Cannons exploded, heralding the end of the game. My heart jolted with every shot that punctuated the air. The crowd went wild as blue and silver confetti fell from the rafters, signaling another win for the Rebels. I wanted nothing more than to celebrate with them, especially after last week’s loss. But the victory felt hollow, overshadowed by the bet and the drama that ensued.

As the last pieces of confetti fluttered to the ground, the sparkle faded, and with it, my dreams. I’d held it together for the game, keeping my focus on the plays. But now it was time to face the music, and I worried if I’d even have a job after the truth came out.

I tried to keep my cool, to stay calm as I followed the team off the field, helmets in hand. We were down five players, and the mood was decidedly somber following a win. It was clear everyone was upset about the fight between teammates.

The players left to follow their postgame routine, which consisted of showering, receiving treatment from the trainers, and preparing for any interviews. Typically, the coaches would convene in our suite and discuss the game highlights. But tonight, everyone was silent while we waited for Coach Sawyers to arrive. Despite the fight, he hadn’t deviated from routine, staying behind on the field to speak with some of the reporters. I was positive they’d grill him on what happened, and I didn’t envy him one bit.

I ducked into the restroom, needing a moment alone to compose myself. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink. My face was flushed, my eyes wild. I didn’t know what to be most upset about—the bet, the fight, the fact that one or more of the Rebels were likely going to be suspended. And what about my own uncertain future?

It felt like the walls were caving in on me. Like everything I’d worked so hard for was about to be destroyed. Like everything I’d sacrificed was all for naught. And through no fault of my own. That was the most frustrating part of it all. I’d done nothing wrong, yet I was at the center of the shitstorm.

Knowing I couldn’t put it off any longer, I splashed some water over my face and returned to the suite. It was sandwiched between the locker room and the media room, forming a gateway of sorts between the two. Typically, it was a sort of staging space where the coaches decided who would be interviewed by the media. Carrie always assisted with any last-minute preparations.

Oh god. I was tempted to cover my face with my hands. I’d been so consumed with thoughts of the bet and potential player suspension, I’d completely forgotten about Carrie.

I took a seat next to Steven, my eyes trained on the table. The room was silent, the air pregnant with tension and permeated by sweat. The door swung open, and Coach Sawyers assumed his place in a chair at the front. He had yet to breathe a word about the fight, and I braced myself for whatever he was going to say.

“The team played well, despite drama on the field. Thank you for all your hard work, especially considering the challenging circumstances.” He opened his mouth to continue when someone knocked on the door, and one of the security personnel peeked his head in.

“Sorry to interrupt, Coach. Several of the players asked to meet with the coaching staff before you address the team.”

“Send them in,” he said.

Tristan, Xavier, and Colt filed in, and I was stunned when Tyrese and Quentin appeared in the doorway as well. Coach Sawyers beckoned the five of them to enter. I glanced between their faces, trying to discern their various expressions.

“We’d like to apologize,” Tristan said, speaking for the group. “To the coaches, our fellow teammates, and our fans.”

Coach Sawyers leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. He was eerily calm, and I almost would’ve preferred that he shout obscenities, throw a chair, something.

“That’s a start,” he said, his expression unyielding. “Care to tell us what was so important you were willing to put the game and your careers on the line?”

My heart raced, and my mouth went dry as I awaited their answer. A muscle in Tristan’s neck twitched, Colt clenched his fists, and Xavier bowed his head. Tyrese and Quentin had the decency to appear remorseful, but I didn’t buy it.

“It was a misunderstanding, nothing more,” Tyrese said.

Misunderstanding. That’s one way of putting it, you son of a bitch. I glared at him, clenching and unclenching my hands beneath the table. It took everything within me not to vault over the table and strangle him.

Coach Sawyers’s voice cut through my dark daydream. “A rather costly misunderstanding, and I’m not just talking fines. We can only hope the commissioner won’t suspend any or all of you.”

He let the weight of his statement hang in the air before saying, “So, I’ll ask again. What prompted this fight?”

The five of them remained silent, none of them so much as willing to breathe in my direction. The room was quiet, energy buzzing around us as everyone waited to see who would crack first. Even though I hadn’t played a role in the bet—apart from being the unwitting subject, of course—I felt just as guilty as if I’d been an active participant. I knew I was the reason for their fight, yet they’d all chosen to remain silent. Why?

“All right,” Coach Sawyers finally said, having come to some decision. He sat forward in his chair, his focus on the five players standing in line as if facing the firing squad. “I’ll let you know when I hear from the commissioner. For now, I want you all to go home and cool off. Do not under any circumstances talk with anyone about this ‘misunderstanding’ or the fight. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach,” they said in unison before turning for the door.

“Tristan,” Coach Sawyers said before he could leave. “Stay.”

Carrie slipped in while the others were making their escape. Despite the chilly November weather, I felt like a sweaty mess, but she looked pristine in her suit and heels. And beneath her tough demeanor, I could sense her disappointment. Tristan was one of the good guys, a player everyone on and off the field looked up to. He was the poster boy for good sportsmanship and a role model to kids everywhere.

He’d been knocked off his pedestal, but I reminded myself that perhaps it wasn’t undeserved. If he’d been in on the bet, he was nothing like the man I’d believed he was. And that was the biggest disappointment of all. Because I’d allowed myself to let go. I’d allowed myself to trust Tristan, and he’d betrayed me. I didn’t want to believe he was capable of such deception, such despicable behavior, but… how well did I really know him?

“What happened?” Carrie’s tone was stern, her gaze unyielding. I now appreciated the moniker Scary Carrie.

Tristan didn’t flinch, though, holding her gaze as he spoke. “There was a misunderstanding, and I was out of line. I’ll apologize, make a donation. I’ll do whatever you want.”

My jaw dropped, but I quickly closed it. He had basically given her carte blanche and left himself at her mercy. Were his actions those of a man consumed with guilt, or was he innocent and trying to protect me? Ugh, my brain was talking in circles, and I didn’t know what to believe at this point.

I wanted to believe he was the most honorable of the group, attempting to defend me even when I didn’t want or need it. I wanted to believe the kiss meant something. I wanted to believe I could trust him.

“Whatever I want?” she asked. She tapped a red lacquered finger to her lips, contemplating Tristan’s offer. “Hmm. I’m going to think on it,” she said. “We have more important matters to attend to first, like all the bloodthirsty reporters waiting out there.” She gestured toward the door that led to the media room.

“My preference would be to have you address them,” she said. “Do you think you can keep your cool?”

“Have I ever not?” he asked with mild annoyance, before his face fell. “Right. Ignoring what happened on the field tonight, I mean.”

Coach Sawyers stood with a deep sigh and headed for the media room. Carrie pulled Tristan aside and gave him some media coaching, while the other coaches dissected the game. I should’ve been debriefing with the rest of them, but my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth.

Steven leaned over to me. “Did Tristan, Colt, or Xavier tell you anything when you were in the tunnel with them after the fight?”

I stared straight ahead, before ultimately saying, “Nothing worth repeating.”

He nodded. “Of all the coaches, they seem to like you best. So, I figured if anybody would get information out of them, it would be you.”

I shrugged, grateful when he finally dropped the matter. Though I knew I’d need a more convincing story come tomorrow. I didn’t think Coach Sawyers would accept such a vague answer.

The rest of the evening was a blur, and I couldn’t wait to get home. I was barely functioning, going through the motions on autopilot. Yet my mind whirred with questions. I wanted to know everything, from the stakes of the bet and who was involved, to the reason for this bizarre pact of silence between Tristan, Colt, Xavier, Quentin, and Tyrese. But for now, those answers would have to wait.

When I climbed the stairs to the bus for the ride back to the hotel, the team was strangely quiet. After a win, everyone was usually very talkative, but tonight, the mood was anything but celebratory. A few players listened to music through headphones, but many stared ahead, their thoughts likely on the fight.

As the pavement rolled beneath us, I wondered how many of these men—men whom I’d believed were on my side—participated in the despicable bet. Or even how many knew of it and remained silent. I wasn’t sure which was worse—feeling betrayed or foolish, but I refused to show any weakness. If they were trying to get rid of me, they were going to have to try harder. I was damn good at my job, and I wouldn’t be bullied by a few idiots. Especially when the majority of the team had shown me nothing but kindness.

I held it together until I made it to my car. Only then did I finally allow myself a moment to let the weight of everything that had happened sink in. I rested my head against the steering wheel, not entirely sure where to go from here. Game days were exhausting. Add in the emotional drama of today, and I was wrung out.

There was a knock on the window, and I startled, nearly hitting the horn in the process. Colt was standing outside my passenger window. I covered my chest with my hand, my heart racing. Without asking, he opened the door and folded himself into the passenger seat.

The space suddenly felt very small with Colt sitting next to me. His spicy scent invaded the cabin, his presence making it hard to breathe, to think. His gray eyes swirled with concern, and I knew I should tell him to leave, but I didn’t. I didn’t say anything. I needed a friendly face, and he’d consistently proven himself a worthy friend.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded, my throat clogged with emotion. I wanted to beat the crap out of something, but yeah, I was going to be fine. And I hated that I might cry out of sheer anger and frustration.

He scrubbed a hand over his hair. “I’m sorry—” he swallowed “—we’re all very sorry about what happened tonight.”

“I’m sure. Being removed from a game, risking fines and suspension. That’s no small matter.”

“You think I give a shit about the fines?” He grasped my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I care about Tristan and Xavier. I care about you.”

I sucked in a ragged breath, taken completely off guard by his words and the sincerity I found reflected back at me. He rubbed his thumb along my jaw, and my eyes fluttered closed. We shouldn’t be doing this, yet I was weak. And I found myself craving the sort of comfort only Colt seemed able to provide.

A lone tear leaked out of the corner of my eye, tracing a hot trail down my cheek. Colt swiped it away with his thumb, his touch gentle and reverent. “Please don’t cry,” he pleaded.

“I’m so pissed,” I said through gritted teeth. “I thought I was respected by the team. I thought I was making a difference. I thought…”

He cupped my cheeks, his hands warm on my skin. The outside world, everything, and everyone else faded into the background, until there was only Colt and me. “You are. Don’t let a few jackasses take away from everything you’ve worked to build here.”

“Why are you always so nice to me?” I asked

“Because you don’t put up with my bullshit.” He smirked.

Despite myself, I laughed. I had to because if I didn’t, I feared I’d kiss him. He was too close, and he smelled entirely too delicious. “Masochist.”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” he teased, arching one of his brows.

“Nope.” I shook my head, relieved when he removed his hands from my face. Even though I instantly missed his touch, I knew it was for the best. “Just stating a fact.”

“Let me state a few facts,” he said. “Fact: you’re funny and smart.” My heart expanded, my chest warming from his compliment. “Fact: you’re beautiful.” I frowned at him, but he ignored me and continued speaking. “Fact: I want to kiss you really fucking bad.”

I sucked in a quick breath, stunned by his admission. It wasn’t so much that I was surprised he wanted to, more that he’d said it aloud. And not in a teasing tone for once.

“Colt…”

He took my hand in his. I started at the feel of his skin on mine, the way he handled me with care and reverence, as if he were afraid I’d shatter. “I know I shouldn’t have said that. And I don’t expect you to respond. I just—” He sighed, the weight of his confession filling the air between us. “I just needed you to know.” And with that, he released my hand and exited the car.

It wasn’t until I arrived home and met Bastian’s questioning glance that it hit me—I hadn’t once thought about the bet or the fines or even the potential suspension on the drive home. Colt had been the only thing on my mind. I already had enough problems, and a relationship with a player was not the solution.