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NYLAH

With a huff, I hitch my bag onto my shoulder and head into the football stadium.

I don’t even want to be here, but one of the conditions of moving out of the house was that I come home every Wednesday night for dinner, and apparently catching an Uber to my parents’ house is an act against God or something.

Honestly.

I’m so over being wrapped in a cocoon, but I’m not sure how to get out of it without offending the people who have been there for me through thick and thin.

Smiling at the campus police who are doing their rounds, I swipe the card Dad gave me and head through the stadium gates.

Practice would have finished over half an hour ago, so most of the team will either be in therapy training or showering up.

I wonder if I’ll be lucky enough to see any of them as they leave.

A few weeks ago, I got some sexy winks and smiles…

even a wolf whistle. I know as a girl, I’m supposed to be indignant about that kind of thing, but just quietly, it was a real confidence booster.

Muscly, sporty, smokin’ hot football players noticed me. And not because of my limp. They noticed me in a way that made one of them whistle, and I couldn’t deny myself a little thrill when I heard that sound.

I’m out in the world again!

I might be a year behind everybody else, but I’m doing it.

I’m finally living out my dream of attending college.

It’s not exactly the way I wanted it. If life hadn’t completely screwed me over, I’d be living it up at Stanford with my boyfriend, not single and nursing a wounded heart…

and a limp that gets hard to hide by the end of the day.

Doing my best to walk normally, I defer having to interact with my dad and take the long route to his office. I know the place like the back of my hand. Ever since I could walk again, I’ve been down here when Dad needed to come in after hours. I limped these corridors for hours.

I can still hear my little sister’s squeals as my brothers chased her—her cries bouncing off the concrete walls, then dissipating as she hit the open field, the sound getting lost in the vast stands.

Glancing around me, I walk up the tunnel, my hope of seeing hotties dwindling. I can’t even hear any footsteps or shuffling of players.

Dammit.

There goes my eye candy for the day.

I mean, I shouldn’t complain. Nolan U campus is filled with guys I can check out. And it’s not like I’m some kind of leering sex fiend, but after having spent a year of my life cooped up inside, it’s damn good to be out and about, enjoying the view.

Well, mostly.

I had pretty high expectations when my parents finally agreed to let me enroll.

I wanted Stanford, but they couldn’t handle me living that far away, so I gave up that dream.

I guess it wasn’t too hard. The idea of bumping into my ex was kind of painful after the way he treated me, so it’s probably a good thing I’m here.

I just wish here wasn’t on my parents’ doorstep.

Thank God I’ve finally moved into a dorm.

Although my roommate’s a little… I don’t know… high-strung?

Oh man, I hope things get easier with her. She’s probably annoyed that her first roommate bailed on her, and now she has to get to know somebody else. She seems kind of shy and twitchy even though I’ve done my best to be friendly.

I sigh, trying to shake off these blues before family dinner. I don’t want my mom reading into stuff and then insisting dorm life is too much for me and I need to move back home.

Ugh! It took me so long to get out of there. I can’t go losing the ground I made after only one week in a dorm.

I’m going to make this work, dammit.

I have to.

Limping out onto the grass, I smile up at the stands around me. Man, I love the stadium when it’s empty. It’s so vast and spacious and?—

A grunt from the other end of the field distracts me and I glance to my right, my lips twitching as I spot a guy with messy blond hair and a dark scowl collecting up the gear.

Well, hello, eye candy.

I definitely recognize him. He plays pretty regularly. What is his name again?

He’s a wide receiver, damn fast on the field. A pleasure to watch, actually.

A real pleasure.

My lips quirk as I check out his fine ass. He’s bending down, collecting balls and muttering to himself. Damn, I love football pants. Those tights don’t hide a thing, and his ass looks firm enough to ping a penny off it.

Shit, I should really stop ogling the guy, but I let my gaze linger for just a second longer, kind of fascinated as he stands up, hurling the ball with a loud yell. It fires through the air toward me and I stay put, watching it bounce a few times and roll to a stop by my feet.

He jerks still, blinking at me before his eyebrows dip into a sharp frown.

McAvoy.

That’s his name. Something McAvoy.

I’ve heard Dad telling Mom about him before. He’s got a bad attitude and sometimes comes to practices hungover. It pisses Dad off so much, but my father is determined to help this guy.

“Although I don’t even know if I can, Zuri. He’s a wreck.” Dad slapped the counter and sighed. “But he’s such a damn good player. He’s got so much potential. I just wish I could find a way to reach him.”

“You do your best with all those players, baby. You’re a good coach.”

Dad appreciated Mom’s compliment. He pulled her close, then kissed her long enough that my nose wrinkled and I had to stop eavesdropping. My parents are way too affectionate at home. I seriously don’t need to see that.

I bend down to grab the ball, that familiar pain shooting up my thigh. It makes me flinch and I grit my teeth, trying not to let it show.

Popping back up with the football in my hand, just the way Daddy showed me, I point at Mr. Attitude and yell, “Go long!”

He gives me a skeptical frown, walking closer to me.

Idiot.

Firing the ball through the air, I enjoy his shocked surprise when he has to spin and haul ass down the field. He ends up missing my beautiful pass, and I grin in triumph as he chases the ball and struggles to gather it against him.

Turning around with a stunned headshake, he fires the ball back to me.

I watch its trajectory and move to my left, catching the ball easily.

My leg complains but I manage to hide it, giving this guy a pointed look before repeating myself. “Go long.”

He actually believes me this time and watches the ball carefully, easily catching it and hugging it to his chest as he runs back toward me.

He’s a few yards away when he throws the ball back to me, almost like he’s testing my reflexes or something.

Thankfully, the accident didn’t steal everything, and I catch the ball without any effort.

I’ve been holding a football since before I could walk. It feels so familiar in my hands. I rub my thumb over the cowhide leather before throwing it back to the man with the very fine ass.

I wonder what year he’s in. I could probably find out, but?—

“Who are you?” He gives me a curious frown.

My lips grow into a slow smile. “The name’s Nylah. And you are?”

“Carson.” He points to himself.

That’s right, Carson McAvoy. I’m never going to forget that again. I’m pretty good with names generally, and now that I’m interacting with the guy, it’ll be permanently burned into my brain.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just waiting.” I shrug, not really wanting to give away the fact that I’m the coach’s daughter. Ever since that wolf whistle, the guys on the team seem to recoil when they find out who I am.

It’s a real shame, because I’ve always been attracted to football players. There’s something so strong and primal about the way they move. They’re warriors on this field, and it’s a hot rush watching them.

“For what?”

I blink, trying to figure out how to respond to his question, but then Daddy Dearest goes and does it for me.

“Nylah!” he bellows across the field. “That boy doesn’t have time to chat!”

Well, shit. What else is new? I can always rely on my father to spoil the fun.

Raising my hand, I give him a wave. “Hey, Dad.”

“Dad?” Carson whips back to give me a frown that’s actually kind of comical. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I snicker and shake my head. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Attitude.”

“That’s the lamest insult ever. You know that, right?”

His dry look makes me laugh. “I’ll keep working on it, then.” With a playful wink, I wave goodbye and head across the field to my father.

As usual, his smile changes to one of fatherly adoration. He might be strict and bark like a drill sergeant when he’s with his players—or trying to get us to do our chores and homework—but usually he’s a big ol’ marshmallow with us.

“Hey, boss.” I smile at him, trying to counter the fact that his expression is changing to one of marked concern.

“Where’s your cane?”

Great. Here we go.

“You’re supposed to be using it.”

“I don’t need it all the time.”

“I can see you limping.” He points at my leg, and I hate that he’s proving me right.

With a sigh, I admit, “I left it in my dorm. I hate that thing.”

“It’s not about how you feel, it’s about what’s best for your body.”

“Everybody stares at it,” I snip back. “I never wanted to start college with this big stigma. It’s bad enough that I’m a year behind everybody else.” I try to soften my frown and add a touch of pleading to my tone. “Come on, Dad. Just let me do this my way, okay?”

We’ve had this argument so many times already, and before it can really get started, I lean in and hug him.

That always makes him more pliable, and the second his arms come around me, I grin, knowing I’ve deferred the cane argument until I get home and Mom finds out about it.

Shit.

I’m so over this.

My life would be so different if I hadn’t?—

Snapping my eyes shut, I squeeze Dad a little tighter before pulling out of the hug.

Dwelling on my past and my stupid mistakes doesn’t change the fact that my life is what it is. I walk with a limp, and I may be doing that for the rest of my life. The physical therapist said I’ve made huge improvements. I’ve spent hours with the guy, and he’s always been honest with me.

“Your leg was severely crushed. With the amount of metal you’ve got in there holding it together, you’ve made huge gains. I’m proud of you, Ny. But you have to face reality. You’ll never get full functionality back. That’s just the way it is.”

That was an epic blow.

I used to run track. I used to play tag with my siblings. I used to walk this planet with a careless abandon.

And then one rainy night it all changed.

My life got put on hold. I had to kiss my future goodbye as I endured multiple surgeries to save my leg.

I should be grateful I still have it, I guess. My parents fought hard against an amputation, and I’m grateful.

“It’s just a limp, baby. Own it.”

That’s what Mom always says, but she’s not trying to navigate college life, is she?

“So, how were classes today?” Dad hooks his arm around my waist, taking some of the pressure off my leg as he supports me back to his office.

I give in and rest my arm around his shoulders. At least he’s not carrying me. I should be grateful for that.

We pass a few players, and I can’t help checking them out. They avoid eye contact, and I bet my father has given them the hard word about me. Dammit, Dad!

I clench my jaw, hating the way he’s having to slow his pace to accommodate me.

“How’s your roommate? She gotten any friendlier?”

“She’s not unfriendly,” I argue, but I’m not even sure why.

“You said she’s hardly forthcoming with her smiles.”

“I know, but I think she’s just stressed. College is a big adjustment.”

“Is that what you’re feeling?” Dad’s concern ratchets up another notch, and my muscles start to coil.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not stressed. I’m saying she’s stressed.”

“You’re a little stressed,” he counters.

Yeah, because I’m about to head home with you and suffer two hours of interrogation over dinner, where I’ll spend the entire time trying to convince you that getting on with my life is what I need right now!

“Are things going better with Professor Schultz? You said she was kind of hard on you last week.”

Dammit, one passing comment and he’s all over it.

I just want to go back to my dorm!

But I can’t. Because my parents love me, and they’ve sacrificed so much for me. I have to be the good daughter. They nearly lost me, and things have never been the same since.

Giving in with a soft sigh, I mumble, “I’ll tell you at dinner. Saves me having to repeat myself, because we all know Mom will ask the exact same questions.”

Dad snickers, giving my waist a light squeeze.

Glancing over my shoulder, I wonder if Mr. Fine Ass will be finished up soon and walking to the locker room.

I kind of want to ask Dad about him—what did he do to be stuck on gear detail and working so late after everyone else finished up?—but I don’t want to give myself away.

Dad will have a conniption if he knows I find any of his players attractive.

I really need to put Carson McAvoy out of my mind. It’s a no-go, so I’m wasting my time even thinking about him.