Chapter 34 (Landon)
I make my way up the nearly packed bleachers, being careful not to drop the three hot chocolates I'm balancing.
Breslin and Kit are huddled together under a blanket but they make grabby hands when they see what I'm carrying.
“It's so freaking cold and windy,” Kit says, her teeth chattering.
“That's December on the East Coast for you,” Breslin says, fixing the hat on her head. “Can't wait until this game is over.”
Kit removes one of her gloves and eagerly takes the styrofoam cup I hand her. “I don't even understand how they're playing without coats right now.”
“Adrenaline and the good ol' love of football, baby,” Breslin quips, taking her cup from me. “Thank you.”
I bend down to give her a kiss, but think better of it since we're on school property. According to the Dean my parents paid for this semester in full already; and given it's almost over it's non-refundable. So, there's that.
We're almost at the end of the fourth quarter now and the Woodside Wolverines and Duke's Heart Devils are practically neck and neck in the playoff game, fighting to make it to the championship. Which is all kinds of crazy considering it was Asher's old school and team.
Setting down my cup, I rub my hands together to warm them. I'm so fucking proud of him I could burst.
Are you proud that you lied to Breslin?—my mind taunts.
Guilt is a funny, fickle thing and not something I'm used to feeling on account that I generally try not to do harm to others. I keep telling myself that I was only doing what Asher asked and not telling Breslin the truth, but deep down I know it's more than that. I had an opening that probably would have fixed everything between them...and I didn't take it.
“Hey, you,” Breslin whispers, snuggling against me. Her eyes are bright and the tip of her nose is red and she looks so fucking adorable I want to kiss her more than I want my next breath.
“Hey, sweetheart.” I kiss the top of her head and she snuggles closer.
“So, are you going to the after party? I know it's not really your thing but Asher said that he would go, and his teammates are going. Also, Kit's going, too, so I figured it might be fun for all of us to go.” She blows on her hot chocolate. “Geez, that was a lot of goings.”
I take a sip of my drink. “I'm not really supposed to fraternize with students but I guess I can make an exception.”
She gives me a coy smile and my eyes catch on some freakishly tall man in an expensive suit making his way up the bleachers. “Holy shit, I think a scout is here.”
“What? Really?” She follows my gaze and blanches. “That's not a scout.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that's Asher's dad.”
Sure enough, I watch the large man take a seat next to Preston who's sitting a good ten rows down from us.
“Shit.”
“Yeah, you can say that again,” she says. “Can't say I'm surprised, though. Asher's dad is obsessed with football and now that Asher's found a way to make it on his own and he's brought Woodside this far, he probably wants a piece of the action.”
“Douche-canoe,” Kit mutters and we both nod.
When Woodside's defense takes out one of Duke's wide receivers seconds before they can score, Breslin jumps up so quick her hot chocolate falls. “That's right!” she screams and a few people around us give her fist bumps.
I can't help but grin. My girl can deny it all she wants but she loves football.
Just like she loves him.
Kit nudges her ribs. “Guess all those years spent dating the quarterback rubbed off on you, huh?”
Breslin flips her the bird and sits back down. “Sorry. It's just...Woodside is in the lead right now and they're so close to making it to the championship it's not even funny.”
“I know,” I say, sitting up straight when I hear the two-minute warning.
My heart beats erratically in my chest even though it's Woodside's ball and they're already in the lead.
Breslin reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “He can do it. I know he can.”
I nod because she's right. Asher Holden is an unstoppable force and watching him out on that field is like watching a rock concert.
Heavy, intense, and addicting. My dick almost gets hard from the anticipation and adrenaline alone.
I can't help but steal a glance down below to where Asher's dad is sitting. I can't see his face but his elbows are resting on his knees and he's bent over, gripping his hands. He looks to be about as nervous as we are. I can only assume that he's eager for Asher to win, too. Fucker.
I take a breath when my guy walks out, practically preening like a fucking peacock as he gets into position. Even from all the way up here his energy is infectious, almost like I can feel him coursing through me as he commands the field.
When the center snaps the ball to Asher, he starts running the field faster than a speeding bullet, gaining momentum with each second. Duke is right on his heels, though and my stomach knots. He better pass that fucking ball soon or...
Holy. Fuckballs.
Out of nowhere number 34 races for the end zone with the ball.
How the hell did he pull that off? Doesn't matter, I'm so happy I could cry.
That is until two things happen.
One—Breslin screams.
And two—I watch as number 3 gets slammed by not one, but two players. By this point they have to know he doesn't have the ball, but it doesn't matter. They ram into him so fucking hard from both sides, he flips and his helmet comes off before he hits the ground and goes limp.
My heart stops beating and Breslin jumps up when the medics rush the field.
“He's not moving,” Breslin yells, her voice cracking. “Oh my God, he's not moving!” Before I can say a word or stop her, she starts running down the bleachers. Preston's already ahead of her and I start running too. Until I trip over something and stumble. When I realize that the something I tripped over was a large foot, I peer up at them.
I don't know what pisses me off more. The fact that this good for nothing asshole tripped me while I was running, or the fact that he's calm as a cucumber. Actually worse than that. This motherfucker looks damn near pleased that his son is lying on a stretcher, injured. Or worse.
My stomach reels with that thought and I stand up and glare at him. “You're a piece of shit.” White hot rage boils my blood and before my brain can catch up with my body, I clear my throat and hock a loogie that lands right in his face.
And then I run, because this guy can and probably will pummel me to death.
I'm panting by the time I make it to the locker room, but the sight of Breslin leaning against the wall at the far end of the hallway damn near brings me to my knees.
She's shaking like a leaf when I walk over to her. “Preston's in there but they won't let me in because I'm not family,” she croaks. “They won't even tell me anything.”
My heart plummets and I envelop her in my arms. “He's gonna be okay,” I say, praying like hell that I'm not wrong.
“What if he's not?” She clutches her chest, her breathing becoming erratic.
When she starts to slip out of my arms, I tighten my grip.
She shivers against me and starts wheezing, but I force her to look at me. “Breathe, Breslin. I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart. Asher is going to be fine.”
She shakes her head, the color draining from her face. The tremors racking her body are getting even worse and I'm at a loss of what to do. The only thing I can do, I quickly decide, is cradle her to my chest and whisper soothing words to her over and over until her breathing starts to regulate again.
When I hear the sound of the locker room opening, I turn my head, expecting to see either Preston or Coach Crane.
My breath freezes in my chest and I silently thank whatever God or higher power may exist when Asher walks out.
I let go of Breslin and run over to him. I don't think, I just wrap my arms around him. “You scared the shit out of me.”
When I look him over, his hand touches my cheek. “I'm okay. Knocked the wind out of me and gave me one fuck of a concussion, though.” He rubs his head. “Preston's bringing the car around since Coach says I have to go to the hospital to get thoroughly checked out. You wanna come?”
I bridge the distance between us. “Of course.”
When he kisses me, I sink into both him and his lips. “Fuck, I'm so happy you're okay.”
His thumb slides along my jaw. “Me too.”
He smiles when he pulls back. “I guess Breslin is still—” His words drift off when he shoots his gaze down the hall to where Breslin is leaning against the wall. Her eyes are red and puffy and she's still shaking.
When they look at one another the connection between them is enough to nearly knock me on my ass.
He sucks in a breath. “Breslin—”
He doesn't get a chance to finish that statement because Breslin runs to him.
When he catches her, she buries her face into his neck and wraps her legs around his waist.
And then there's nothing but sobbing as she melts into him.
One of his hands smooths her hair and the other rubs her back. “I'm okay, baby. I'm okay.”
“I thought—” Another sob escapes her, cutting off her words and he crushes her against him.
She sniffles and he runs his nose along her cheek, kissing her tears. “Breslin, baby,” he whispers. “Baby, I'm okay.”
He closes his eyes and inhales her, rubbing slow circles up and down her spine. And that's how they stay for the better part of five minutes. Eyes closed, bodies wrapped around one another, heartbeat to heartbeat, with Breslin's soft sobs filling the hallway as he holds her like she's the only thing that exists.
“Preston, I'm fine. You can go home to Becca,” Asher says, sitting up in his hospital bed.
“They're still waiting for the test results,” Preston argues.
Asher rolls his eyes. “You heard the doctor say himself that it wasn't anything serious.”
Preston shifts his feet and then looks at me. “Call me if anything changes.”
I hold up three fingers. “Scout's honor.”
He gives his brother a quick hug and I check my phone again.
Breslin: Did you get all the results yet?
Landon: Nope, not yet. The Doctor doesn't think it's anything serious, though. But you should come here anyway. I know Asher would like it if you did.
Dots appear on the screen and then disappear.
With a sigh, I slide my phone back into my pocket. After they had that moment out in the hallway, Breslin made up some excuse as to why she had to leave. I tried to get her to talk to me, but she wouldn't. Breslin's not great at dealing with or processing her emotions, and combined with her anger for Asher, I guess it's really no surprise she bailed once she found out he was okay.
The only surprise was Asher's response to it. He wasn't at all upset by the fact that she ran off. My guess is because he knows without a shadow of a doubt now just how much Breslin still loves him...because there was no faking the way she came undone before. I don't think I've ever seen her or anyone else so upset in my life.
I lift my gaze and look at Asher. “That was Breslin, she wanted to make sure you were okay. Said she can't wait until you come home.”
It's not a lie—I tell myself. Breslin is really worried about him.
A sly grin spreads across Asher's face and he moves to the edge of the bed. “You know, if it's a concussion like the medics said, I won't be able to sleep. So, it goes without saying that I'm gonna need some help staying awake.”
I look up to the ceiling and fight back laughter. Only Asher would be thinking about getting off while he's in the hospital. “I'm sure we'll be able to think of something, Casanova.”
Those dimples peek and he summons me over to him. The second I'm in his vicinity he pulls me closer and I fold like a cheap lawn chair and kiss him. Focusing on Breslin falling apart before helped deter me from the reality of the situation earlier, but I can't help but flash back to what happened on the field and the hit he took.
“Are you shaking?” he murmurs against my lips. “When was the last time you ate?”
“I want to kill them,” I say, edging back, my heart beating wildly. “I was scared shitless the second I watched it all happen, but now? I just want to beat the living shit out of them. If something ever fucking happened to you—” I swallow hard because I refuse to finish that sentence. “I might not be as big, bad, or as tough as you are, but trust me when I say that I can—”
He reaches for my hand. “I get it and I would do the same for you, but I'm okay, Landon. It was just a game.”
My mind rears back to his father's face and the slick expression he had while his son was lying in the middle of the field not moving and I clench a fist. I have no idea if Preston ever got around to telling him he was at the game due to all the commotion.
“Your father was there today,” I inform him, because he needs to know.
He looks down. “I know. He called Preston this morning and asked him to go to dinner but he slipped up and told him he had plans to watch one of my games and couldn't. Preston said he showed up during the fourth quarter.”
“He did.” I grip my neck. “Look, we've always been honest with one another, right?”
He gives me a questioning look. “Yeah, why? What's up?”
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “Your father tripped me when I was running down the bleachers after you were hurt. Now, I'm not one to start shit, but the look in his eyes...it was like—”
“Like he was happy that I failed?” Asher supplies.
I hold his gaze. “Yeah, exactly like that. I mean, what kind of person—”
“The kind of person that beats the shit out of his son for years in order to groom him to be everything he's not. My father hates failure. And in his eyes, that's what I am now.”
“You're not a failure. Look how far you've brought the Wolverines this season.”
“Doesn't matter. He only sees what he wants to see.” He runs a hand over his head. “Sick thing is, I'm sort of happy he cared enough to show up in the first place.” He shrugs. “He's a horrible person and yet I still value his approval and want his love. What kind of person does that make me?”
I skim his cheek with my finger. “Human.”
I grimace when the thought hits me. “I'm almost positive they knew you didn't have the ball when they slammed into you.”
“What?”
“You said it was just a game, but what if it wasn't? What if they did that on purpose and he had something to do with it? I watched the whole thing happen, Asher. Everyone was running toward number 34 then, and yet those two still attacked you.”
His eyes flicker with suspicion for a moment but then he says, “Look, Landon—”
Annoyance flares in my gut and I press on. “Isn't the rest of the season over for them now? Think about it, what did they really have to lose.”
“Nothing, but—”
“Your father owns a successful football team, Asher. It wouldn't be that far of a stretch to think—”
His jaw hardens. “My father is a lot of things, Landon. Most of them bad, but he wouldn't do that to me. He's still my father.”
“Right,” I scoff. “Because beating the shit out of your kid for years and—”
“You don't know what the hell you're talking about!” he growls, his face red with anger. “He wouldn't fucking do that to me.”
My stomach knots and I realize that I have one of two choices here. One— I could continue arguing with him and potentially ruin our relationship. Or two—I could drop it and let him continue to believe what he wants. It's not like I have any proof anyway, just a gut instinct.
“Okay, I'll drop it,” I tell him as the doctor walks in.
“Test results are all normal, but you do have a concussion,” the doctor starts to rattle off and Asher nods, his focus completely on him now.
When Breslin walks in a moment later, my heart skips a beat and then squeezes when her eyes land on Asher and he looks back at her.
I guess that's the thing about delusions, though.
They're not always a bad thing. Sometimes delusions protect you from the cold, hard truth.
Because once you crack open that shell and expose it...there's no going back.