“Did he do it?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?” I interrupt. The anger that’s coursing through me hits a fever pitch as the truth sinks in. “But what? He fucking touched you without your consent because I know no matter how he was bragging about it in there, you didn’t give it. Did he hurt you?”
She turns away. “Let’s not do this now. You still have to play the second half.”
“Fuck the game.” I turn her face so she’s looking at me. I need to see in her eyes that she’s not lying, that she’s okay. That he didn’t do worse than kiss her. She blinks, her eyes spilling over with tears. I pull her into a tight hug, cupping the back of her head with one hand. “Tell me what he did.”
She sobs into my shoulder, a sound that strikes me right between the ribs like a bullet. “I’m sorry, I just—he’s been trying to talk to me, and we met up before the game started, and when I tried to tell him to leave me alone, he kissed me.” She pulls back, looking up as she hugs herself around her middle. Her eyes are wide, and as she swallows down another sob, I realize she’s not just upset, she’s scared. That fucker scared her. “That’s it. I’m fine.”
“Like hell you’re fine,” I practically growl. I hug her again, even tighter this time, pressing my face against her hair. She sobs again; I can feel her trembling against me. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fucking fine.”
The second I get Darryl alone, he’s going to wish he never even thought about touching my girl.
“You have to finish the game,” she whispers.
I know she’s right, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving her like this. “You’re shaking like a leaf, baby.”
She rubs her cheek against my shoulder pad. I can feel her fight to control her breathing, but she can’t quite manage it; she sucks in a breath that turns into another quiet sob. A couple of people walk by, and I wave them along, gritting my teeth. We stay like that for a minute or so, pressed together tightly. I shield her body with mine so whenever someone else comes by, they don’t see her while she’s crying, even though each little noise she makes hurts me deep.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry,” she says eventually, so quiet I almost miss it. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
She shakes her head. “You need to go. It’s almost time, right?”
“Probably.” I pull back, stroking my hand down her face. “Are you okay to go back out there?”
She wipes at her eyes carefully, nodding. “Yeah,” she says, voice thick with emotion that makes my heart squeeze. “James?”
“Yeah, princess?”
She hesitates for a moment, like she’s not quite sure what to say. “I love you too.”
39
BEX
I step back as a couple guys come barreling in my direction, clicking away all the while. The hardest part of this whole gig has been avoiding the players, who can’t help where they end up out of bounds sometimes. An errant throw by the Alabama quarterback almost ended up hitting me smack in the face back in the first quarter, before I learned I needed to move seriously fast to keep up. One of the ESPN cameramen, Harold, has helped me throughout the game, offering me pointers on anticipating the next moves. Even though he’s an older dude and skinny as a pole, he runs fast and always has his camera in position to get the shot. He’s a total pro.
I love watching the games, but this? This is incredible. My heart hasn’t stopped pounding since the moment the game began, and most of that is from the adrenaline rushing through me. I’m excited and nervous for James, yes, but I’ve been so focused on my work I sometimes forget to even cheer when he makes a particularly good throw.
Of course, I liked this game a lot more before James found out that Darryl kissed me.
The teams line up again. I glance up at the scoreboard. Third down, so James needs to work some magic to keep the drive going.
He takes the snap, fakes a pass, and holds the football tight, taking it to the down marker himself, running out of bounds. He sees me and winks as he tosses the ball back to the referee. I flush, biting my lip as I take a couple of shots of him in the huddle.
After he went back into the locker room, I found the nearest bathroom and pulled myself together. By the time I left, I looked totally normal. I can usually put on a mask when necessary, and this isn’t any different… not that it stops the ache in my chest. I’ve been on edge since then, holding my breath every time I see James and Darryl interact. I promised I wouldn’t distract him, and then I went and gave him the biggest distraction possible halfway through the game.
I just have to hope he’s able to put it out of his mind for the rest of the game.
I still can’t believe I broke down like that. Whenever I think about it, my skin feels itchy, my throat thick with emotion. It was one thing spending the first half of this game trying to forget what Darryl did. Now that I know James knows? The panic threatens to turn into a wildfire.
I look up at the scoreboard again. Seeing the big numbers announce that McKee is still leading, 33-30, makes me calmer. We’re deep into the fourth quarter now, and if James leads another scoring drive here, they’ll be that much closer to putting the game away.
Only when James attempts another pass, it slips out of the receiver’s fingers… and lands right into the hands of one of the Alabama players.
“Shit,” I murmur under my breath. I take a couple of pictures anyway, but my stomach is in knots. They will have a chance at another possession, but the game might be tied then, or beyond that, if Alabama scores a touchdown. I sneak a peek at the McKee sideline as the guys switch with the defense. James rips off his helmet, practically hurling himself onto the bench. He doesn’t throw a lot of interceptions, and while that one was barely his fault, I’m sure he feels awful.
Maybe he can’t concentrate because he’s thinking about Darryl kissing me instead of the game. If his father was right, if my issues lead to them losing…
My stomach turns over at the mere thought.
And it just gets worse when Alabama takes that interception and turns it into a touchdown.
37-33, with under a minute to go. James has plenty of time, but a field goal won’t do; they need the touchdown. I keep reminding myself of that as I watch the team huddle together for a time out, James’ coach talking with his hands as much as his voice. Plenty of time. James is completely capable of leading a touchdown drive under pressure like this; the previous game, they needed to come back from a deficit to tie before ultimately winning.
They start the drive with good field position, but quickly drop down to a third down when two rushing attempts don’t lead anywhere. James throws a pass, then, and they manage to claw out a first down to keep the momentum going. I move along the sideline with them, ducking past players and staff and other members of the press. The roar of the crowd behind me is so intense it’s like a solid wall of sound. I manage to get an awesome shot of Demarius the moment he catches a pass, and another of one of the Alabama defensemen diving to try and sack James, who runs out of the way just in time.