Clash (Crash 2)

The crowd roared, cheering at whatever stellar play our kicking team had just pulled. Not only was he irritating me, smiling at me in a way that was just way too cheesy, asking to occupy Jude’s seat, he’d just made me miss the kick off.

Strike Four. You’re way the hell out.

“You better find another girl to sit next to.” Danny turned in his seat, giving the stink eye to this guy that was three times as big as him. “This one is Jude Ryder’s future wife.”

“Hold up,” the guy said, chuckling at Danny. “You’re the QB’s girl?”

Jude was just taking the field with his line when I saw him look my way. He was so far off it shouldn’t have been possible, but I swore his eyes flashed black when he saw the guy lurking above me.

“Why don’t you ‘hold up’ yourself and go back to the rest of your clan of future middle managers?” I said, scramming him away with my hand.

Snapping his fingers, the guy pulled out his phone and began thumbing through pages. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but I had a pretty good idea.

Watching Jude as he lined up, his head tilted back my way again. Damn it‌—‌he needed to focus on the game and not me. I could handle myself.

Frat boy’s smile went Joker wide. “You are Ryder’s girl,” he said, flashing his phone at me. On the screen was a still of me straddling a crazed faced Adriana, my arm high and my hair a tornado of white-blond whispys.

“I don’t care if this seat is taken,” he said, grabbing my purse and throwing it into my lap. “I need to get a picture with the girl who was on the winning side of the most talked about cat fight in all college history.” Wrapping his arm around me, he hung his phone out in front of us, about to take a picture.

When were asshats like this going to figure out they couldn’t do whatever they wanted with a woman? We weren’t beasts they could control. We were women who could rule the world with our eyes closed, but were smart enough to know to stay out of that whole mess. We were women‌—‌hear us roar.

And I did just that as I snatched his phone out of his hand, shot up in my seat, and hurled it onto the field.

Jude had just called the hike as my own projectile spiraled onto the sidelines. Taking another look back when his eyes should have been nowhere but on the field, I saw him freeze when he saw what was taking place between me and super frat.

Time stood still then as Jude watched me and I watched him. Both of our faces lined with worry for the other. However, Jude’s worry was misplaced. Frat boy had selected a perfectly uncreative curse word to holler at me before marching away‌—‌back to his middle management hopefuls. But me, I had the right to an absolute gut dropping worry because, breaking through Jude’s defensive line, one of the visiting team’s lineman barreled right for the frozen in place quarterback.

I was already screaming his name when the line man drilled into Jude. Even after the initial impact, Jude’s eyes didn’t leave mine, but when his body crashed to the ground, bouncing and skidding a good ten yards, his eyes were long past the point of recognition as they fluttered closed.

“JUDE!” The scream was primal, coming out of some part of me I didn’t know existed. Popping out of my seat, I was running down the stairs before I knew I was running. My eyes were locked on him, decorating the astroturf in ways that a body shouldn’t contort.

I wasn’t thinking anything right then‌—‌I was all instinct. I didn’t doubt that if anyone stood in my path, I would have done anything to get by them. But no one did, and when I reached the concrete barrier separating the field from the stands, I swung my legs over it.

Twisting so my stomach curled the wall, I dropped down to the field. The breath popped out of my lungs from the impact. I’d underestimated the drop, but it didn’t slow me down.

Everyone was so focused on Jude and the trainers sprinting out there towards him, no one paid the crazed girl running across the field any attention. Pushing and shoving by the players forming a circle around him, I skidded to my knees beside him.

“Jude?” I said, trying to catch my breath.

The trio of trainers glanced up at me, eyes wide before narrowing. “You need to get the hell out of here, ma’am,” one of them said as another removed Jude’s helmet.

I sobbed one terrible note when I grabbed his hand and, for the first time ever, it fell limp into mine.

“I’m not leaving,” I replied, biting the side of my cheek.

“If you don’t leave of your own accord, we’ll have to have someone escort you,” the third said, holding a light above Jude’s eyes as he pried them open.

Another sob escaped before I caught it. Those gray eyes of his were flat, dead.

“I’m not leaving,” I said, folding Jude’s hand into both of mine, trying to infuse some warmth and life into it. “And I pity the person who tries to take me away from him.” My eyes flashed into each of the trainers’.

“Fine,” the one putting a brace around Jude’s neck replied. “But you get in our way and I’ll happily use the tranquilizer I keep in my case for emergency cases on you. You understand?”

“Okay,” I said, wanting to run my hands over every part of Jude until they uncovered what was the matter with him. Until they identified what needed to be fixed. It was a powerless feeling, not knowing what needed to be taken care of. How to go about fixing the worst kind of situation.

rowd roared, cheering at whatever stellar play our kicking team had just pulled. Not only was he irritating me, smiling at me in a way that was just way too cheesy, asking to occupy Jude’s seat, he’d just made me miss the kick off.

Strike Four. You’re way the hell out.

“You better find another girl to sit next to.” Danny turned in his seat, giving the stink eye to this guy that was three times as big as him. “This one is Jude Ryder’s future wife.”

“Hold up,” the guy said, chuckling at Danny. “You’re the QB’s girl?”

Jude was just taking the field with his line when I saw him look my way. He was so far off it shouldn’t have been possible, but I swore his eyes flashed black when he saw the guy lurking above me.

“Why don’t you ‘hold up’ yourself and go back to the rest of your clan of future middle managers?” I said, scramming him away with my hand.

Snapping his fingers, the guy pulled out his phone and began thumbing through pages. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but I had a pretty good idea.

Watching Jude as he lined up, his head tilted back my way again. Damn it‌—‌he needed to focus on the game and not me. I could handle myself.

Frat boy’s smile went Joker wide. “You are Ryder’s girl,” he said, flashing his phone at me. On the screen was a still of me straddling a crazed faced Adriana, my arm high and my hair a tornado of white-blond whispys.

“I don’t care if this seat is taken,” he said, grabbing my purse and throwing it into my lap. “I need to get a picture with the girl who was on the winning side of the most talked about cat fight in all college history.” Wrapping his arm around me, he hung his phone out in front of us, about to take a picture.

When were asshats like this going to figure out they couldn’t do whatever they wanted with a woman? We weren’t beasts they could control. We were women who could rule the world with our eyes closed, but were smart enough to know to stay out of that whole mess. We were women‌—‌hear us roar.

And I did just that as I snatched his phone out of his hand, shot up in my seat, and hurled it onto the field.

Jude had just called the hike as my own projectile spiraled onto the sidelines. Taking another look back when his eyes should have been nowhere but on the field, I saw him freeze when he saw what was taking place between me and super frat.

Time stood still then as Jude watched me and I watched him. Both of our faces lined with worry for the other. However, Jude’s worry was misplaced. Frat boy had selected a perfectly uncreative curse word to holler at me before marching away‌—‌back to his middle management hopefuls. But me, I had the right to an absolute gut dropping worry because, breaking through Jude’s defensive line, one of the visiting team’s lineman barreled right for the frozen in place quarterback.

I was already screaming his name when the line man drilled into Jude. Even after the initial impact, Jude’s eyes didn’t leave mine, but when his body crashed to the ground, bouncing and skidding a good ten yards, his eyes were long past the point of recognition as they fluttered closed.

“JUDE!” The scream was primal, coming out of some part of me I didn’t know existed. Popping out of my seat, I was running down the stairs before I knew I was running. My eyes were locked on him, decorating the astroturf in ways that a body shouldn’t contort.

I wasn’t thinking anything right then‌—‌I was all instinct. I didn’t doubt that if anyone stood in my path, I would have done anything to get by them. But no one did, and when I reached the concrete barrier separating the field from the stands, I swung my legs over it.

Twisting so my stomach curled the wall, I dropped down to the field. The breath popped out of my lungs from the impact. I’d underestimated the drop, but it didn’t slow me down.

Everyone was so focused on Jude and the trainers sprinting out there towards him, no one paid the crazed girl running across the field any attention. Pushing and shoving by the players forming a circle around him, I skidded to my knees beside him.

“Jude?” I said, trying to catch my breath.

The trio of trainers glanced up at me, eyes wide before narrowing. “You need to get the hell out of here, ma’am,” one of them said as another removed Jude’s helmet.

I sobbed one terrible note when I grabbed his hand and, for the first time ever, it fell limp into mine.

“I’m not leaving,” I replied, biting the side of my cheek.

“If you don’t leave of your own accord, we’ll have to have someone escort you,” the third said, holding a light above Jude’s eyes as he pried them open.

Another sob escaped before I caught it. Those gray eyes of his were flat, dead.

“I’m not leaving,” I said, folding Jude’s hand into both of mine, trying to infuse some warmth and life into it. “And I pity the person who tries to take me away from him.” My eyes flashed into each of the trainers’.

“Fine,” the one putting a brace around Jude’s neck replied. “But you get in our way and I’ll happily use the tranquilizer I keep in my case for emergency cases on you. You understand?”

“Okay,” I said, wanting to run my hands over every part of Jude until they uncovered what was the matter with him. Until they identified what needed to be fixed. It was a powerless feeling, not knowing what needed to be taken care of. How to go about fixing the worst kind of situation.