’s hoodie, pulling it up over my nose like I always do. His soft sandalwood scent invades my senses, and my chest twists, wishing it were his arms I was enveloped in right now.

I slip into bed, hoping to find a goodnight text, but the screen is devoid of notifications, making me sigh in disappointment. I’m sure he’s exhausted, and I’ll hear from him in the morning, but I’ll admit I hate not getting a chance to tell him I love him before he closes his eyes.

I drift off, phone clutched in my hand, dreaming of the day that we no longer have to hide, and I can scream it for the world to hear like the proud girlfriend I am. I just hope all the secrets we’re keeping don’t blow up in our faces before we get the opportunity to come clean.