Page 108 of The Game You Play (Rixon Raiders 2)

“Let’s go number one, you’re slacking,” one of the assistant coaches yelled across the field. I cussed under my breath, pumping my legs harder, pushing through the wall of pain closing in around me.

I was fucking tired.

Thanks to Thatcher and the shit with Felicity, I was barely sleeping. My muscles ached and my head pounded but it was practice and I had a job to do. Giving anything less than one-hundred and ten percent was not an option.

“That’s it, QB, keep it up.”

I felt eyes on me as I ran the drill again. Looking around, I found Asher glaring at me. The little shit was still pissed over our last conversation about Felicity and it sucked that I couldn’t tell him the truth. But he’d get over it. He always did.

“Hey,” Cam said, jogging over to me. “You okay?”

“I’m good. Ready to kick some Brennington ass Friday.” It was our last game and we were playing at their place. Then we had a rest week before the first round of the play-offs.

“You and your dad figure things out?”

We’d barely spoken since Seniors Night but that was nothing new.

“Not really.”

“I know you’re angry at him for everything but maybe—”

“I appreciate the advice, I do.” I grunted as my hands closed around the pass from Grady. “But I’d rather not do this. You’re with Hailee now, save it for her.”

“I can be here for both of you. Besides, Hailee and her mom are patching things up.”

My brow arched. “Guess we’re not so similar after all.” Because I could barely look at my old man for his indiscretions, let alone try to smooth things over.

I guess it was different for me, though. I’d known for years who my father really was. Long before Denise and Hailee came on the scene. She was just the final straw where my mom was concerned.

So no, I wasn’t in a hurry to forgive the man who had ruined our family. But I was in a hurry to get the hell out of this town. A clean break. That’s what I wanted. To escape out from under the shadow of Kent Ford and forge my own legacy.

“Heard anything more from Thatcher? I was thinking perhaps we should have told Coach—”

“You think he doesn’t know exactly what happened with the art project? He’s not an idiot. But he can’t afford Finnigan sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Has he said anything to you?”

“No, but he’s hinted at it.”

“So what are you going to do? Thatcher won’t—”

“If Thatcher knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay across the river until after the play-offs.”

“You really think he’ll do that, after everything?”

I didn’t, but there was no use telling Cam that. Not when he wanted to run off and tattle to Coach.

“I don’t know how many times I have to say it,” I ground out, “I can handle Thatcher.”

Cameron didn’t look convinced, but I was done arguing over something that I couldn’t change. Thatcher wouldn’t stop coming until he got what he wanted.

Me.

So it was my plan to lie low and stay out of trouble at least until we were crowned State champs.

“Jase, get over here, Son.” Coach beckoned me over with his usual crooked finger.

“He doesn’t look too happy.”