Campus Player

I jerk my head.

“You know it’s a bunch of bullshit, right?”

Is it?

Dad is the highest-paid coach in the conference. Every two years, the university renews his contract. It’s important they keep him happy. The football team brings in a lot of money for Western. Money that allows professors to continue with their research. Over the years, Dad has fielded offers from several top-notch programs throughout the country. He’s always been happy here, so he’s never given them any serious consideration.

But...what if I’m part of the equation?

What if Dad hasn’t considered leaving because deals were made under the table on my behalf?

My heart stutters at the possibility. As much as I’m loath to admit it, Annica has done the one thing I never thought possible. She’s shaken my confidence.

If I found out that Dad had something to do with me being a starter or a captain, I would be beyond humiliated. I wouldn’t deserve to play the game at this level and would be forced to quit. It would take away all of my achievements.

When I remain silent, Rowan closes the distance between us. “Demi?”

I snap back to the conversation. “Yeah, I do.”

“But?” He raises his brows, clearly picking up on the uncertainty weaving its way through my voice.

I hate that I’ve let her fuck with my head. As an athlete, the worst thing you can do is allow an opponent to get to you. Even though we’re on the same team, we’re adversaries.

“Ninety-nine percent of me doesn’t believe it, but there’s that tiny one percent that can’t let it go. That wonders if my father is part of the reason I’m on the team or was made a captain.” My heart lurches as I give voice to the thoughts racing through my head.

“I’ve watched you play. There’s no way that’s possible. Everything you’ve achieved is because of your hard work and commitment to the sport. It has nothing to do with Coach.”

Rowan’s voice is filled with so much certainty. I wish I felt that secure in my own abilities and could easily brush off the comments. Let them go in one ear and out the other.

“This girl sounds jealous. She’s trying to knock you off your game. Don’t let her do it.”

My lips lift into a slight smile. “Now you sound like Sydney.”

How is it possible that Rowan Michaels—of all people—has made me feel better about this situation? A week ago, I could have never imagine confiding something so personal. And yet, here we are. It’s a little unnerving how quickly relationships can morph into something different.

He flashes me a grin. “Sydney is a smart girl. Maybe you should listen to her. She seems to know what she’s talking about.”

I snort as some of the heaviness weighing me down vanishes, leaving a surprising lightness in its place. “I doubt you’d say that if you knew what she’s encouraged me to do over the years.”

“That might be so, but in this instance, her assessment is spot-on. This Annica chick sounds jealous.”

“I don’t know.” That’s the one thing I can’t wrap my head around. Annica is a talented player. There’s no reason for jealousy. If she spent more time focusing on soccer and stopped trying to create drama where there is none, she could be better than I am.

When the younger girl came in as a freshman, I was blown away by her raw talent. I figured at some point; she would surpass me in skill. Instead of being threatened, I befriended her and tried to help her grow as a player. If she’s fallen short of her own expectations, that’s on her.

“Well, I do. Hopefully now that you’ve pulled her aside, she’ll lay off.”

As much as I want to believe that Annica will let go of her animosity and let bygones be bygones, I don’t think that will be the case. This seems more like a battle to the death.

Much like earlier this afternoon when we were stretched out on the football field, a strange calmness falls over me. Hashing out this problem with Rowan has helped me to feel more settled. Nothing has been solved, but all the noise in my head is more of a whisper.

How is it possible that in the course of one day, I’ve had two conversations with Rowan that have had more depth than any we’ve had in the seven years we’ve known each other?

And it’s actually been...dare I say...nice?

Yeah, I just admitted it. We’re spending time together, and I’m actually enjoying it. Trust me, no one could be more surprised by this turn of events. And it kind of makes me want to...I don’t know...spend more time with him?

Oh, boy.

I clear my throat and try to banish all the peculiar feelings attempting to take root inside me before I force my gaze to the statistics book splayed open on the table. “It’s getting late. We should probably get started.”