Draft Day was nothing like Kyler had pictured.
“With the ninth pick in the 2017 NFL Draft, the Los Angeles Rage select…” Kyler Tate’s parents sucked in breaths on either side of him. “Kyler Tate, receiver, University of Cincinnati.”
The tense atmosphere inside the event hall exploded with wild cheers, exclamations, and boos. His shoulders were slapped by thousands of hands, kisses landing on his cheeks. Like falling out of a kayak into a rushing current, bashing into rocks on the way toward a waterfall, Kyler stood, put his head down, and proceeded toward the stage. Cell phones rang at every table he passed, terse conversations taking place as the deadline timer for the next announcement started. Players he’d faced on the gridiron sweated in their suits, mothers fussed, water glasses were refilled.
This was it. Years of training, icing down injuries, two-a-day practices, glory, pain, and mental fatigue. All for this moment.
And it was…utterly fucking incomplete.
Before he could reach the stage, panic set in. Set in real good, like claws digging into fertile ground. A moment earlier, everyone in the room had looked familiar, but they were strangers now, spinning in a kaleidoscope. Sweat popped up on his forehead. His shoulder blades tightened, a harsh sound puffed from between his lips. From behind the podium, the announcer gave him a strange look, the Rage jersey lowering in his grip. Are you okay?
The man’s mouthed words barely penetrated over the sudden rushing stream of images. Of her. Bree Justice.
Since middle school, he’d been imagining this day. Late at night, his head nestled into the pillow of his childhood bedroom, staring up at a poster of T.Y. Hilton on his ceiling, he’d heard the announcer saying his name. But in every single one of his dreams, he’d leaned over to kiss Bree before making his way to the stage.
Bree wasn’t there, though. She was a thousand miles away in Indiana, same place she’d been since he left for college. Same place she’d been since breaking up with him the night before he climbed aboard the Cincinnati-bound train and sped off, doubtful he would make it one day without her.
In a way, he hadn’t.
A vivid memory swept into the chaos of Kyler’s mind. Another time he’d climbed a stage what felt like a million years ago…and he was powerless to do anything but let it play out.
“Bloomfield High! It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Your votes have been counted!” The smiling cheerleader bounced up and down on the stage, a microphone in one hand, two gold sashes dangling in the other. “Your pick for prom queen is…” She squeaked and did a little dance. “My friend and yours, the incredible Hailey Faye! Congratulations, Hailey!” Kyler smiled and pulled Bree tighter against his side. Lord Jesus, he couldn’t tear his eyes off her tonight. Any night, really. But in the ice blue dress that brushed her knees, all that curly black hair twisted up into some fancy style, she was even more beautiful than usual. His heart hadn’t stopped beating triple time since Bree floated down the stairs, her father watching with hawk eyes as he pinned on the corsage.
In the back of the gymnasium, they were surrounded by a mixture of Kyler’s teammates—most of them sneaking sips of vodka from flasks stowed in their jackets—and Bree’s Animal Care Club friends. It was an odd mix, to be sure, but ever since Kyler and Bree had gotten together in middle school after being randomly paired for a science class presentation, they’d proceeded as if the eclectic blend was normal. So everyone had followed suit.
Years later, they all traveled in a pack, meeting at Nelson’s Diner on Friday nights, sneaking out to the creek that ran through the town woods on summer Saturdays. On a monthly basis, couples were formed or dissolved within the group, but Kyler and Bree stuck together like glue through it all.
Kyler loved Bree. Bree loved Kyler. Nothing would ever change that.
The applause was beginning to die down from the prom queen announcement and Kyler’s teammates began nudging him between the shoulder blades, making wise cracks about how pretty he looked, how adorable it was that his tie matched Bree’s dress. He merely shot them the bird. “Your choice for king should come as no surprise,” called the cheerleader from the stage, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.
Everyone turned to look at Kyler and he forced himself to smile, nodding politely. Earlier that year, he’d captained the team and led them to the state championships. In a football town like Bloomfield, title winning touchdowns, like the one he’d scored, tended to remain fresh in their minds. News of his full-ride scholarship to the University of Cincinnati had blown through the town like wildfire this week, making it impossible to walk two feet without receiving the kind of effusive praise he’d learned early to be thankful for.
At one time, he might’ve wished for a football helmet to tug down over his head to escape the scrutiny, but he kept his chin up in the face of the attention now. The people of Bloomfield drove to his games every week, made signs, chanted his name—a fact he still couldn’t believe—and he wouldn’t hide from that type of kindness.
Bree slipped her hand into Kyler’s and went up on her toes, whispering in his ear. “I’ll meet you out back after your dance.”
“You don’t want to stick around and see my oversized head in a crown?”
“I’ll see you in it later.” Her slow wink sent warmth sliding into his belly. “But everyone is going to stare at me while you’re out there, wondering how I feel about you dancing with another girl.” She shivered. “You know I don’t like the attention.”
“I do know that.” His mouth started to curve with the secret he was keeping, so he planted a kiss on her forehead to hide it. “Or maybe I forgot. Again.”
Suspicion snuck into her expression. “Kyler Joseph Tate—”
“You know what? I’m not even going to announce his name,” said the cheerleader on stage, sending laughter rippling through the crowd of dressed up high school students. “I’ll just say this. It’s a well-known fact that Kyler Tate doesn’t dance with anyone but Bree Justice. No matter how hard all us ladies have wished he would.” Laughter, sighs, gagging noises, and camera flashes went off around them, but Kyler kept his gaze trained on Bree, his pulse hammering as she tried to hide beneath his arm. “So we’re bucking tradition tonight. Your queen is going to dance with her man. And Kyler is going to dance with his Bree. Everyone clear a path to the dance floor. DJ? Drop that slow jam.”
It took Kyler several gentle tugs to get Bree out on the floor, but when they finally got there, he knew it would be a moment he remembered for the rest of his life.
Because it was the first time he’d seen her heartbroken.
“Son, would you mind getting your ass up on the damn stage?” the announcer said in a gruff whisper, his big hand covering the microphone. “The next team is on the clock and we need to get a picture before their pick is up.”
You don’t understand. This is all wrong. Dressed in an ironed suit beneath the television camera lights, Kyler had never been more aware that he was being swept along in the current, nowhere to grab hold. Doing his job inside the classroom and out on the field had made it easier to forget the pain. But now? His future had just been sealed. Being only than a few hours’ drive from Indiana, his absence from home—from Bree—had always seemed temporary somehow.
Once he left for Los Angeles, it would be permanent.
He would be permanently without Bree.
“I, uh…yeah.” Kyler rubbed the heel of his hand against his stuttering heartbeat. “Sorry, sir. It’s all happening so fast, is all.”
“It’s the cameras, right? Get used to them,” the announcer said out of the side of his mouth, gripping Kyler’s hand in a tight handshake, his lips spreading into a white-toothed smile for the cameras. “Welcome to the pros. Cameras and assholes are going to be in your face everywhere you go, asking you a bunch of questions you don’t know how to answer. Good news is, today all you have to do is smile, celebrate, and get laid.” He boomed a tight laugh. “Make sure there are no cameras around during that last part.”
Kyler forced a pleased expression onto his face, holding up the jersey he’d been handed. “That advice coming from personal experience?”
“Son, I’ve got three ex-wives in the crowd. What do you think?”
“Right.” Kyler spotted his mother crying in the audience, his father looking bemused by the whole proceeding. No Bree, dammit. If she were there, she’d be cracking a joke to make Kyler’s father relax while handing his mother tissue, all graceful and easy. Not having her there was wrong. Everything was wrong.
White winked in front of his eyes as more cameras went off in a barrage of blinding light. The announcer thought he’d been taken off guard by the chaotic media presence, but he wasn’t. No, he’d been expecting the cameras. Waiting for them with something akin to helpless loathing. After all, the flashes and scrutiny were a major part of what had cost him Bree.
Perhaps what happened next could be credited to Kyler’s competitive spirit, those lenses being his opponent. Or maybe it was the love for his ex-girlfriend that had never dimmed, not one single iota. As Kyler stood there, having his image captured and replicated millions of times across computer, television, and cell phone screens, a sense of determination crept in. Slowly at first. Then it swelled and crowded his insides like rising dough.
He’d won championships. Been named an All-American. Drafted by a professional organization. Dreams and goals being ticked off a list, one by one. But that night in the woods after prom, when Bree had tearfully ripped out his heart, he’d lost the most important battle of his life. He’d been in too much agony and shock to fight hard as he should have. Too resentful. And as a result, none of the glory that had come after losing Bree seemed real. None of it.
Nor would anything that came after.
No way in hell I’m going to Los Angeles without her.