One Southern Night (2 page)

“You know me so well.” I smile down at her. The sweetest, most enticing smile I can manage. She rolls her eyes as we walk down the hallway and into chemistry together. The first time I met Laney was in this very spot. Chemistry class, the beginning of the school year. Our seats were already assigned, and lucky me, I got to sit with the new girl from New York. I knew all about her already. Her cousin, Miranda, filled me in. Miranda was one of my ex’s best friends until we broke up. Our separation divided our group, and Cheyenne actually demanded people choose sides. So everyone did, and they chose mine.

Laney was forced to move to Alabama when her parents got divorced. Pretty harsh moving the summer of your senior year. Miranda basically threatened my life if I wasn’t nice to her. Me? Not nice? To a girl? I asked if she remembered who she was talking to. What I wasn’t prepared for was Laney not being nice to me! I called her sugar—not even thinking—I call everyone sugar. She snapped at me, saying she had a name and I better use it. I apologized and told her I’d use her name. From that moment on I’ve called her Lemon. Sweet if you add sugar, sour if you don’t. I’m waiting for the moment I get to pour some sugar on her and really take a bite.

Sassy city bitch.

I fell in love with her immediately.

“You coming to see me kick North’s ass tonight?”

“You sound pretty confident in yourself, country boy.” She drops her backpack on the floor next to the table covered with glass beakers, test tubes, and burners.

“I
am
confident, Lemon. We’ve beat them once already. Actually, I wouldn’t even use the word beat, annihilated is more like it. It’s in the bag. Bet I don’t even get sacked.” I cross my arms haughtily.

“Oh, well if that’s the case, I’ll probably just stay home and surf Facebook. Doesn’t sound like it’s going to be a very interesting game.” She curls her lip.

“Lemon,” I stress, causing Laney to smile smugly. “Are you messing with me?”

“It’s so easily done.”

That’s what she thinks.

“So you are coming?” I sit down in my usual first period seat, with Laney a few inches away from me. It’s my favorite place to be. Breathing in her …
exotic
scent. It’s the only word I can come up with.

“Miranda would decapitate me if I didn’t.”

“Do you hate football so much that Miranda has to threaten you to go to a game?” The concept is foreign to me.

“No.” She shrugs. “I just don’t get what the big deal is. It’s a game.”

My mouth drops open. “Sugar, it’s not just a game in these parts. It’s a religion.”

“Is that why there’s a play called a Hail Mary?”

Now I’m the one rolling my eyes. “You don’t like anything about football?”

She smirks darkly. “I like you in those tight pants.”

My blood heats. “So you do like me?”

“I like to look at you.” She flirts. I love when Laney toys with me. It electrifies my insides.

“Lemon—” I lean in close to her ear, getting an injection of her intoxicating scent. “If you hang out with me after the game, I’ll let you do so much more than just look.”

She burns me with those scorching blue eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested in being just another touchdown in your end zone.”

I can’t stop the ridiculous smile from spreading across my face. “I love when you talk dirty to me.”

Actually, I love everything about Laney, from the way she looks with those red streaks running through her hair, to her casual Converse, and smart mouth. She’s the anti-southern bell. And exactly what I need.

“You better be careful, Laney Summers, or else you might get caught from behind.”

“Is that a threat, Kamdyn Ellis?”

I glare at her like I want to devour her. “It’s a threat, and a promise, and a pledge.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“Oh no? Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“And what did you have in mind?”

“A bet of sorts.”

“We’re eighteen. We’re not old enough to gamble.”

“Then let’s just keep it between us.” I lower my voice provocatively.

“I’m listening.”

“If we win tonight, I get you.”

“Excuse me?”

“If we win the state championship, I get to have you, in the bed of my pickup, to do with what I want.”

“You want me to bet my body?” She raises her eyebrows.

Maybe your heart, too?

“It seems to be the only way you’ll give me the time of day,” I say vulnerably, hoping my humble tone and baby blues will persuade her. It works on all the other girls, but Laney is different. She doesn’t topple that easily. She needs persuading and a challenge.

She sighs, as if considering. “What’s the spread?”

“Spread?”

“Yeah, you know, how much do you have to win by?”

“For a girl who claims she doesn’t like football, you can talk a good game.”

She shrugs. “It’s discussed nonstop in my house. I listen with one ear open.”

She is always surprising me. Since day one.

“Okay.” I mull it over carefully; the last time we played North we won by seventeen and that was with all their starters healthy. Since then, they’ve lost two of their best players to injury: their quarterback and a tight end. “Twenty-point spread.”

Laney’s eyes widen. “That’s a huge number. Are you that confident?”

“Baby.” I put my hand on her leg and run it up her thigh. “Football is what I know. So yes, you’ll be mine tonight.”

T
he roar of the crowd is deafening. The smell of fresh cut grass intoxicating. The feel of the ball in my hands exhilarating.

I thrive on all of it. It’s what causes my heart to beat and blood to flow through my veins. It’s my vitality. I have lived football for as long I can remember. My mother says I was born to play. She knew the instant I threw my binky across the room at three months old. She’s always said I was special, and I have always believed her. When I was a freshman,
Sports Illustrated
did a top ten article on football prodigies in the US, and I was number one. My whole life I have been compared to the likes of Tiger Woods and LeBron James. Descriptions like speed, power, and pinpoint accuracy have followed me everywhere. I have trained at the best football camps in the US with the most well-known names in the NFL. I broke the record for most passing attempts, most completions, and most passing yards my sophomore year. And have continued to crush those numbers into the ground. I was recruited by over fifty colleges and given full rides to all of them. Football is not only my future, it’s my life. I dominate in the arena; no one can touch me.

The cheerleaders are shouting on the sidelines and the announcer’s voice is echoing into the clear night sky. I glance at the score board. Wolverines 35; Visitor 10. I told Laney we would spank them. Looks like I won that bet, and I fully intend to collect. But right now, I have to keep my head in the game and not think of Laney naked under the stars. Just the way I’ve always wanted her.

There’s forty-five seconds left. This is the last pass of my high school career. It has to be a good one, not just for me, but for my brothers-in-arms. These ten guys have looked to me the last four years to lead them, and in doing so they have protected me, bled with me, and allowed me to thrive.

I call the play in the huddle: Gun south right, X flash on two.

Break!

We take formation up on the thirty yard line. My center, Bugger, crouches down. He’s a big-as-life black dude, snarling at the opposing team. I take one last look around the stadium. This is the start and the end of my legacy. Miranda flies twenty feet in the air as the cheerleaders below chant blue and white. The clock feels like it’s ticking down in slow motion, and the monstrous defensive lineman who has had my number all night looks like he wants to rip my head off. It’s an adrenaline rush.

“I’m coming for you, Q,” number sixty-seven growls.

“You’ll have to get through me first,” Bugger rumbles. I just smile. “Might as well go home. We wiped your ass with the field. Again.”

Sixty-seven howls. The guy actually howls like a freakin’ injured coyote.

It’s time to finish this.

“Blue forty-two!” I scream out. “Blue forty-two! Hike! Hike!” Bugger snaps the ball right into my hands, a perfect exchange, and everyone disperses in a frenzy. The lines collide like Spartans going to war as I scan the field for my receiver. I watch Duce burn grass down the center and everything inside me ignites. It’s the same feeling every time. A tingly sensation under my skin, like pins and needles. This, right here, this second, is pure control. An untouchable feeling. I see my opening and take it, firing the ball. A perfect spiral headed straight for the end zone. I watch it spin and land right into Duce’s hands. The crowd explodes. “
TOUCHDOWN, Wolverines!”
the announcer yells, “
And new Alabama State Champions!”

I break out in goose bumps right before everything goes black.

Sack!

I
blink my eyes. They feel heavy.

I look around trying to figure out where I am. There’s muted florescent light and a bleachy smell. I try to move, but my limbs feel like lead.

I groan, and it vibrates roughly through my whole body.
Where am I? What’s happening?

“Well, good morning,” a pleasant voice says from above me. A woman I don’t recognize comes into my eye-line. My heart palpitates, and I hear quick beeping in the room. “It’s okay, Mr. Ellis, you’re fine.” The older woman with kind brown eyes tries to soothe me.

“Where am I?” I croak. What the fuck is wrong with my voice?

“You’re at County State Hospital, darlin’.” She fluffs up my pillow.

Hospital?

“What happened?” I can barely push the words out.

She pours me some water. “Here, drink this. Your mouth is dry.” The water is cold and quenches my thirst. It feels like I’ve been sleeping in the desert. “I’m going to get the doctor and your mama.”

“What happened?” I ask again.

“They’ll explain everything, sugar.”

“Kam!” My mother rushes to my side. “Baby, we were so worried.” She kisses me all over my face.

“What happened?” I ask for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Baby, you had an accident of sorts. During the game, you were sacked after your last pass. It was a cheap shot by the other team. Something happened in your brain when you got hit. The doctor can explain it better. But you didn’t get up.” Tears pool in her distressed hazel eyes. “I thought we lost you.”

“My brain?” I repeat. My voice is getting a little stronger.

“Yeah, baby. You had surgery. You’ve been in a coma for two weeks.”

“Two weeks!?”

She nods, the tears falling down her cheeks. A moment later, an older man with a white coat and glasses enters the room holding a tablet.

“Mr. Ellis.” He attempts a smile, which doesn’t really work for him. “Welcome back.”

“Where the hell did I go?”

“First, I’m Dr. Saltzman.” He puts his hand out. I lift my arm with some difficulty and we shake. He seems to be assessing my every move. “I performed your surgery and have been monitoring your progress.” He pulls a chair up to the side of my bed and takes a seat.
Make yourself at home why don’t you.
“Mr. Ellis, you had a brain aneurysm, or cerebral hemorrhage, during the game. I suspect it was always there, but when you were hit, it ruptured, causing a bleed in your brain.”