False Start (Eastshore Tigers Book 2) (18 page)

I
don’t get
a chance to speak to Dante before the game.

I could’ve talked to him in the locker room, or on the practice field, or in the middle of the team dinner we had the night before the Fiesta Bowl, but I just couldn’t imagine having this conversation with everyone watching.

As much as it kills me, I had to resolve to talk to him after the game. He doesn’t make it easy on me, though. As we’re suiting up, I hear his voice.

“Did your folks make it out to see you play?”

At first I’m not even sure he’s talking to me, but when I turn around, he’s looking right at me. I know I must give myself away with just one glance. I feel like my heart is visible in every nuance of my expression, but if it is, Dante doesn’t seem to see it.

Or he doesn’t want it.

“Just Lydia. The rest of them…” My momentary lapse into love-sick yearning subsides, and I’m overtaken by that white hot rage again. “The rest of them can fuck off.”

Dante raises a brow. “Something happen with them?”

Some invisible force compels me to tell him now, despite the fact that we’re surrounded by at least twenty half-dressed guys, with more on the other side of the locker room.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you—”

“Everyone hustle up,” Coach says, emerging from his office with a clipboard. “Meet me out on the field in five minutes.”

The guys manage to keep in their groans, but I can see the displeasure on Dante’s face. Coach wants us to run drills to loosen us up before the game. We’re going to go nonstop from the time we hit that field. For me, though, the interruption is far more damning than that.

Now I have to somehow get through this game—the most important game of the season so far—without letting myself get distracted by what may or may not happen with Dante.

“Can we talk later?” I ask, not bothering to conceal the plea in my voice.

He gives me an odd look, but nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

That window of opportunity is like a light in the darkness. But I have a feeling it’s going to be just as distracting.

* * *

I
t takes
me until the second quarter to realize what Dante did for me.

Ohio State is down by ten. We definitely don’t have a comfortable lead, but enough of one that my nerves aren’t on the absolute edge every time the QB barks out the play. Enough so that my brain has a chance to focus on something other than the immediate goal before the ball is snapped.

We force a fourth down, the defense jogs off the field, and I look at Dante as the wheels turn in my head.

He threw in practice.

When I first watched him miss those series of blocks, I didn’t think much of it. Well, that’s not really true. The jealous side of me thought maybe there was someone else on his mind already, and that’s why he was so distracted.

But I know better now. He wasn’t using his full power. He was playing at half his talent so that he’d deliberately lose his starting position.

For me.

For one glaring second, it feels like hubris on my part. But I swear I can see it as we lock eyes. Confirmation in those dark depths.

The rest of the team disappears. I walk straight to him, pull off my helmet, and state my case.

Such as it is.

“You threw that practice.”

I have no evidence; nothing to back me up. But I see his jaw clench just so, and it’s enough of an answer for me, despite his words.

“What are you talking about?”

“You threw that practice so I could play. Why?” Then I remember exactly what this day means to him. “Jesus, Dante. There are scouts crawling all over this place! All they’re seeing you do is ride the bench!”

The interested murmurs of our teammates becomes hard to ignore. Coach, at least, is busy downfield, watching our offense.

“You played better than me, Erickson. Not all of us have some white knight complex.”

That stings. My hand clenches at my side, but doubt is far more nefarious than any anger I feel. Maybe he’s right.

But if I’m going to look like a fool, I’m going to go all the way with it.

“You’re full of shit.”

More of our teammates take an interest.

“Excuse me?”

“Why would you ask me about my family, multiple times?”

He looks at me like I’m crazy. But he shifts on the bench, too.

“Because I’m not a jackass?”

“Because you knew I wanted them to see me play. But they aren’t worth you getting passed over by scouts. They never were.”

I see something in his eyes. Some flicker of hope that vindicates what must seem like a crazed rant to everyone else.

I’m right. He wanted to make sure I had the chance to play. There’s no world in which he’d be operating out of guilt.

So his desire to put my prospects above his must have come from a deeper place.

I’m equal parts touched and angered by it.

Guys spring to their feet around me. The offense had a short drive, and it’s time to go back out and stop Ohio State.

A plan forms in my mind, whispering like a siren’s song.

Dante should be in.

God help me, but I don’t deserve this spot.

I look at the scoreboard, confirming to myself that if I fuck this up, it won’t be the end of the world. I don’t want to let my team down. I just want the right man to play.

There’s one way to ensure only I look bad. As we jog out onto the field, I get Oakley’s attention.

“I need you to pick up left for me.”

I can barely hear him over the din of the crowd.

“What? I’m already on right.”

“They run through the left nine times out of ten.”

“So what the hell are you going to do?”

I don’t say anything. I trust Oakley to hold it down, and I don’t have a good answer besides.

We hit the line, and Ohio State starts their passing game early. Everything in me wants to just fuck off during these plays; the sooner Dante gets out here, the better. But I can’t. I have to look for an opening that won’t punish my team.

So I wait until they’re third and five. The run is inevitable. I nudge Oakley as we settle on the line. Taylor’s in front of me, expecting the block. When the ball is snapped, I don’t lock horns with him. I don’t try my hardest to break free of his block and go for the runner.

Instead, I let him knock me flat on my ass and open up a huge hole for the offense to burst through.

For a second, my heart stops. They could get a breakaway off this. They could get in scoring range, or at least pick up the first.

But Oakley leaps into action. Taylor is caught so off guard that he’s pushed backward, and Oakley gets the easy tackle on their RB.

That puts it at fourth down, and special teams takes the field. One more play, and I can see if my harebrained plan worked.

“You just decide you wanted a nap?” Oakley asks.

“Something like that.”

Ohio State punts it away, I jog off the field, and Coach is waiting for me. Just as I expected.

“What the hell was that, Erickson?”

“Sorry, Coach. I guess I just lost my footing. Feeling a little dizzy. I think it’s the heat.”

“Son, you play in Florida!”

I sit down suddenly, making a complete spectacle of myself. Dante is staring at me with a mix of concern and confusion.

“You should put Mills in during the next drive.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Coach goes to monitor our offense, and Dante stands right in front of me. His arms are folded over his chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I just shrug. “You’re the better player.”

“I don’t want your goddamn charity!”

“I’m just evening up the score. You should’ve been in all along.”

Dante swears more and stalks off. I can see a sports writer typing away while staring right at us. This is going to end up in some newspaper, I know it.

But at least Dante will get the chance he deserves.

When Coach puts him in during the Buckeyes’ next drive, I feel a sense of satisfaction. Things are as they should be. My family never deserved to see me, but the world does deserve to see Dante play his heart out.

And that’s exactly what he does. During the fourth quarter he gets a sack that grinds Ohio State’s momentum to a halt. Our lead opens up, and the nail is in the coffin when we get it down the field and put three more points on the board.

We win the game, but as our team celebrates the fact that we’re headed to the Peach Bowl to play for the title, I can’t help but fix on Dante.

And he looks absolutely livid.

* * *

H
e corners
me in the locker room later.

It’s almost a replay of one of our first meetings, but this time he isn’t half-dressed. And he doesn’t put a hand on me. He just cuts across the locker room while everyone else is celebrating. He’s a man on a mission, and I know exactly what he intends.

“I told you I don’t need you to fucking save me, Erickson.”

Anger rolls through his words, but it’s more than that. He’s hurt. I can see it in his eyes. That sinking feeling returns, and I start to wonder if I’ve done the wrong thing.

“I know what you did at practice. I was just returning the favor.”

“I had my reasons,” he grits out.

“So did I. I wanted the best player to play.”

He shakes his head, looking away from me. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“No, what’s bullshit is the fact that you’d throw away a chance like this. You’re a senior. I have three more years to prove myself.”

He turns back to me and practically growls. “It was my
choice
. You took it away from me.”

Thank God for the win. The team is still so busy celebrating that we’ve only drawn the eyes of the guys closest to us.

“Just like it was your choice for my dad to treat you like shit, huh?”

He stares me down, a flicker of something in his gaze.

“I know what he said to you. I know what he did.”

He scrubs a hand over his hair. “I don’t believe you. How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t want your pity?”

He starts to walk off, but I reach for him. The muscles in his arm tense, and he doesn’t turn to face me, but he does stop walking.

“Will you just listen to me? I know I do stupid shit. I know I’m still learning how not to be like my family. But I…”

Whatever I’d intended to say there, it slips from my mind. The impact of what I’ve done—what I keep doing—hits me dead on.

Dante and I have been in a competition from the beginning. We might not fight each other for a starting spot anymore, but we’re still fighting each other. Keeping score.

And a relationship can’t be built on a scorecard.

I almost stagger and recoil from that revelation, but Dante’s turned to look at me, and I’m in too deep to back out.

So instead of posturing or making excuses for myself, I just decide to show my cards.

“…I love you.”

I hear catcalls coming from the next row of lockers, but I’m focused on Dante. His eyes widen, and something like hope flickers in them. I start to step forward, when Coach’s voice interrupts me.

“Erickson. Mills. My office. Now.”

Dante and I both freeze, and I can’t help but panic a little. Did he hear that confession? I didn’t intend to make it in front of the whole team, but at least they don’t have the power to end our college career.

I don’t think Coach would do that. He was supportive of Hawk and Griff, as far as I could tell. But as I walk with Dante toward his office, I feel like I’m awaiting an already decided trial.

He doesn’t even allow one of us to close the door before he starts in.

“I don’t know what is going on with you two, but it needs to stop.”

My heart clenches in my chest and my breath comes up short. I don’t know if I have a shot with Dante, but being denied one by my coach? That’s even worse.

“Coach, we—” Dante starts.

“Whatever this spectacle is, it ends now. You’re both sitting on the bench for the Peach Bowl.”

It’s a harsh blow, but somehow I feel a sense of relief. At least he’s not taking away my shot with Dante.

Someone knocks on the open door. I turn to see Trent standing there.