Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
I have no idea how long we stayed sitting there, but not once did his embrace slacken, and not once did his whispered words of reassurance pause.
Mason gave me something that means more to me than he could possibly understand.
Then again, maybe he does.
Maybe he knew exactly what it would mean to me, and that’s why he did it.
Just for me.
Out of the kindness of his heart.
To show me how much he supports me.
How much he cares.
I care about him, too.
A lot.
More than I’ve allowed myself to admit, but I…I don’t know how long I can fight it, this consistent tug that begins and ends with him.
What if I stopped fighting?
What if I let go and let life lead me where it may?
What if I give in and he leaves me, too?
But what if he doesn’t?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Mason
Now, October
My hand is fucked. Every time the ball presses to my palm, the ache reaches deeper. How I managed to do so much damage is beyond me. Chase didn’t even have a black eye, just a swollen cheek, and I get a fractured knuckle?
Not that I know for certain. There’s no way in hell I’m going to go to the doctor, not when the only insurance I have is athlete insurance covered by the school and it could get back to my coaches, but I know something is wrong.
I can hardly make a fist. Thankfully, I don’t need to in order to throw a ball, but it’s getting harder to hide. We’ve got a tough game this week against a team we lost to last year. If I can win this, if we can win this, it will be the first W over Oregon in five seasons, ending the damn losing streak.
Coach says I’m gonna make it happen, and I’m determined to prove him right, which is why my hand’s shoved in a bowl of ice, my skin screaming in protest as I glare across the room at my sister, Cameron, and Paige as they fight over how to fry a damn tortilla.
“What the hell is the issue?”
All three scowl my way.
“Noah said,” Ari begins, and the other girls groan dramatically.
“Noah isn’t here, Arianna.” Cameron frowns at the stove. “We’re dropping it in the oil folded.”
“If you fold it, it will break.” Paige puts her hands on her hips. “You have to put it in flat first, flip, then fold.”
“We need to heat them first, then fry,” my sister argues. “Brady, tell them!”
Brady’s brows jump, and he looks from the TV to me to them. “What Ari baby said.”
“You don’t even know what she said, you big dummy! You just like to argue.” Cameron shakes her head. “I’m doing it.”
“Paige is right,” Chase pipes up.
“Oh, since when are you team Paige?” Cameron quips.
Chase’s head has never popped up so quick. “What? I’m not!” He frowns, though his eyes stay locked on Cameron rather than looking at the blond who is now staring down at her fingernails.
Cameron smirks, a challenge in her eye I’m not sure I understand, and when I look to Chase, his are narrowed in on our friend.
Finally, he huffs, shaking his head. “Whatever, but it’s going to split if you fold it first.” The other girls glare, but Chase looks past them to the stove. “And I’m pretty sure you have to start over now, because your oil is smoking.”
All three look to the stove, freaking out in unison.
We chuckle, refocusing on the game film and starting back at the top for the second time tonight.
The game is tomorrow, and if we want any chance of pulling this off, we can’t miss a thing.
Chase huffs, shaking his head. “I’m not seeing any tells. The running backs don’t even shift. They give nothing away.”
It’s true. They have no tells. Their heads don’t pull, and their feet don’t point any which way that could lead you to connect the dots and anticipate the play call. The quarterback doesn’t double tap the ball or lift his foot to indicate any damn thing. They’re stone still, staring straight ahead until the snap.
Sighing, I sit back. “I can get us down the field, but in the end, this one is coming down to defense.”
“You’re going to have to go with the handoffs as much as you can, brother.” Brady motions toward my hand. “You talk to Coach about the plan yet?”
“Far as he knows, I’m good, but I did put it in his head that they expect us to pass most of the game, so he’s all for the run plays.”
“Good, good.” Brady nods, and Chase echoes his agreement just as the girls walk in with plates of food.
None of us comment on the fact that we’re now eating with microwaved flour tortillas rather than fried corn ones.
“I can’t believe you’re playing on Halloween.” Cameron bites into her burrito, talking around a mouthful. “That blows.”