It’s what I wanted, right? One step closer to being starting quarterback.

  But I can’t bring myself to suit up. Not tonight.

  “Win or lose, I know we’ll make him proud,” my father continues. “Cary loved this game. He loved this team. He loved watching us get better, and I do say us. I was one of you. I’m still one of you. And tonight, we take that field together.”

  That last bit inspires a round of grunts and hollers throughout the room. I get it. He’s Junior Morgan. Some of them came to Chicago North just hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Now, they’re within touching distance.

  Dad finishes up with another loud round of cheers, and my teammates begin the short trek outside and up the ramp to the field. I look up at Alex and Ben standing at the lockers across from mine. I don’t expect to meet their eyes. They haven’t spoken to me since yesterday.

  Since they punched me in the face.

  I stand up. “Alex, Ben, hold on.”

  They pause. Their shoulder pads brush as they turn, standing in a way that makes them exact mirrors of each other.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” Alex faces me head on. “You really fucking shouldn’t have, Connor. We had an agreement.”

  “She came to me, okay?” It sounds more desperate than I intend, but I guess that’s what I am. Desperate. “As a friend. She needed someone she could trust to—”

  “Save it. We don’t care.”

  “What can I do to make this right?” I ask. “I’ll do anything. Just name it.”

  Alex glances at Ben, who merely glances right back.

  “Is it over?” Ben asks.

  “Is what over?”

  “You and Dana,” Alex says. “Is it over?”

  My stomach twists, a resounding no if I’ve ever felt one.

  Alex scoffs at my hesitation. “Then, there’s nothing else to say,” he says, then leaves, Ben going right along with him.

  “Guys…” I lurch forward, then stop, letting them go. No idea what I’d even say, anyway.

  Is it over? I don’t know.

  But I hurt her. I hurt her again.

  If it isn’t over, maybe it should be.

  “Shit, dude. You’ve had a week, haven’t you?”

  Emerson stands close by in his uniform, as if he wasn’t annoyingly listening to that entire conversation.

  I bite down hard. “What are you still doing in here?” I ask.

  He pushes off the locker, his helmet in one hand. “Would it be weird if I said it feels wrong to walk out there without you?”

  “A little, yeah.”

  He chuckles, then lets it fall. “Hey, I’m really sorry to hear about your grandfather,” he says. “You know, I’ve never seen my dad cry, but he shed a tear today when he heard. Blew my mind.”

  “Hard to picture that.”

  “Wasn’t easy to witness, either.”

  I bob my head toward the field. “You should get out there.”

  “You’re not coming?” he asks, glancing at my casual clothes.

  “No, I’m sitting this one out.”

  Emerson tilts his head. “And leave the slot of first alternate QB wide open for little old me?”

  I scoff, too tired to care. “It was yours, anyway, man.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I reach for my backpack in the locker. “Good luck out there, Emerson.”

  He doesn’t move. “You’re not giving up, are you? I was really enjoying this game.”

  “What game?”

  “You know. I push you. You push me. I make you run faster, you make me throw harder. It was making me a better player. You too, by the way.”

  “I wasn’t keeping up. You know it, they know it. You should be the next starter, not me.”

  “Who says it has to be either-or?” he asks. “You know, Jefferson said something the other day that I thought was interesting. He said—” He throws on an accent, mimicking Jefferson’s southern drawl. “You know, with your build and Morgan’s arm, you two almost make one halfway decent me. Almost.”

  “Why is that interesting?” I ask.

  “It’s interesting, Connor, because he’s right.” He shifts on his cleats, somehow standing even taller than he already is. “You have your strengths. I have mine. I say we toss this rivalry bullshit and start playing for the same team.”

  “You’re saying we can both be starting quarterback?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time in history,” he points out. “There’s precedent.”

  I nod. He’s not wrong. “Just one problem with that,” I say.

  “What?”

  “I hate you.”

  He laughs as he peeks over my shoulder toward the field. Toward Alex and Ben. “From the sounds of it, I might be the closest thing you have to a friend right now.”

  Shit. Guess he’s right.

  “Just say you’ll think about it,” he says in my silence.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say. “You should get out there. One of us should be,” I add.

  Emerson nods. “You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He steps past me, then spins on his heel a few feet away. “So, what happened with you and Dana?” he asks, his smirk on full display.

  I glower. He chuckles.

  “Fine, fine.” He keeps walking. “I’ll mind my business.”

  Eh. What the hell.

  “Emerson,” I say. He glances at me from the door to the ramp. I raise a fist. “Delta Xi.”

  He raises a fist, too. “Delta Xi,” he repeats before continuing out onto the field.

  I return to my locker, eying my phone sitting on the top shelf. It’s been blowing up all day with messages.

  Sorry for your loss.

  I’m here for you.

  He was my hero.

  Other than the ones from Courtney, they’ve mostly gone ignored.

  Except the ones from her.

  I check for new ones. Staying in tonight, she said this morning. Good luck at the game. Nothing since then. Can’t really blame her, though. I haven’t exactly been chatty. Not since I woke her up with my tongue and ruined both of our lives.

  Okay, that’s a little dramatic.

  But it’s not entirely wrong.

  I gather my things and close the locker before exiting the locker room the way I came.

  “You okay, Conny?”

  Trisha Wells lingers by the doors. The usual hard lines of her face are non-existent tonight, leaving nothing but a warm expression painted with sympathy. She’s not even waiting for a sound bite; her phone tucked away out of sight.

  “They finally let you back in here, huh?” I ask, hanging my backpack onto my shoulder.

  “It’s a special night,” she says. “For better or worse.”

  “I’m okay,” I say, answering her question. “Just feeling raw, I guess.”

  “I know what you mean.” Her heels click softly on the floor as she shifts. “You know, my father was a football player.”

  “Really?” In all my years of knowing this woman, she’s had her nose in everyone else’s business. I never thought to wonder about hers. “Anyone I’d know?”

  “Jack Frankie.”

  “Jack Fran—” I stop, stunned. “Your father was Jack Frankie? The Jack Frankie?”

  “The Jack Frankie,” she confirms, amused. “He always loved it when people added the The, but star athletes and narcissism go hand-in-hand. Not sure if you’ve noticed.”

  “I might have.”

  “The Jack Frankie,” she says. “The Cary Pierce. The Junior Morgan.” Her head tilts as she regards me. “The John Kirby.”

  I nod slowly, wondering exactly where she’s going. “Uh-huh.”

  She clears her throat. “Conny, it’s not any of my business—”

  “When’s that ever stopped you?” I quip.

  Trisha chuckles. “Take it from me. As someone who didn’t realize it until after he was gone.” She presses her painted lips together, then sighs. “They really are trying their best.”

  She takes a step closer and gives my shoulder a firm squeeze. I nod a silent thank you and she smiles before letting go and walking through the locker room toward the stadium. Big night for her. Lots of work still to do.

  But there’s only one place I want to be.

  CHAPTER 39

  CONNOR

  I park in the driveway behind Dana’s blue car. A quick peek in the garage windows and I see her mother’s little white car. Her father’s truck is gone, along with Alex and Ben’s cars, too.

  She’s home alone. Good.

  I stash the small plastic bag in my jacket pocket and walk around the house to the big tree. I remember a time when it used to be hard to reach the bottom limbs, but I jump and grab them with both hands. Pulling myself up, I climb to her window. I carefully balance on a limb that used to be way sturdier than it is now, but it’ll do.

  Easing forward, I peek through her window.

  There she is.

  Dana. Beautiful Dana Kirby.

  She’s sitting at her desk near the door, her laptop open in front of her. Open books lie scattered on the desk, their covers thin and worn. Old plays and scripts.

  I knock twice on the window. She flinches, spinning around in her chair, but she doesn’t look scared. It’s excitement in her eyes as she stands and rushes to the window.

  “Connor,” she says as she opens the window. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I say, climbing inside.

  She steps back to let me in. “Shouldn’t you be at the game?”

  I don’t answer. I take her into my arms instead and kiss her. She relaxes, her arms curling around me as she kisses me back.

  Breaking the kiss, I stay close, touching my forehead to hers. “I needed to see you,” I say with closed eyes.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers.

  I hug her, breathing her in for another moment before letting go and reaching into my pocket for the plastic bag.

  She laughs as I hand it to her. “Peanut butter cups! Thank you.” She looks at me, her smile slipping as she realizes why I brought them.

  It’s just what I do when I hurt her and need to make amends.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  Dana shakes her head. “It wasn’t your fault, Connor.”

  “Did you have to use your inhaler?” I ask.

  “No. I stubbornly refused. My chest hurt for a few hours, but it wasn’t bad.” She grins. “Nothing compared to running the football field. And I survived that.”

  I smile, admiring her courage. “Good.”

  “You know, you could have come through the front door,” she says. “Everyone’s at the game.”

  “Why aren’t you?” I ask, curious. Playful, too. “Where’s your Bearhawk pride?”

  She props herself on her desk. “I figured it’d be better if I just… kept out of sight for a while.”

  “King Kirby have you locked in the tower, your highness?” I joke.

  Dana pauses, her eyes suddenly focused somewhere far away. “Hm,” she hums.

  “What?”

  A blink and she’s back. “Nothing,” she says. “Just a little creative inspiration.” She tears open the bag of candy and offers it to me. “Want one?”

  I reach inside, taking two. She takes one and sets the bag on the desk.

  “I haven’t heard from you,” she says before sticking a piece of chocolate in her mouth.

  “I’m sorry, I just…” I sit down on the edge of her bed. “I needed to be alone.”

  “I understand. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.”

  I nod, thanking her for that.

  “How’s your mom?” she asks.

  “She’s… my mom,” I say. “Taking it well enough, I think.”

  “I talked to Courtney earlier. She’s devastated. Uncomfortably giddy about us,” she adds. “But sad about Coach.”

  My thoughts return to our last dinner together as a family. Coach was so excited to be there for her opening night. Front row center.

  And my first game as starting quarterback.

  It’s what you want, isn’t it?

  Take it.

  But what if the thing I want most causes me to lose everything else?

  “Connor?”

  Dana’s hands caress my back. I realize I’ve bent forward with my head in my hands, the weight of the last twenty-four hours still so heavy. I touch my head to her thigh and she runs her fingers softly through my hair, sending warmth and comfort down my spine.

  “Mom said he wanted me to be a pallbearer,” I say, my voice slightly muffled, but she hears me just fine.

  “He left instructions?” she asks.

  "He updated them a few years ago, apparently.” I sit up, her hand falling to my shoulder. “Me and my dad. Ty. Your dad and your brothers, too.”

  Dana blinks. “You think they’ll do it?”

  “It’s a huge honor,” I say, looking up into her eyes. “They won’t turn it down, but afterward…” I shake my head. “I don’t know what’s going to happen after that. If we’ll even speak again.”

  “Do you really think they’ll shut you out for good?”

  “Are they talking to you?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Not really.”

  “They’ll come around,” I say with a sigh. “As long as I end it with you.”

  “They said that?”

  “It was implied.”

  She lowers her hand. “Oh. Well… yeah.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We should, shouldn’t we?” she says. “End it?”

  I take her hand back as it falls. “No,” I say.

  Her head tilts. “Connor…”

  “No,” I say, leaving a kiss on her knuckles. “I’ve wanted you for so long. Now that I have you, I’m not giving you up.”

  “They’re your friends,” she argues. “My brothers.”

  “My brothers, too,” I say. “They’ll get over it.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “And I don’t care.” I rise off the bed, reaching out to cup her face. “I love you, Dana. If they have a problem with that — if any of them have a problem with that — I don’t care. They can fuck right off.”

  I kiss her, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her against me. She reacts with a startled gasp and parts her lips to deepen the kiss, her fingers drawing up my back and into my hair.

  “I love you, too,” she whispers as she takes a breath.

  The words tremble my spine, threatening to weaken my knees, but I stay standing. Somehow.

  Dana Kirby loves me. Like I love her.

  She tilts her head back; the kiss broken. “But…”

  I study her open eyes, my heart threatening to shatter into pieces. “But?”

  Dana brings her hands to my sides, but she doesn’t push me away. “I want to fix this,” she says. “We can’t be together without their blessing.”

  “I don’t need their blessing.”

  “I do,” she says. “And, I think, you really do, too.”

  I close my eyes, wanting so badly to fight it, but I can’t.

  “This is about more than just the two of us, Connor,” she says. “It’s about the Bearhawks. And Delta Xi. And… my family. I mean, my father won’t even look at me right now.”

  I shift a step back, but I still cling to her. “You’re right,” I say, swallowing hard. “We should fix this first, and then—”

  She kisses me harder than I expect, stealing the breath from my lungs. “And then…” She bites her lips with a devious smile. “I think you still have a lot to teach me, Connor Morgan.”

  I laugh as I push her hair back behind her ears, still clinging to her like a wild man. A man in love and lust and everything in-between. “I fucking love you, Dana Kirby,” I say before stealing another kiss from her.

  And another.

  One for the road.

  Dana laughs. The sweetest sound in the world. “You should go,” she says. “Before they come back.”

  “In a minute,” I say, unable to let go yet. How can I ever let go after waiting to hold her like this for so long? “We’re going to fix this. I promise.”

  “I promise,” she repeats, as sure as I am.

  I release her and reach around, snatching a few peanut butter cups from the open bag on her desk before turning toward the window.

  “Use the door!” she says.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” I ask as I hoist myself outside and into the tree again.

  Dana comes to the window and watches until I’m a safe distance from the ground. Then she closes it with rolling eyes, not really mad at all.

  Fuck, I love her so much.

  We’re going to fix this, Dana.

  I promise.

  My feet touch the ground. I swiftly turn to head back to my car and — oof!

  I bash into something hard. And tall. And… fuck.

  In the dark, I slip off balance and hit the ground.

  John Kirby stands over me, his thick arms crossed over his Champion’s Gym T-shirt.

  “Inside,” he says. “Now.”

  Well, shit.

  CHAPTER 40

  CONNOR

  “Mr. Kirby, I—”

  “Inside,” he says again. “Now.”

  Okay.

  I push myself off the grass. Then he turns and stomps around the house. I follow behind him, spotting his truck in the driveway next to my car. Guess he came home and spotted me climbing out of his daughter’s window.

  Well, I’m dead.

  We had a good run, Dana.

  I reach the front door where he stands, holding it open for me. My gut clenches, my survival instincts screaming at me to run and save myself.

  But I made a promise.

  I’m going to fix this.

  I step inside. John follows directly behind me, a looming presence over my shoulder. He passes me with a few wide strides and leads me into the kitchen.

  “Sit down,” he says.

  I obey without a word, planting myself on the first stool at the island counter. He continues to the refrigerator and opens it, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the door shelf.