Play Maker (Bitsberg Knights Duet)

Rayna rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a Pollyanna, Shelby. It’s okay to like a guy.”

“I know that,” I argued.

Rayna selected a nacho from the paper plate in her lap and popped one of the cheese-coated chips into her mouth. “Want some?”

My stomach rolled at the look of the congealed cheese. “No thanks.”

“You’re such a snob,” Rayna teased, her eyes dancing with mischief as she reached for another chip. “Sorry, the stadium doesn’t stock caviar or pâté.”

I laughed and shoved her playfully. “You are such a brat.”

She stuck her tongue out.

“Be nice, or I won’t ask Ross to introduce you to any of his friends.”

Rayna laughed. “Yeah, that’s just what I need, a boy toy.”

I opened my mouth to fire off another smartass response but stopped short. I knew the reason why Rayna wasn’t interested in dating. Ever since Hudson went away, she’d had a hard time moving on and enjoying herself. Most of the time she was too busy working at the two jobs she held down to even go out for a drink. I didn’t realize how bad it was until I’d moved back a few months ago. When I was away at college, I was too busy to notice, and we’d go weeks without talking. Now that I was back in town, it was glaringly obvious how out of touch she’d become.

Before I could think of anything to say, the announcer started to go over the opening ceremony. Or whatever the hell it was called. All I knew was that the breath in my lungs hitched when he called Ross’s name.

6

Ross

Peters broke his ankle.

Those four words had rearranged my entire life.

First, Brandon went down on the field. The next day at our practice facility, Peters hit a nasty patch of ice going up a set of concrete steps and busted his ankle. Both of them were out for the postseason, and it was down to one man to carry the team.

Me.

The pack of media hounds’ questions were still ringing in my ears. But I’d managed to avoid watching any TV or listen to the radio or even check the weather. Nope, none of that mattered—the only thing that mattered was how I played on the field today.

We were less than fifteen minutes from taking the field. I sat in front of my locker and glanced around the room at my teammates going through their final routines of checking their equipment. Some were leaning against their lockers and others were pacing the floor. One thing was clear, all eyes were on me. I was far from a rookie player on the team, but I had yet to take a snap all season. The only time I ever played in the regular season was two years ago, when we had a 47-6 lead, and they brought in me to take a knee with 34 seconds left on the clock. Now, I was the starting quarterback.

I closed my eyes and ran through plays in my head, but the only one that kept replaying in my mind? The one that told me I couldn’t do this.

I was fucked.

Totally fucking fucked.

“Leverette?” Coach’s clipped bark broke through the sea of echoes in my head. I glanced his way. “If you’re gonna puke, get it the hell over with, already.”

My stomach was rolling and twisting, but I hadn’t been able to eat. I was running on sheer adrenaline and caffeine. There was nothing in my system to throw up. Which was probably for the best. “I’m good, Coach.”

It was a lie. A whopper of one. But I could feel every man around me. Their eyes were glued to me. Watching every move. Their ears perked for any sign of weakness. All their hopes and dreams were now pinned on me.

Coach stepped to my side and studied me. I held my breath as his fierce eagle eyes raked over my face. “Come on, son.”

We were all suited up, minutes away from going down the tunnel, but I didn’t argue. I followed Coach a few yards away from where the rest of the team huddled, ignoring their whispers and stares.

“All right, Leverette. I know this is fucked up,” Coach started, shaking his head as though he were still just as shell-shocked by the news of Peters as I was. “But we’re still in this thing. I know you haven’t seen any time on the field, but that isn’t because I think you’re some kind of shit player.”

I forced myself to keep Coach’s fierce gaze. “I know that, Coach.”

“Good. I know you can do this. And you’re not alone. Every one of those guys out there has seen what you’re capable of. Your name gets buzzed around more often than not. Sure, Brandon is the star, the big man, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t just as capable as he is. We all know what you can do, and we need you to show everyone else.” Coach slapped me on the shoulder and a smile spread across his face, warming the hard look in his eyes. “Son, you know what we have? The element of surprise. No one out there knows what you can do. The Vultures are thinking this is gonna be a fuckin’ cakewalk. But we’re going to go out there and show them that not only is our season not over, but we’re fighting tooth and nail for our shot to keep going. And you, you are going to lead that charge. Got it?”