Page 6

ARES

“ N ot a word.” I cupped the back of Preston’s neck and guided him outside and away from his acid-tongued smoke show of a teacher. My nephew knew what was good for him and kept his mouth shut while I wrestled with what had happened in that classroom.

I replayed everything she’d said—including the references to the sex tape.

It was bullshit and unprofessional. And when she’d flashed the hint of skin and perfectly curvy backside, I’d almost lost control.

It wasn’t like I didn’t have girls throwing themselves at me.

It’d been fun my first year in college, but that had gotten old real fast.

With Miss Sinclair—which was weird to say because I bet we were close in age—energy sparked between us.

Sure, it was probably from her anger. But maybe it was something else.

It didn’t matter either way. I couldn’t act on the consuming attraction I’d felt to her, not just because she clearly hated me but because she was Preston’s teacher.

I drove through town and back to Mom’s house.

When we arrived, I let the car idle and forced my frustration from my expression.

“We’re not done here. But for now, we’ll pretend everything is fine.

Nana has been going through way too much with the shit you’ve been pulling, and since…

well, you know.” No need to remind him that his parents were dead. “After dinner, we’ll talk. You got me?”

“Sure.” Preston’s hand was on the door handle, ready for a quick escape. “We good?”

I nodded. “For now. Get inside and hug your nana.”

He bolted out of the car and into the house. I sat there for another moment before I followed him. He’d left the door open, and I closed it behind me, breathing in the smell of pot roast and potatoes Mom had made for us.

“Hey.” She rounded the corner from the kitchen and passed through the family room to the entryway. “How did everything go?”

I hugged her, somewhat okay with the little white lie I planned to tell her. “Fine. Preston is on a performance improvement plan at school.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear.” She stepped back and patted my arm, a wide smile curving her softly lined face. “He’s very lucky to have you going to bat for him, and so am I.”

Preston and I put on fake smiles and easygoing attitudes throughout dinner.

I stuffed myself on Mom’s cooking. It was a perk every time I came over.

She loved to cook, which was a good thing because Preston and I could pack it away.

I promised myself when I made it into the NFL, she wouldn’t want for anything ever again.

She worked too hard, did too much for everyone else, and that left very little for herself.

After we ate and Preston did the dishes, I told Mom I wanted to talk with him before I had to go.

I hugged her, left her to watch TV, then went onto the porch with my reluctant nephew.

It was still light out as we sat side by side on the stoop.

I scrubbed my hand over my face, dreading any questions he might have about what his teacher had referenced, about me being a bad influence on him .

“What were you thinking?”

“What?” Preston flashed his signature mischievous grin. “You don’t think I did that, do you?”

“Cut the crap. We both know you did.”

He shrugged. “What if I did? Everyone pulls pranks on substitute teachers.”

The kid would be the death of me. “Putting superglue”—or I guessed that was what he’d used—“on her chair could have resulted in a serious injury. What if it’d soaked through the fabric of her pants to her skin?

Did you think of that? Or that you ruined her clothes, embarrassed her, and undermined her authority in class even more with the other kids? ”

“None of that happened, so what’s the big deal?”

“Everything but the injury did. And it could have been so much worse, resulting in a case against you that the headmaster would take seriously. You have to do better. If you don’t and keep on the same path, you’ll get kicked out of school.

Do you really want that? You’ve been there for years.

It’s where your friends are—the right ones, not the punks you’ve been hanging out with recently. ”

His shoulders slumped, and I almost smiled at the small victory, but I didn’t.

It would’ve lightened the mood, and I needed to get the message through his traumatized mind.

“You’re also putting a ton of strain on Nana.

Do you like making her worry? She always wants the best for you, but your stunts are causing her stress and making her lose sleep. ”

“I know.” Preston leaned forward and dropped his elbows onto his knees. “I forget sometimes how much that stuff hurts her.”

“You need to remember. I know you’re still struggling and missing your parents.

But we miss them too. You’re not alone here.

Nana lost her daughter. I lost my sister.

It’s not easy for any of us, but we have to face each day with a little less grief and more determination to find things that make us happy.

Not the destructive ways you’ve been coping.

That has to stop. You’re better than that. ”

“I just… I don’t know.”

I ruffled his dark-blond curls then dropped my arm around his shoulders in a brief hug.

“I get it. Trust me. It’s easier to lash out and get laughs from the class than to face the hole in your heart.

Remember that my dad died when I was about your age.

I understand what you’re feeling. Find another way to channel your emotions.

Go out for a sport. Maybe try weightlifting.

Do something so you’re not causing collateral damage to yourself and the people who are here for you and always in your corner. ”

“I hear you.”

I blew out a breath. I couldn’t do much else.

He needed to think about what I’d said, and lecturing him more would only cause him to stop listening.

I hoped what I’d said would make enough of an impression that he would change his behavior.

“And drop the crowd that isn’t helping you.

You’ve got some great friends. Get back in with them. ”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Not maybe. Do it.”

He nodded. That was all I would get out of him. I needed to keep closer tabs on him, which would be difficult during football season.

Preston hopped to his feet. “Don’t you have a game Saturday?”

“Yeah. It’s a home game. You gonna be there?”

“Yep.” His wide smile made him look innocent and younger.

I felt a pang in my heart for everything he was going through. “I’ll try to score a touchdown for you, kid.” I winked, got to my feet, and waved as I walked toward my car.

Exhaustion hit me as I got behind the wheel, and Preston’s questions sank in even more. I was in the same boat with him. I had no idea why the hot teacher seemed to have it out for me. I just hoped that didn’t influence her in dealing with my nephew.

E nergy pumped through me as I ran onto the field with Kylian in the lead and Liam beside me, the rest of the team following.

The stands were packed for our home game, and the roar from the crowd grew in volume.

The jumbotron zeroed in on us, and we passed a swarm of reporters and commentators.

I loved that part. The entire team did. Our fans were enthusiastic.

Their screams and shouts filled the stadium and pumped us up.

I glanced at the stands where Mom and Preston sat and spotted them amid a frenzy of blue towels whirling over people’s heads. Aurora, Kylian’s fiancée, sat with them too. I grinned and waved, then shut everything out except the game. It was time to go to work and win.

It was my senior year, and Kylian, Liam, and I played each game like it was our last. Scouts were watching.

It wasn’t just our strengths and weaknesses in play when they evaluated us, but what the coaches said when the scouts interviewed them, how we interacted with teammates and reacted under pressure, and what we did to demonstrate our character.

My character was in question, and I worried that it would affect my ability to get an invitation to the combine or be picked up in the draft.

Despite his injury last year, Kylian, our QB1, was rumored to be a first-round draft pick, if not number one overall. He hadn’t let his injury keep him down and had come back even stronger, throwing farther and more accurately than before.

Liam, our starting wide receiver, and I myself as tight end, were also supposed to go early in the draft, but I wasn’t sure of that anymore. Liam was probably fine, but I was less confident for myself, and rightly so.

Minnesota won the coin toss and chose to receive the ball.

The kick was solid, and our special teams shut down their receiver.

I stood on the sideline along with the rest of our offensive line until we could take the field.

Minnesota had the ball at the thirty-yard line, and I shifted from foot to foot as each snap happened and our defense held.

Minnesota gained very few yards, and it wasn’t long before it was our turn.

Our offense stormed the field—hyped, determined, and ready to set the tone for the game. We lined up. The ball was snapped to Kylian, and he dropped back into the pocket with a pump fake. I shot off the line and blocked an overeager defensive lineman making a beeline for our QB1.

The first play was a quick handoff to Liam, resulting in a solid twelve-yard gain and a first down.

On the next play, Kylian faked a handoff and launched a rocket to Liam, thirty yards out.

The ball dropped into his hands like magic, and he kicked his speed into overdrive.

That play put us in the red zone, and the energy on the sidelines was electric.