JAX (The Beckett Boys, Book Two) (26 page)

Then I realized: He wasn’t doing his PT moves. He was trying to master his face— his expressions. He was trying to get rid of the flinch itself rather than the pain. I watched him go about it for nearly a half hour, until his face was expressionless as he moved his arm— until he was able to feign health.

My chest tightened and I felt tears stinging my eyes.

I felt words bubble up, the desire to call out, to tell him that was ridiculous, that he could hurt himself permanently if he tried to play on a still-injured arm.

But then I thought about his parents, and all they’d said that evening.
That boy Adams is hot on your tail, son. Get back out there, or this’ll all have been for nothing. Sitting on the sidelines is every bit as bad for you as an injury is.

He’d told his father he’d be back in by the Clemson game— a week from tomorrow. I knew, without doubt, that he was going to play in that game— but also knew, without doubt, that he shouldn’t.

P
iper was with Adams
— not dating him, exactly, but
with
him in a way that meant other girls admired and hated her at the same time. It was clear his star was rising; he was a frequent topic of conversation on sports shows, in the school’s newspaper. Side by side charts compared him shamelessly to Jacob, and while the pros typically considered Jacob better overall, they always noted that Adams was stronger in his junior year than Jacob had been— which they speculated meant that Adams’ senior year would put Jacob’s to shame.

The additional playtime was giving the rest of the team a chance to adjust to Adams’ leadership style, and I heard grumblings that the freshmen players who had been relegated to serving seniors beers at parties were delighted to see the old guard taken down a notch.

“It’s all just stuff to fill air time,” Jacob said when we passed a bar after the homecoming game— Harton had won by a landslide— where two different college sports stations appeared to be doing profiles on Adams. “Once I’m back in, it’ll all fade. He’s a great player, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve got experience on him. That’s where it’s at, with quarterbacks.”

“Of course. Plus, I think Piper is actually pretty miserable with him,” I said, nudging him, and Jacob smiled. We were walking the same path we’d taken all those weeks ago, when I’d met him at the club and he’d left his friends behind. It wasn’t intentional— it was just a nice evening walk. As we neared the Manhattan, I saw that it was full of athletes once again— beefy football players had spilled onto the street, and inside, I could see the compact women of the gymnastics team, all wearing their Harton athletic gear.

“What’s going on there?” I asked.

“They do penny PBRs for Harton players in uniform if we win the homecoming game,” Jacob said, grinning. “It used to just be for football players, but someone ages and ages ago pointed out a while back that it just says “players”, so now everyone in the athletic department comes out. It’s a tradition, now.”

“Want to go?” I asked, though what I really wanted to ask was “why aren’t you there?”

Jacob hesitated— I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him hesitate like this, like he was uncertain. Like he was worried. “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he said swiftly.

He guided me over to the bar; once he was within everyone’s line of sight, they began to call out greetings. The football players standing outside jostled toward him, looking like they wanted to clap him on the shoulder but were worried about picking the wrong one and exacerbating his injury. They knew me by name now, too, and smiled at me, which felt strange but also nice.

“Here, man, it’s on me,” a player— it was Greene, I realized, then realized I knew the names of
all
the players nearby from watching the games. Greene reached into his pocket and slapped a handful of pennies into Jacob’s hand, lettings dozens fall to the ground.

“You’re too kind,” Jacob laughed, and pocketed them. “See you guys inside?”

“Nah, Adams is in there being a dick,” Greene said under his breath.

“Perfect,” Jacob said darkly. He took my hand and together, we walked into The Manhattan.

The bar was so similar to the way it had been the first time I met Jacob here that it almost felt like I’d stepped back in time— only now it was Adams in the throne, taking visitors. Piper was by his side, leaning against him possessively, but she didn’t look particularly happy to be there. She looked even less happy when she saw me and Jacob come in.

“Hey, you two!” I called out with such false glee that it was almost laughable.

“Hey, Piper,” Jacob said warmly. “Adams.”

“Brother!” Adams said, rising. He held out a hand, then— “Oh, wait, man. Don’t want to fuck your arm up.”

“I’m not too worried about a handshake. Especially if it’s yours,” Jacob responded, still warm, still grinning, but I felt his grip tense on me. The crowd around them laughed at the joke, and Adams threw his head back and rather drunkenly guffawed.

“Can I get you a drink man?” Adams said.

“Nah, Greene hooked me up with his riches,” Jacob said.

“Well, then can I get
you
a drink?” Adams said, turning his attention to me. His gaze washed over me with none of the propriety the guys outside had shown. Piper went stiff beside him.

“I’m all set, thanks,” I answered crisply.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, your man’ll treat you,” Adams said, laughing and leaning back against the bar. His chest was broad— broader than Jacob’s, actually, now that it was puffed out like this. I rather suspected the pose was to show that fact off. “Lucky man, lucky man,” Adams muttered loudly.

“I am,” Jacob said, and turned to the bar to end the conversation. I, however, found myself roped in by Adams’ eyes on me. It wasn’t the smoldering, hypnotic gaze that Jacob had used to trap me so early in our relationship; it was more demanding, capturing me in a way that made me
afraid
in some way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“You let me know if he ever
stops
treating you, yeah?” Adams said coyly.

“What would you need her for?” Piper swept in, and licked at the edge of Adams’ right ear to recapture his attention. Adams grinned and turned his head, then kissed her on the lips. It was the outlet I needed; I turned away from him, though not quickly enough to miss him answering Piper’s question.

“Come on, baby— why have just one roommate when I could have two? Hell, aren’t there three of you?” he said hungrily, in a voice
just
playful enough that if he’d needed too, he could have claimed it was all a joke. Piper laughed faintly, and I stepped closer to Jacob, wanting desperately to get out of Adams’ space.

“I heard a rumor you’ll be back in at Clemson,” the bartender, a hipster with a stellar handlebar mustache, said as he slid four PBRs across the counter (for a total of five pennies).

“Absolutely,” Jacob said, smiling broadly. The bartender’s words seemed to have returned some of the cockiness that I missed to his face. “Shoulder is healed up perfectly. Wanted to play today, but you know how it is. Gotta wait till everything is a hundred percent.”

“Can’t wait for it. That guy is good,” the bartender said, nodding toward Adams, “but you’re the hero, Everett.”

“Thanks,” Jacob said, nodding to him, then grabbing all four bottles— two in each hand— by the neck. He and I wound past a series of athletes, Jenna included (I was grateful she was in the midst of a conversation and didn’t notice Jacob), and returned to the players outside. Jacob set the bottles down on a table filled with empties; I nursed one while he pounded another and fell into a lengthy discussion of the upcoming Clemson game with the other players, seemingly fueled by both the words with Adams and the bartender’s enthusiasm. It wasn’t until I checked my phone that I realized he’d been talking for nearly a half hour— and I’d been standing nearby, quietly waiting.

It was the exact thing I’d insisted on
not
doing the first time we’d been at the Manhattan together— sit around waiting for Jacob’s attention. As soon as I thought this, I felt selfish and stupid. After all, I’d more or less
had
Jacob’s attention for the last few weeks, since football was off the table. But now, it was about to be on the table again, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was only a sample of what was to come. Of
course
I wanted Jacob to heal, for him to play— but as I sat in silence and replayed our relationship, I couldn’t help but realize that until he was injured, Jacob had been…well…Jacob. The Harton hero. He’d shown up in my class, called me out to the bar, slept with me, then vanished with other players the following morning. He hadn’t reappeared in my life until he was injured.

Until he had nowhere else to go.

But he didn’t know you then
, I reminded myself.
And you didn’t know him, not really— you just wanted him
.

It was a small consolation, though, especially when Piper was inside fending off Adams’ attempts to rope me into a threesome. I would never say it aloud to Jacob, but Adams wasn’t all that different than he had been back when we first met. If he returned to that version of himself…

No. He needed to play. He needed to heal— really heal. I lifted my eyes to Jacob, watched him and the other players going through plans and shit-talking the Clemson team and laughing, already celebrating their future win with Jacob at the helm. I thought of him standing in the bathroom mirror, perfecting a stone-faced expression. He might hurt himself further at Clemson— but that meant there was no risk for me. No risk that he’d return to his old self, no chance I’d be cast aside in the same way I once was.

I put down my long empty bottle and pretended to stare at my phone until, ages later, Jacob returned to my side, looking flush with enthusiasm and perhaps the slightest bit tipsy. He kissed my forehead briskly. “What are you staring at?” he asked.

“Nothing, just an article,” I said.

Jacob laughed. “Everyone else is playing games on their phone, and you’re reading. This is why you’re perfect, Sasha Copeland.”

I smiled, and felt something in me melt. What had I been thinking, entertaining the idea of him re-injuring himself like it would be a good thing? I swallowed as we left the bar and started toward his apartment.

“I have to tell you something,” I said, leaning against him. His arm was around my shoulders and I felt tucked into him, encompassed by his body in a way that still delighted and frightened me, a little.

“Anything,” he said.

“I know your arm isn’t healed. I saw you in the bathroom mirror Thursday night, practicing keeping a straight face when you move it.”

We continued walking forward, but Jacob’s torso stiffened beside me. “It just got a little sore when we were having sex— I was putting more weight on it than I should have.”

“Jacob—“

“It’s fine, Sasha. Or it will be.”

“But what if it isn’t?”

“It is.”

“You told me yourself that you could injury it permanently, though, if you play on it too soon. Are you really going to play at Clemson? Or are you just trying to make your parents and the school happy and shut Adams up?” I asked, stopping so fast that his arm slipped right over my head, tousling my hair. Jacob stopped and turned to me, every line of his face begging me to end the conversation.

“If I don’t get back in the game soon, the NFL will forget I exist. They’re not going to bring in someone who’s still on the bench with an injury. It’d be a stupid financial risk, if nothing else. I need to play and get drafted.”

“But what if you get injured worse? Even if you’re drafted, you’ll never get to actually play in the NFL,” I protested.

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “They’ll have to pay out my contract either way. It’ll still be a better career move.”

I was stunned. “You’d never play again, though.”

Jacob shook his head, face pained, body seeming to grow larger with frustration. “Of course I know that. That’s all I can think about, Sasha. But I’m trying to salvage what I can out of a lifetime of playing this game. I’m not getting an actual education here, you know that— I’m taking Swahili as my foreign language, for fuck’s sake, and I’ve literally never been to a single class. So getting an NFL contract
now
is the only chance I’ve got. If I can play again, great, but if I can’t, at least I’ll have some sort of income for the next few years. If I lose that, I’ve got…I have nothing. I have literally, nothing, except a future where my parents spend every day reminding me that I should have gone into the draft my junior year, just like they told me.” He put a hand to his temple and shook his head. “Fuck, I should’ve listened. I should have just done it. I wanted to be a better player, but…”

I stood still, overwhelmed by everything he’d just said. Somehow, even at Harton, even being with Jacob, I’d still thought of football as just a game. I was so wrong. This was his life.

“I’m sorry,” I said gently.

“For what?”

I shrugged uselessly. “I don’t even know. I’m sorry I didn’t think of all that. I’m sorry I didn’t
know
to think of all that.”

Jacob smiled a little at me. “You’re not into football, remember?”

“I’m into you,” I countered. “And, much to my surprise, I’m actually pretty into football now too.”

“Well, and to be totally honest, I think that’s why I came to you after the injury. I wanted to be around someone not into football,” Jacob said, and then continued walking.

“And once the injury is healed?” I asked nervously.

Jacob laughed, then looked down playfully. “Obviously, I’ll still want to be around someone not into football. You know, to keep my ego in check.”

“As if one person could do that,” I answered, and Jacob laughed again, then ducked down and plucked me from the ground, swinging me over his good shoulder. I screamed and fought, but there wasn’t much point in it— his grip was a vice, and besides, he was so tall that I was about a million feet off the ground. He spanked me lightly— lighter than he would have if we hadn’t been out in public— then kissed my thigh before setting me back on my feet. The entire thing had made a swell of need sweep through me, and I bit my lip.

“Want to teach me something new?” I asked quietly.

“Always,” Jacob said. “Where?”

“Your apartment?”

Jacob grinned lecherously. “Not what I meant by “where”, Sasha,” he said. “And my apartment is closest, so that sounds perfect.”