Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Talon grabs my arm this time. “Is something else wrong? Is it just the gay thing or—”
I shake my head. “Noah and I are having issues. I …” I contemplate how much I should tell him, but I think I might be having one of those episodes. Like when the paparazzi cornered Noah and I at the cruise ship terminal. Noah called it a panic attack, but I reckon that’s extreme. It’s majorly freaking out. That’s not an attack. “We haven’t spoken since I moved to Chicago,” I admit.
“But that was weeks ago.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Did you break up?”
“No.” The response flies out my mouth on reflex. “Yes? But he’s coming here today to support me, so …”
“No wonder you’re a mess.”
“All I have to do is get through this press conference and then I can beg him to move here or do long distance or … I don’t know.”
“Yeah, the whole football thing kinda sucks for relationships. I had a girlfriend who couldn’t even handle the college level.”
“Not making this any better, Talon.”
“Sorry,” he says.
Coach Caldwell and the GM appear in the doorway. “Ready, boys?” Coach asks.
Hell to the no. “Let’s do this.”
“Want me to hold your hand?” Talon mocks.
“Fuck no,” I say quiet enough so only he can hear.
“Right. Don’t want the boyfriend thinking you’ve been messin’ around on him.”
“Don’t want the media to get ideas.”
“That too,” Talon says.
The coach and the GM lead us through the halls of MU and arrive at the auditorium where a makeshift press room’s been set up. We take our seats at a long table with a microphone and glass of water in front of each spot. The auditorium’s first few rows are filled with reporters, and cameras and lights are directed at the stage.
Vomit threatens to rise in the back of my throat with how many people there are for this, but then I see him. Very back row away from all the press. His lips turn up into a cocky smile, but his eyes are lifeless compared to the shining blue-green eyes I’m used to.
The media circus disappears, their words drowned out by the fact I can’t take my gaze off Noah. Damn, I’ve missed him. It’s only been a few weeks, but they’ve been the longest of my life. I want nothing more than to run up there and tackle him to the ground.
Then I remember our goodbye, and my heart breaks all over again. Yet, I still can’t bring myself to look away.
I’m only able to drag my eyes front and center when they ask Coach the chances of me making it onto the roster this season.
“There’s no doubt in my mind he’ll dominate in training and come out on top. Unless he’s injured”—he taps the desk twice to touch wood—“you can guarantee Matt Jackson will be on the Warriors’ lineup come game one.”
Yeah, he says that, but he can’t know for sure. I can’t go in there thinking I have this in the bag. It’ll be all the more devastating when I get cut.
My eyes find Noah again, and I realize being cut wouldn’t be the end of the world. It might be the start of mine.
A reporter to the right stands. “Matt, sources say you were offered a contract with the New York Cougars that was worth almost nine times the amount for Chicago. What made you choose the Warriors?”
My heart sinks into my gut, and I freeze up. My brain goes blank because all I can think about is what Noah’s face must look like right now. And as much as I wish I could restrain myself, I spare a glance in his direction. Yup, shock, anger, and hurt are present on his cleanly shaved face. How do I get out of this one?
“It, uh, wasn’t quite that much,” I say into the mic, and my voice croaks as if I’m lying. Which I am. It was more than that but totally not worth the cost of losing Noah.
Then I realize I lost him anyway. Noah’s dad won. And I bet my left nut he was the one who leaked that tidbit to the press. Insurance—I guess. A way to put a wedge in between us.
I stare down the reporter and try not to grit my teeth as I speak. “The Warriors have a great team this year, and I have no doubt that with Jimmy Caldwell coaching, we’re going to make it to The Bowl. I want that championship ring more than I want money.”
I’m either going crazy and can hear Noah’s voice or he actually says out loud You want that ring more than you want me. But when I look in his direction, I know it was my imagination, because he’s gone, and I can’t even chase after him.
Coach takes over for me, talking offensive strategy and how a guy like me is important to the team, but I don’t stop watching the back of the auditorium where Noah slipped out.