Page 33 of Secret Love (The Single Dad Playbook #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

IN A SPLIT SECOND

HENLEY

I jog out onto Clarity Field’s sidelines. Colorado is still feeling a spike of heat even though it’s the end of September. I’m tired and missing Tru and the girls after an intense week of practices, but I’m in the middle of a great game. It’s halftime, we’re up by fourteen, and Coach Evans just gave the halftime speech of a lifetime back in the locker room. We’re pumped, and with good reason. Besides the loss to the Vikings last week, we’ve won every other game this season. And I’m ready to make up for that loss tonight.

Tru is up in the suite with our friends and family and I look up there to see if I can catch a glimpse of her. She’s wearing my jersey and it just does something for me. My family adores her. My parents have visited several times since we’ve been dating, and they prefer her to me. I don’t blame them. I prefer her too. Pretty sure my girls feel the same. All three of them hog her when they’re over, and she says she loves every second.

I only have one complaint: Tru is insistent that there is no PDA around the girls. I’m trying to change her mind about that, but she’s stubborn. She more than makes up for it whenever we’re alone though.

We have regular game nights with the girls now and I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much. It hit home one night when I dropped the girls off and Audrey said, “You smile a lot now, Dad.”

I met her eye in the mirror and could tell her eyes were smiling.

“You think so?” Yeah, I’m cheesing right back at her.

Cassidy pointed at me, laughing. “You look like that all the time.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re in lurve,” she sang.

“I am,” I said. “I am .”

“TMI.” Cassidy held her hands over her ears.

“I like lurve,” Gracie said, laughing.

“Me too,” Audrey said.

“Me three,” I chimed in.

“Ugh, you guys are nauseating,” Cassidy said, but she laughed, and when she looked over at me, she put her hand on my shoulder and shook me. “Tru’s good for you,” she said softly.

I don’t think I’ve ever been any prouder or happier than I was right then.

Jeremy says I need to put a ring on it and coming from him, that’s the highest praise. He’s happily married, but after Bree and I divorced, he was all about me living the bachelor life. He’s singing a different tune now that he knows Tru.

I’d be happy if I could convince her to move in with me. Her mom is doing great, moving forward with a divorce and fitting in to the Silver Hills life, but Tru is still hesitant to move out and leave her.

I’m more than ready. It just feels right when she’s there. I glance up at the box again, my thoughts on getting caught with her in the rain a few nights ago. She was in jean shorts, not her typical attire, but she looked so damn cute in them, I hauled her onto my shoulders. Instead of wanting to run inside, she leaned over and kissed me. We ended up under the eave of the pool house, her jean shorts history, as we created a storm of our own. She was still hoarse yesterday from screaming out my name.

Fuck.

I swipe my hand down my face, trying to cover my grin. I can’t think about any of that in these football tights, as she still calls them.

Liver and onions.

Curdled milk.

Roadkill.

Those sad puppy eyes on the heartbreaking ASPCA commercials.

Okay, dick crisis mostly averted.

“You ready?” Coach Evans asks.

“Born ready,” I tell him.

“You’re on fire out there tonight. Carry it on home,” he says.

Weston gives us some last-minute directions as we huddle, and we pound each other on the back before we run onto the field.

Time to put our foot on their neck.

But a couple uncharacteristic miscues leave the door open. Arizona’s offense seizes the opportunity and starts working their way back into the game. With time winding down in the fourth quarter, they throw up a prayer, and suddenly it’s all tied up.

We run the offense back onto the field with just under two minutes left on the clock, determined to make a statement. Our two-minute drill is starting to click, and it feels so good. We’ve moved forty-some yards in just three plays and hardly eaten any time off the clock.

In the huddle, Weston calls me out. “Forty-nine, red, on three.”

I’ve had two defenders on me the whole game, but they fall back when Penn takes the handoff and runs toward me. I’m already headed back the opposite way with a full head of steam when he pitches me the ball. It’s a perfectly executed reverse.

By the time I hit the line of scrimmage, the defense is already beat, and I’m headed for pay dirt.

About ten yards from the goal line, out of the corner of my eye, I see the free safety desperately racing toward me, so I step it up, surging faster than ever.

And I get there.

I break into the end zone feeling like I could still run another forty yards, the adrenaline is pumping so fast.

I’m about to spike the ball and start the party, when I feel it.

I’m tackled from the side. The crowd is roaring too loud to hear the crunch in my knee, but I feel it, and I instantly know it’s not good. A penalty is called on the other player, but it barely registers. The pain is blinding and when I’m unable to get up right away, I’m surrounded within minutes. Dr. Grinstead and Jimmy Scott, our head team physician and athletic trainer, are the first two faces I see when I roll to my back.

“What is it?” Dr. Grinstead asks.

“My knee,” I croak out.

Jesus, this is bad. My eyes squeeze shut as I pray and curse and try to take a breath. This is so fucking bad.

I look at Dr. Grinstead and see the alarm on his face.

There’s very little that has kept me down in my career. I’ve had my fair share of injuries, but I’ve been lucky.

I’ve also been a stubborn son of a bitch and walked off the field every single time.

This is different.

ACL tears are one of the things we fear most, and I’m pretty sure that’s what just happened.

A stretcher comes out and it takes everything in me to not yell when they lift me up onto the cart. As they start rolling me out, I realize the entire team is surrounding me. I lift my head and look around, relief flooding me when I see the guys.

“Tell Tru and the girls that I’m okay.”

Bowie nods. “We will.”

“Love you, man. Please be okay,” Rhodes says.

“You’ve got this,” Penn yells.

Weston’s eyes are intense as he grips my hand. “We’ll be back to check on you as soon as we can.”

As I’m taken out on the injury cart, the noise in the stadium builds to a roar. I hear my name coming from every direction. There is stomping and clapping and I close my eyes and let the sound fan the last flame of hope that I’ll be back out on this field again.