Dare You to Hate Me

I may not be close with a lot of the guys, but they’re nothing like the Raiders—not threatened by competition or challenges. Coach Pearce may think that being selfish is how you get to your goals, but I couldn’t do it without my team backing me every game.

None of this may have been what I planned when I submitted my college applications in high school, but Lindon was where I needed to be. I just didn’t know how much until the day I saw Ivy again.

So, the only thing I really waited for was a chance to prove myself again—my talent, skill, and loyalty to the game.

Not Ivy.

I’d succumbed because I was tired of the missing feeling I’ve had in my chest for four years. Her body warming my bed, her soft breathing lulling me to sleep, and her fiery personality completely unapologetic is what fills the void that football never could.

I didn’t wait for her.

I waited because of her.

She left and I needed an outlet.

She left and I needed something.

And that was football.

It was a future.

Silence is all she’s awarded with when I creep out of bed with extra precision not to wake her. I could leave a note, send her a text, but I can’t put to words the feelings over what we’d done. Nothing I could write would be enough.

You waited.

I didn’t, and it’s hard to admit that when I’m not sure she’d understand. Because football means the world to me, and after everything she’s gone through the last thing I want is for her to feel second best.

But it’s all I can give right now.

I meant what I said.

I want her.

But I want football too.

And Ivy’s always done everything I’ve wanted to do until the day she made her own choice to leave. I’m not ready to watch her give up everything because of me. Not when she’s only just starting to see that she has a whole life in front of her to discover.

I knock on Coach Pearce’s door a few minutes earlier than when he asked me to come and catch his attention from the paperwork he’s looking over. It’s only when I see movement in the corner of the room that I realize he’s not alone. Chet Wilkins, formally two-time Superbowl winning New York Jets quarterback, is standing in a s

uit by the trophy case.

“Come on in, son,” Pearce says, pushing up from his desk. “I’m sure you know who this is, so I’ll skip the formalities. Wilkins and I go way back when I was a rookie for the Jets.”

I knew Pearce had some experience on a pro team. One season with them and he suffered a shattered ankle that ended his career.

Clearing my throat, I nod at Coach and look to his friend. “Hello, sir. Real nice to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

Chet Wilkins chuckles, walking over and stretching his hand to shake mine. “Likewise, Aiden. Bill here has been talking about you for some time. I’ve been keeping an eye out on your games. You’re one hell of a player.”

Hearing that from someone like him makes pride swell in my chest. I stand straighter and give him another nod, making him grin in amusement.

Coach Pearce intervenes. “Wilkins is a scout for the New York team these days. We’ve been talking for a while and it could be a route for you.”

I stop at the seat in front of his desk, dropping my bag onto it. “You mean the Buffalo Bills?”

Wilkins nods, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “I know a few people who are probably going to reach out shortly, so I wanted first dibs. Suppose that’s the plus side to dealing with this cranky asshole all these years.” His chin gestures toward Coach with a mischievous smirk on his face that only widens as Pearce grunts. “Heard Mass, Jersey, and a few others may be interested too. Wouldn’t surprise me if they try snatching you up with a hefty contract that some of the other teams can’t offer.”

Holy shit. “Mass as in New England?”