Blind Side: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Red Zone Rivals)

I dragged my ass into the locker room after our loss against the Hawks the next day, wondering why I didn’t feel the same emotion as my teammates.

Zeke threw his helmet into his locker with more force than necessary, the clang of it echoing off the walls of the room. Riley tried to soothe him, but the way she shook her head and hung it between her shoulders told me she was just as upset. Kyle sat mutely on the bench in front of his locker, no phone in sight, no bragging on social media or dancing in celebration. And even Holden’s jaw was tight as he stood in the middle of the locker room and thought of what to say to rally us.

It was a brutal beating, a poor showing on all our parts against a team we should have easily defeated.

My team was angry. They were disappointed.

I, on the other hand, was just fucking numb.

It should have been something I was used to, the hollowness in my chest. After my breakup with Maliyah, I thought I’d felt the worst emotional pain of my life, thought I had survived the worst heartbreak I’d ever experience.

I wanted to laugh at that now, but I couldn’t muster up anything that even resembled joy — no matter how sarcastic.

This wasn’t just pain. It wasn’t just heartbreak. It wasn’t just missing someone and being mercilessly reminded of them everywhere you looked by memories that would haunt you for what seemed like eternity — although all those things were present.

This was the kind of torture only those who put someone they cared about through hell knowingly could understand.

It was guilt, and failure, and recognition that I was the villain. It was someone else’s blood on my hands. It was the cry that I had to do it, that there was no other way, weak as it left my lips.

My mom was the happiest she’d been, not just since Brandon split, but since Dad had. Cory was putting her up in a five-star rehab center in Northern California that frequently housed the rich and famous, and she was tickled pink, not just at the chance of running into one of them, but at really changing.

I’m going to be a better woman, she’d told me on the phone last night, though I’d been too fucked up to really listen. A better mom for you.

She was packing her bags, getting ready to leave tomorrow, a check to repay the loan I’d taken out, and then some, already in the mail and on its way to me.

And even though it was my money, even though it was me who’d loaned it to her and therefore deserved it coming back to me — it felt like dirty money, like it had blood on it, too.

You’re doing the right thing, son.

Those were the words Cory said over the phone yesterday morning when I’d agreed to his deal after not having slept or ate or done anything but stare at the wall of my bedroom. I could almost imagine him clapping me on the shoulder with pride.

And I hoped he was right. I hoped this would be what was best for my mom, that I could finally give her even an ounce of all that she’d given me over my life. She had sacrificed so much for me — her youth, her body, her time and energy. I’d never seen her buy something for herself, not in all the years she raised me, because every dollar she had either went to bills or to me — mostly so I could play football.

And so, I would sacrifice for her. Over and over again, no matter how much it took.

But it didn’t make any of it hurt any less.

Maliyah lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July when I told her I wanted to try again, and she confessed to me how heartbreaking it had been to watch me with Giana. I told her it was all just a ruse to get her back, and she had smiled with the satisfaction of knowing she’d won.

It was an awful, disgusting lie — one I couldn’t seal with anything more than a hug, which I was surprised didn’t make Maliyah suspicious. I told her I wanted to take it slow.

The truth was that I couldn’t imagine ever kissing anyone who wasn’t Giana ever again.

So, Mom was happy, and Maliyah, and Cory, too.

But I was miserable.

And so was Giana.

That was enough for me to wonder if I’d made the right decision, after all.

When I closed my eyes to try to sleep last night, nightmarish visions of Giana beating on my chest kept me awake. I could hear her cries, see the tears staining her cheeks as she begged me not to break her heart.

And she knew, even without me saying a word — she knew it wasn’t me in that moment.

How she knew, I’d never understand. But even as I stared at her unwavering and told her we were finished, she somehow fought through her own pain to try to shake me awake, to try to make me put myself first.

That was what fucked me up the most, the fact that even at my worst, she somehow saw through it all to my true heart.

But what she didn’t understand was that this wasn’t about sticking up for myself against Maliyah, or even my father. This was about caring for the one person who had cared for me.

It wasn’t the time to put myself first.

And one day, I hoped there would come a time where I could tell her everything, make her understand.

Until then, I was committed to my misery.

“…next game. That’s where our focus needs to be. We’re not out of this race — not even close. We’re all but guaranteed a bowl game at this point,” Holden said as I came to, realizing I’d missed the first half of his speech. “Mark your mistakes, fix them, and come back hungry for more. We all have our jobs to do. Win as a team, lose as a team,” he said, pausing. “And fight as a team.”

Coach Sanders watched the speech unfold in the corner of the locker room, his arms folded. He clearly wasn’t happy with how the game played out, either, but he let his captain take full control.

All around the locker room, players nodded their heads, fierce determination etched in their brows as they gathered around where Holden had extended his hand. They covered it with theirs, and Holden’s eyes met mine, the signal for me to take over and yell out one of our team chants.

But I didn’t have it in me.

I sniffed, looking down at my hand at the top of the pile.

“Fight on three,” Holden said. “One, two—”

“Fight!”

The team’s response echoed around us for only a moment before the gentle murmur of talking and packing up filled the space, some heading toward the training rooms or showers, while others opted to just go home.

Holden was at my side before I could so much as untie my cleats.

“Let’s take a walk,” he said, and he didn’t wait for me to confirm before he was sauntering out of the locker room.

I begrudgingly followed him, and since the field was still covered in fans, players from the other team, and the media circus, he steered me toward the weight room.

“Sit,” he said, pointing at a bench. When I did, he hung his hands on his hips, staring at the ground for a moment before he looked at me. “What happened?”

“I don’t—”

“I don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it. You’re a part of this team, and you’re a big reason why we pulled an L today. You were shit in coverage, and giving us twenty percent of your all, at best.”

I was ashamed at how spot on that assessment was.

“So, as captain, it’s my job to figure out what’s going on whether you want me to or not. You can either tell me now, or I can make your life a living hell every practice until you do.”

I flattened my lips. “What, you going to make me run laps?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

I shook my head, balancing my elbows on my knees as my shoulders drooped. “It’s family shit. Nothing I want to share with anyone — no offense.”

“Did someone die?”

I frowned at him. “What? No. And that was a little harsh, Cap.”

“I need to know how serious this is.”

“Why, so you can replace me?”

He gave me a look that echoed his earlier sentiment.

If that’s what it takes.

I ran a hand back through my hair, sitting up straight again. “I broke up with Giana. I’m back with Maliyah. My mom is going to rehab. My dad is a piece of shit who couldn’t care less about any of it, and if you push me off my spot, I swear to God, I’ll kill you, Holden, because you’d be ripping away the only source of joy I have. Football is my lifeline,” I said, surprised at the way my throat tightened with the words. “It’s… it’s all I have left.”

I met his gaze then, chest heaving, and something softer washed over his expression as he watched me in return.

“You’re back with Maliyah,” he said, choosing to ignore the rest.

I sniffed, looking at the ground again. “Yeah.”

“And that’s what you want?”

“Yep,” I lied, standing. “Can I go now, sergeant, or are you throwing me in the brig?”

Holden gave me a look that told me he clearly wasn’t amused by the joke, but still, he seemed satisfied enough to stop torturing me — at least for the day.

“Go,” he said, waving me off. “Get your head right before Monday.”

I nodded, but before I could reach the door, he called out again.

“And don’t forget we’re not just your team,” he said, halting me.

I waited, but didn’t turn.

“We’re your friends. We’re family. I know you’re always the one lending the hand, Clay, but we can help you, too.” He paused. “You just have to be willing to let us.”

Something about that sentiment pierced me like a hot blade between the ribs, so I simply nodded to let him know I’d heard him and then ducked out the door, heading for the locker room.

As soon as I turned the corner, she was there.

Giana was dimly lit at the other end of the hall, her hair in a frazzled mess of a bun on top of her head as she fumbled with the keys to her office while balancing an iPad tucked under her arm. Even from a distance, I could see the bags under her eyes that mirrored mine, the slump in her shoulders that reminded me of the pain I’d caused her.

When the door clicked open, she sighed, and glanced down the hall.

She froze when she saw me.

The burning pain in my chest was like experiencing every tackle I’d ever been victim of all at once. It was bone-crushing and soul-stealing, and yet I took every horrendous second of it so I could stare at her a little longer.

She opened her mouth and took a minute step toward me, but then stopped, clamping her lips together again.

And then she ducked into the office, slamming the door behind her.

Giana

“You know I hate to see you like this,” Dad said, sipping his bourbon as I used my fork to push the salad around on my plate. I thought by at least moving it a little, it would look like I’d eaten some, but the heap of soggy arugula staring up at me begged to differ.

I released my grip on the utensil, sitting back in my booth on a defeated sigh. “I know. I’m sorry, Dad.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry about what you’re feeling. I want you to talk to me about it so we can figure out if there’s a way to fix what’s hurting you.”

“There isn’t,” I told him.

The corner of his mouth lifted a bit even as his brows inched together, his black wire-framed glasses shifting with the movement. He swirled his glass, taking another sip before he sat it down and leaned forward.

My own aqua eyes stared back at me, only his were darker, as was his skin and hair. But anyone who passed the table could see we were related, could see how much I favored him over my mom.

“Out of your control, huh?”

I nodded, picking up my fork again just so I could have something to do with my hands.

Dad thumbed a beat on the table. “Well, you’re at an age where life is going to start coming at you fast. This is likely the first of many things you’ll encounter that are out of your control.”

“It drives me crazy,” I admitted. “And it… hurts.”

I said that last part softly, wincing as my heart ached with that same fierce pain it had been randomly assaulting me with since Clay broke up with me.

He broke up with me.

I still couldn’t believe it.

I’d always thought the stages of grief went in order, but I found myself bouncing around between them like a pinball, knocking into denial only to swing over to anger on my way down to depression. I still hadn’t hit acceptance yet, though.

Part of me hoped I never would, because accepting it would mean it was real.

It still felt like a nightmare, like something happening to someone else. I kept staring at my phone, willing him to call it, willing myself to pick it up and text him. And when I wasn’t wishing to run into him at the stadium, I was debating if I should hand in my resignation so I could get out of there and never have to run into him again.

It had been relatively easy on game day to keep busy. Even with the loss, I had a lot of reporters to field. But when I made it through the circus and dragged myself back to my office, I expected him to be gone already, or at the very least, back in the locker room.

But of course, he was right there, staring at me from the other side of the hall as if it was me who’d broken him.

I wanted to run to him as much as I wanted to curse him out and spit in his eye.

I was a mess.

And what hurt me more than anything wasn’t what he did, but rather that I knew there was more to it than he was telling me. It was like having the first three-hundred pages of a thriller, only to have the end ripped out, to never know what secrets the main character was keeping from you all this time.

Even though I knew he was hurting as badly as I was, he wouldn’t let me in.

What more could I do?

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the nice young man you were so excited to introduce me to today, would it? The one who suddenly came down with the flu?”

I didn’t answer.

Dad reached over, grabbing my wrist and waiting until I dropped the fork before he pulled my hands into his. “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, little mouse.”

I shook my head. “I just… I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning usually works out nicely.”

I tried to mirror his smile, but it fell flat.

“You have to forget I’m your daughter for, like, the next ten minutes.”

Dad lifted a brow. “Okay, now you’re not leaving until you tell me everything.”

And so I did.

I didn’t realize how badly I needed to confide in someone about what happened between me and Clay until the words were spilling from me like an avalanche, faster and faster until the dust was so thick I couldn’t speak through it. I told him about Shawn, about the deal, about how Clay wanted Maliyah back. I left out the gritty details of exactly how we played our little game, but I didn’t hold back on how close we’d become, on how much I knew he cared about me.

How much I cared about him.

When I finished, Dad let out a low whistle, tapping my hand in his. “Well, I can’t say I don’t want to kill the kid for hurting my baby girl.”

“Dad.”

“I also can’t say that I understand why you would ever agree to fake date someone,” he added. “Although, some of your book titles make more sense now. My Fake Bodyguard.”

I smiled a little at that.

“But,” he continued. “I have to agree with you that something doesn’t add up here.”

“Right?” I leaned forward as if my father and I were cracking open the case together. “I mean, I think I could admit it if I’d judged his character wrong, if I’d misread the signs and just let some asshole jock take advantage of me.”

Dad arched a brow that made me flush and look away, choosing not to elaborate on that.

“But I know him. I know him maybe better than any of his teammates. And I just… I can’t believe that suddenly, out of nowhere, he decided he wanted to be with Maliyah again. I mean, Dad… he was crying when he broke up with me.”

“Guys cry, too, you know,” he said with a smirk.

“Yes, but… it takes a lot,” I pointed out. “No?”

Dad nodded. “Yes, usually. But maybe he was just crying because he knew he was hurting you. He could very well want to end the relationship, but not want to bring you pain in the process.”

I frowned, deflating as I realized that was a possibility. “I guess I hadn’t thought of that.”

Dad patted my hand. “I know this is hard, little mouse. Believe it or not, I dated a few girls pretty seriously before I found your mom. I know what it’s like to have a heart broken.”

I folded in on myself, my heart squeezing painfully tight in my chest as if cued.

“But if Bonnie Raitt taught me anything, it’s that you can’t make someone love you if they don’t.”

“Wait,” I said. “That’s an Adele song.”

“She covered it.”

“Bonnie Raitt did?”

Dad blinked. “I’m going to choose to ignore the fact that my daughter doesn’t know who Bonnie Raitt is and get back to the matter at hand, which is this,” he said, leaning in closer. His blue eyes flashed with warmth, a sympathetic smile on the lips that mine were mirrored after. “At this point, it doesn’t matter what you think you know about what might be going on behind the scenes for this boy. All you have to go off is what actually happened, what he told you, and what you do know for certain.” He paused. “He looked you right in the eyes and told you it’s over.”

My bottom lip trembled, and Dad squeezed my hand.

“At some point, you have to accept that and move forward. I’m not saying you need to sprint, or that it’s not going to hurt every step of the way. But that’s what life is, sometimes. It’s just getting up, getting dressed, and putting one foot in front of the other until one day… the pain fades. And you know what else?”

“What?” I whispered.

“Life has a funny way of surprising us and bringing us something even better down the line.”

I swallowed, nodding, trying to find solace in his words. “I… I think I love him, Dad.”

My words broke at the end of the confession, tears blurring my eyes as I glanced up at my father who looked like I’d just fallen off a cliff right in front of his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, and in a flash, he was up out of his side of the booth and dipping into mine.

He wrapped me up in a fierce hug, one I felt all the way to my bones as I clung to him and let myself cry.

“It’s okay to love him.”

“Even if he doesn’t love me back?”

“That’s the thing about love,” he said, kissing my hair. “It doesn’t need to be reciprocated to be real.”

I couldn’t be sure how long we sat there, Dad holding me while I fell apart in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant full of rowdy college students, but I savored every moment of that comfort he brought me.

And the next morning, I woke up with the same excruciating agony that had plagued me since Clay broke my heart. But this time, I didn’t surrender to it. I didn’t overanalyze every word he’d said to me, or replay all the moments we spent in my bed. I didn’t cling to the memory of his laugh, or how I could still close my eyes and feel his hands on my face, his lips on my lips.

This time, I got dressed.

I put on my shoes.

And one slow step at a time, I moved forward.