I walk out of Charisma’s and stalk to my truck. I sit there with my vehicle idling, waiting to see if maybe she’ll come after me. She won’t though. I saw that stubborn look on her face. She’s in there fortifying her fortress, adding more cement, pushing me out of her head.

After five minutes, I back up and pull away, building up my own walls.

What are we doing?

I can’t go back to the way we were three months ago, messing around and never talking.

And now? I’m hot and cold with her, and I know it.

I also know I can’t go back to needing her but still being afraid to commit to something when I don’t even know what it is.

It’s not fair to her.

Today, I just couldn’t resist her, and when she needed me to take her home, I practically jumped at the chance, jonesing for just a few minutes alone with her.

I have feelings for her, scary fucking feelings that keep me awake at night.

Like wanting to burn shit down to make her happy.

Like being willing to walk across scorching hot coals just to hold her in my arms.

I just need to…forget her.

Forget those big eyes.

Forget how she makes me laugh.

Move on.

My head goes back to my parents, and tightness builds in my stomach. They stumbled in and out of our trailer, high and glassy-eyed, needing their next fix. I had basic needs taken care of—mostly—but I never felt loved. Not once did they ever say it. Neither of them looked at me, their eyes going right over the restless, frustrated kid I was. Stop wriggling. Shut the fuck up. Watch TV.

They left me at a gas station. They left. People leave. Charisma will too. One day.

I drive down the highway to the gym, barely knowing where I’m going, operating on autopilot.

Dammit.

I’ve got to focus on what really matters, on my dreams and how bad I want it.

But.

I want—

Her.

I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going on like this. I tried to remove her from my head last fall, and here I am again. She deserves better than this. She doesn’t need a coward. My hands clench around the steering wheel as I pull into the field house and park.

*

Dillon has one foot on the bench press seat and points at the bar loaded down with weights. “You game for some more weight?”

I grin. We’ve been working out for an hour and I’m sweating, but bring it on.

“My personal best is 290 pounds,” I say.

“Not bad for a slow wide receiver,” he says. “You can do better.”

I laugh. “You trying to kill me?”

He studies me. “Just trying to keep you busy. You seem distracted. Wanna try more?”

I do the quick math on the bar on the bench; it’s around 315 pounds.

I lie down below the bar and put my hands on it. “Let me show you how Mississippi boys lift.” With a grimace, I blow out a breath and push up, and he helps me lower the bar to my chest.

“Ready?”

I give him a nod and he releases it, his face serious as shit. Adrenaline ratchets me up, and I clench my fingers around the metal.

I breathe out, the muscles in my arms and chest tightening as gravity threatens. The bar starts to rise, and I get almost to the top then stop, quivering. My arms scream, and I feel like my chest is going to split in half.

“Come on, man, do it,” he says.

“I am!”

He balls up his fists and gets in my face. “You will never play in the NFL, boy. You’re just a small-town kid in a big-city world. You don’t belong in pro football. You’re too slow.”

My eyes flash.

He gives me a hard look, green eyes shining. “You’ll die alone, Blaze. Worst thing is, Charisma is moving on, but you don’t want her anyway. Maybe I’ll start tapping that.” He mimics a motion of doing her from behind, slapping an imaginary ass. “Oh, yeah, just like that. So good, so good…”

“Dillon!” I call out and shove at the bar until it’s at the top. My gaze lands on him. “You sonofabitch, I’m going to beat the shit out of you. Don’t you ever say—”

He laughs, holding his chest. “Ah, don’t get pissy. I’m pumping you up, man, and I got you.”

My teeth grit, anger hot. I take several deep breaths. He’s just messing around, I know he is, and that’s the only reason I decide to let it slide.

“Asshole,” I mutter. “Someday some girl is going to twist you up, and I hope I’m there to see it.”

He slaps his chest. “This heart is cold as ice, man. I thought yours was, but…” He grins.

I immediately drop the bar back to my chest again and force it up a second time. He cheers and a few of the other guys come over to watch.

After the third rep, Dillon helps me move the bar back to the rack, and my arms go limp. I just bench-pressed twenty-five more pounds than my maximum. Damn.

The guys slap me on the back, and Dillon puffs up and looks around at them. “See? Good wasn’t enough for Blaze here. That’s why he is going to the NFL come draft time, and we’re still here practicing for next season. You commit and focus like Blaze and maybe you’ll get somewhere one day.”

Dude. That might not happen, my eyes tell him, but he’s on a roll, and I know he’s positioning himself as captain next year.

“Blaze Townsend!” calls Coach Sanders from the door. His eyes land on me. “In my office, now!”

Shit. He’s the one who texted me, but when I came in earlier, he told me to work out first and then he’d get back to me.

Dillon looks at me. “Archer again?”

I shake my head. I’ve been avoiding any run-ins with him. “Don’t know.”

“Sounds ominous. You better go.”

I stand up and shake out my muscles, thinking about hitting the hot tub later.

Coach is talking to someone on speakerphone as I come in. He looks up at me and points toward a seat. “Here he is now,” he says to the phone.

I frown and try to figure out what’s going on.

“Sir?” I ask as I settle in.

Coach points down at the phone as a voice comes through.

“Mr. Watson here. I’m on the board for the Combine.”

My heart stutters, and I lean in. “Yes, sir. Blaze Townsend. Nice to meet you.”

He chuckles. “I like that Southern drawl, son. We’ve got a lot of good guys from your neck of the woods.”

I swallow, my hands tightening in my seat. “Sir, I can talk all day if you let me.”

Another laugh. “Well, Coach Sanders here has been telling me about how fast you are.”

“Best ever,” I say.

“I’d like to formally extend an invitation for you to come to the Combine and let us get a look at you, see you run. I can’t promise a higher rating in the draft, but Coach seems to believe in you, and well, I like an underdog. What do you say?”

“Fuck yeah—I mean, yes, sir! I’ll be there!” I’m standing now, leaning over the desk. My chest feels like it’s going to burst.

I hear him slap his hands together on the other end of the call, clearly excited. “Outstanding, Blaze! I have some papers my assistant will send over for you to fill out. We’re running late on this, so get them back to me in the next two days.”

“Sounds good, Harold.” Coach Sanders takes over, probably because I’m wide-eyed and jumping up and down, fists in the air. “Send the papers to me, and I’ll make sure he gets them.”

After a few back slaps and thank yous to Coach, I leave his office and grab my phone. I want to tell someone.

I realize I’ve already brought up Charisma’s name. Good news and she’s the one I want to tell.

Even though things aren’t right between us, I text her anyway.

Who else would I tell?

Charm. I’m in the Combine. Can you talk?

She doesn’t reply, and I pace around the hall. Shit, shit, shit.

Can I call you? I’ll come back.

Still no reply, and I’m about to call her when Dillon comes around the corner. “Well? What happened?”

I grin and hold my hands out. “You’re looking at a Combine invitee, man, every fast motherfucking inch of him.”

“Hell yeah!” He gives me a quick man hug. “Now, how about some fun?”

I nod and look back at my phone. Nothing. She’s shutting me out. I can’t blame her.

I take a breath. Fine, fine.

“Let’s grab showers and get to Caddy’s. Ready?”

I look at Dillon, seeing the excitement on his face.

I lock thoughts of her away, step by step, carefully folding them up in my head.

In a few months, we’ll be going in different directions. She’ll graduate and leave, and I may be in the NFL.

And that…

That makes my heart shift inside my chest. To think of her miles away…

I take a breath, pushing her further from my mind.

Football. It’s all I have.

“Yeah. Caddy’s. Let’s go.”

19

Our next class with Dr. Cartwright rolls around the next day, and even though I’m riding high on my good news, I’m anxious about Charisma.