Page 47 of Perfect Storm (Toronto Thunder #1)

When the last season had ended, Levi had always known it was a possibility that he’d leave Seattle. That they wouldn’t want to pay him the kind of money he deserved, and that he’d move on by necessity.

But of all the places he thought he’d end up, Toronto had not even been close to the top of the list.

Now he was hearing the pounding drums of the Thunders’ infamous lead-in song, fake lightning and thunder crashing through the stadium as the PA got the crowd pumped up for the team running onto the field.

Aidan looked over at him, eyes clear and determined through his visor. He leaned in, knocking their helmets together.

“You got this,” Aidan told him.

Levi patted him on the ass. God bless the tight white pants the Thunder wore for their at-home uniforms and also the football culture that allowed him to do that, no questions asked. Nobody even blinked twice.

“So do you,” Levi said.

Aidan grinned as the AC/DC song built to its crescendo.

“Fuck yeah, we do,” he said, raising his arms. “Let’s go play some football, boys,” he yelled, and following their captain, their quarterback, they ran onto the field, the sounds of a faux thunderstorm echoing around them, lightning blazing bright on the dark blue video screens circling the stadium.

“Fuck yeah,” Lane yelled as their bodies crashed together in the middle of the field. “Let’s cream some Cardinal ass!”

“You got a problem with Arizona, man?” Trevor wondered, hitting their group with high fives all around.

“Yeah, I’m gonna dust their shit,” Lane boasted. “You feel me, little bro?”

Trevor grinned, and even though they were in Toronto and not Seattle, nothing was fundamentally different.

Everyone got hyped up, their competitive spirit sharpening all their edges.

“Come on, guys,” Aidan said, gathering the offense together on the sideline after the big intro. He looked every inch the calm, collected, Super Bowl–winning quarterback he was, so much more like this than in practice or even during the preseason games.

But now?

Levi would do anything for him, push his body to its limit and past, just to make sure his crisp white uniform with its midnight blue and silver accents stayed pristine.

“You ready?” Griff asked him as Levi circled up near the rest of the offensive line. Acker was on his other side, still not looking happy, but at least less like he wanted to kick Levi’s ass.

“Never been readier,” Levi said. He was glad he’d managed to convince Zane to put him in for more preseason snaps, because now he wasn’t lying. He was ready.

“Yeah, you got this,” Griff said.

In the huddle, Mo leaned in and tapped his helmet against Aidan’s. For a second, they didn’t move, just stood that way, and Levi was pretty sure they were saying something to each other.

There were so many years of history there, and Levi didn’t want to be jealous of those. Mo had helped Aidan get his two rings. He was hopefully going to help them all get another one. Get Levi his first.

He had to remind himself, for the millionth time, that it was him in Aidan’s bed, not Mo. That all week, he and Aidan had been waking up together and falling asleep together. Even making out in the kitchen together.

It had been a really good week, but every single time Levi saw Mo, saw them look at each other with all that shared history, he experienced a jolt he couldn’t quite tamp down completely.

He kept hoping that with time he could. That in a week or a month or by the end of the season, he’d like Mo and appreciate his long friendship with Aidan with no strings and no jolts to be found.

“Let’s show them what we’ve got,” Aidan said, meeting every player’s eyes in the huddle. Levi swore his gaze snagged on Levi a second longer than anyone else, but he couldn’t be sure, no matter how much he wanted to be.

Aidan called out the play then—a crossing route pass—and then Levi knew, no question in his mind, Aidan met his eyes again.

Levi nodded, his acknowledgment of what Aidan was asking for.

He knew what they needed. He knew the kind of protection Aidan had to have, and he was going to do everything in his power to deliver.

Preseason was one thing, but playing in a regular game was always different. More real, like every movement you made mattered. And it wasn’t only him that felt that way—everyone on the field felt the same.

What it really meant was that even though Levi thought he had a good handle on what real defensive pressure felt like, coming at him in a rush, it was still tougher than he’d anticipated to plant his feet and work the guy back, one step at a time.

Levi did it, barely managing to turn the linebacker away from Aidan’s pocket at the last moment, shoving him to the ground in enough time to watch as Aidan let the ball fly, soaring over their heads.

And Mo missed it by an inch.

Had the pass been too high or had Mo misjudged it? Hard to say.

Aidan muttered a sharp fuck behind him.

Mo had been mostly open, and that wasn’t something that happened all the time—considering how often he was double- and sometimes triple-teamed by the defense’s backfield. But none of that mattered because that was a pass Aidan wasn’t going to get back.

“Shake it off,” Aidan ordered when they huddled back up. Turned to Levi after he’d called Jaden’s number for a running play. “You good?”

Levi had done his job, so he wasn’t sure why Aidan was checking in. Shouldn’t he be saying that to Mo, who was still half glowering on the opposite side of the huddle?

He gave Aidan a sharp nod.

It wasn’t the greatest drive Levi had ever been a part of, or the smoothest either—which made sense, they’d barely played together in the preseason, and then there was the new arrival of Morris, who was still getting up to speed on the playbook—but they pushed deep-ish into the opposing team’s territory, and when Trevor came up a yard short on a third and five, Coach sent Dawson out to kick a field goal.

Before the last season, that would’ve been a no-brainer. Even fifty-yarders had consistently been in Dawson Hall’s wheelhouse. He didn’t ever miss but it was rare enough that he’d been considered one of the best kickers in the NFL.

No longer.

He had something to prove, after a disastrous final season. A chip on his shoulder that Levi could see a mile away.

Levi thought that if you didn’t know, didn’t know Dawson, like he’d begun to, maybe he wouldn’t have noticed.

But there was an undeniable tenseness to his shoulders, even under his pads, as he jogged out with the rest of the kicking unit, including his new holder, the rookie punter, Cam.

“Hey,” Aidan said, coming up to where Levi was standing to the side. He always stood for kicks. Extra points and field goals both. He’d join Griff and Acker and the rest of his line on the bench in a minute, but only after Dawson was done.

“Good drive,” Levi said.

Aidan made a face. “Felt like we were behind from the moment I missed Mo on the opening pass.”

“You guys are still getting your chemistry back,” Levi said.

Dawson lined up, Cam kneeling less than a dozen yards in front of him.

“Should be easier,” Aidan said. He wasn’t complaining, exactly, but Levi could hear the confusion in his tone. Like he’d expected it to be easier, even though it had been three years since he and Mo had played together.

“A lot of things should be easier,” Levi pointed out dryly.

“You handled the pass rush well,” Aidan said. “Was a little shaky on that first pass.”

“Yeah.”

Aidan didn’t say that was maybe why the ball had floated a little high—had he rushed the throw because he hadn’t been entirely sure the pocket wouldn’t collapse onto him?

Maybe.

But this wasn’t time to overthink what had just happened. They had to move forward, look forward.

“You’ve still got this,” Levi said, giving his back a little pat. His hand drifted closer, towards his solid-gold peach of an ass, and Aidan shot him a look, then grinned.

“Not washed up yet.”

Dawson sent a picture-perfect kick right between the uprights and half embraced Cam, half pushed him away, like he was embarrassed he’d need reassurance after what was a very routine field goal.

“Not just you either,” Levi said, glancing over at Dawson.

“Nope. He’s got this.” Aidan sounded more confident about Dawson than he did about himself, which was not something Levi remembered.

Aidan had always been so sure of himself. Almost bordering on cocky.

He was as good as he thought he was, plus Levi had a competence kink a mile wide, so that had never bothered him.

The opposite, in fact.

He didn’t like Aidan taking the blame for anything.

“Gonna give you that extra second,” Levi promised.

Aidan glanced over. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t have to,” Levi said and then turned and headed to the bench to rest for the Thunders’ next drive.

Aidan didn’t like being tied midway through the fourth quarter.

Probably nobody liked it, unless they were used to not winning and then even the thought of being close enough to taste it might be gratifying.

But Aidan was actually used to winning, and he wanted to win this game. Mo’s first back with the Thunder and the first of their new season.

Set the tone and all that jazz. Plus, the Cardinals were a fairly easy opponent, not picked to make the playoffs, and even though the Thunder were still shaking a bit of the offseason rust off, Aidan didn’t want to play down to their level.

“Get me the ball,” Mo said to him as they jogged out onto the field for their next drive. It was one of the first things Mo had said to him since that missed catch in the first quarter.

Aidan did not roll his eyes. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll just snap my fingers. Make it happen.”

They’d been double- and even once triple-teaming Mo all game. He was a pro and there’d been windows. He’d caught two vital passes for first downs in prior drives. But Aidan knew what he wanted.

What the Thunder needed.

A nice long drive to suck up the rest of the time in the game. A drive that ended in a game-winning touchdown.