Quarterback Sneak: A Forbidden Sports Romance (Red Zone Rivals)

I woke up in the middle of the night with the worst headache of my life.

I was in Holden’s bed.

At first, I panicked, heart thundering faster and faster as I tried to make out what time it was, to make out where I was. Everything was foggy and in slow motion, like being in a dream. But when the familiar scent of him washed over me, when I realized it was his NBU football t-shirt I wore and his pillow I had drooled on, I calmed a bit.

Then, I remembered.

And I panicked all over again.

I remembered waking up on what would have been my little sister’s twenty-first birthday, remembered putting a candle in one of the muffins I’d made the day before and singing a sad version of happy birthday before I blew it out and cried.

I remembered ditching my exam and calling in to work.

Calling in to life.

I remembered crawling into bed and staying there, ignoring every text and call that came through from Holden. I laid there all day, letting my memory torture me, almost savoring every minute that I reminded myself what a piece of scum I was.

And then, at some point, I started drinking.

Mary was at work. Dad had flown Mom in and, though he’d invited me to dinner with them, I knew he didn’t really mean it.

I knew she didn’t want me there — especially not today.

So, I stayed home, and I drank half a bottle of wine and stared at the texts from Holden. I was still staring at the phone when his text about the party came through.

After that, I drank another bottle and a half.

And when I got to the Pit, some kid had offered me a Xanax.

I’d popped one without thinking twice.

Relapsing was easy. It was almost too easy on a day like today. All the reasons I had for staying relatively sober, for sticking to a glass of wine and maybe a joint now and then flew out the window. I couldn’t remember why I didn’t get obliterated every night when my brain was beating on me like that. In fact, it seemed like the only thing to do.

I was weak. And now, as I sobered, I was ashamed.

My head was still foggy as I groaned and tried to sit up in bed, my mouth as dry as the desert. I needed water. I needed Advil.

A flash of Holden punching Kyle sparked through the haze, and my eyes shot open wide.

Oh, God.

I started breathing hard, covering my mouth as more and more of the fuzzy memory came back to me. I remembered Kyle finding me with the group of kids who had given me a Xanax, remembered him saying he wanted to show me his room. I remembered following him, knowing it was a bad idea, but having that same self-destructive who the fuck cares attitude that always found me on this day.

I remembered Holden bursting in.

I remembered not being able to speak, to move.

I remembered…

Wait, did I…

No, I didn’t… God, please, I didn’t, right?

I looked down at Holden’s t-shirt I wore and knew even without confirmation that I had.

I’d thrown up.

He’d helped me. He’d undressed me and cleaned me. I knew from my breath alone that he’d had me brush my teeth, probably had me drink water, too.

He’d found me alone in his teammate’s room, and instead of thinking the worst, instead of being pissed, instead of judging me… he’d helped me.

My chest burned, and I covered the spot where my heart ached against the bones trapping it in my body. It wanted out, and I didn’t blame it.

I wanted to tear it out and set it free, too.

Holden stirred, his hand blindly reaching out like he wanted to pull me into him. When he felt the bed and I wasn’t laying there, he sat up quickly, his hair mussed and eyes tired. He looked a little worried, but then he saw me, and a long exhale left his chest as if he was relieved I was still there.

“Hey, you okay?”

He started rubbing my back.

I’d been a monster — a drunk, drugged-up, disgusting monster, and here he was, consoling me, taking care of me, asking if I was okay. He’d been through his own tragedy, arguably worse than the one I faced, and yet he woke up and tackled every day like he was lucky to be alive.

He lived for the loved ones he’d lost.

I self-destructed for mine.

I looked at him like he was insane, like he was blind to not see me for who I really was.

He swallowed, shaking his head as if to tell me I was wrong before I could even speak the words out loud. “Come here.”

Then, he pulled me into his chest, and I broke.

I shattered, surrendering to every bit of the self-abuse I had stocked up and waiting to be released. I let it pour over me, taking every hit like I deserved every last one.

Because I did.

It was ugly, the way I sobbed as he held me, each breath sawing in and out of me with more and more effort. I kept wiping at my nose before it could drip onto his shirt, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t loosen his grip.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my throat raw.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

I pulled back, swiping at my face like it was the tears fault I’d been such a disaster. Holden lessened his hold only enough for me to sit up, but he still held me, his hands on where my legs were crossed under me. He smoothed his thumbs over my skin, watching me, waiting, but not rushing.

For a long time, we just sat there in the dark. I had no idea what time it was. The house was quiet, so I figured it had to be late, but it wasn’t quite early enough for the sun to greet us. I stared at where Holden’s hands held my legs, tears continually building in my eyes before they’d slip silently down my cheeks and I’d wipe them away.

“You asked me why I do pole,” I finally said, my voice low and crackling. “Well, this is why.”

Holden didn’t say a word, just kept smoothing his thumb over my skin.

“Because it’s the only thing that helps me cope with the fact that I’m the reason my sister is dead.”

“You’re not the—”

“Yes, I am,” I said before he could finish. “I am. I dragged her to a party. I teased her about being a good girl. I dared her to take molly, to try something new, to be a fucking kid for once instead of thinking about her future — which she did. All the time.” I shook my head, tears blurring my vision again. “I told her I’d stay sober, be her spirit guide. All I’d had was a little weed. But the guys who gave us the molly, I didn’t know them well. I… I just thought I could trust them.” I let out a sick, sarcastic laugh. It sounded even more stupid when I said it out loud, but when I was seventeen, I hadn’t thought twice about it. “Because I’d partied with them a few times,” I added flatly.

Holden’s thumb had stilled, and I could feel it, how ice was running in his veins just as it was in mine.

“I knew something was wrong. I knew…” Pain severed my chest, and I stopped, pressing a hand over my heart as if I could stop it. “She wasn’t acting right. I knew what it looked like when someone was rolling, and that wasn’t what was happening. And then the guys, they tried to… they…”

A sob ripped from my throat, and Holden pulled me into him — not just a hug, but fully into his lap, his massive arms wrapping me up as if he could shield me from the nightmare I relived every second of every day.

“They knew what they’d done. She was out of it, and they were taking off her clothes. She was barely even awake.” I sobbed. “I stopped them. I kicked and clawed until they were calling me a crazy bitch. They left us alone. But she was already… it was too late… I drove as fast as I could to the hospital, but I knew. I already knew before I got there that she was gone.”

“Shhh,” Holden said, rocking me, squeezing me tight.

“I killed her,” I choked. “I killed her, Holden, and I wish it was me who’d died, instead.”

He held me tighter, and I sobbed, emotion I thought I’d buried long ago exploding out of me like I was an erupting volcano. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t calm down, couldn’t do anything but fall completely apart.

It struck me that it was because, for the first time, I felt safe to do so.

“Every year on her birthday, I fall apart. But I’ve been so good this last year,” I said pathetically. “I thought maybe this time…”

I sniffed, shaking my head.

“I tried not to. I tried to just stay home, to ride it out, to not drink… but I… I just…” I licked my lips, tasting the tears there. “I just wanted the pain to go away. I wanted to feel numb. I wanted to feel nothing at all.”

He nodded, like he knew already, like he understood.

And he should have.

He’d lost his sister, too. Not just his sister, but his parents. He’d lost everything.

The fact that he could still go on living life made me feel even more like a monster, a failure, a coward.

My fists twisted in his shirt, clutching him to me as I cried and cried. But after a while, I found my breath again, and Holden pulled back, tilting my chin up to look at him.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” I argued, sniffing back more tears. “Even my mom knows it. You know, she hasn’t said more than a few words to me since it happened?” I shook my head. “She blames me, even if she won’t say it. And she thinks I’m next. She saw me going off the rails when Abby died and it was almost like… it was almost like she expected it, like she wanted it.”

“That’s not true.”

I shook my head, unconvinced. “And Dad,” I added, chest squeezing with pain. “When he looks at me? I don’t see love, or pride, or understanding. All I see is disappointment.” I hiccupped. “He wishes it was Abby who lived instead of me.”

“Your dad loves you,” Holden argued. “He loves you so much that it terrifies him. Why do you think he threatens all of us within an inch of our life for so much as looking at you?”

“Because he’s worried I’ll end up knocked up or in a viral gang-bang video online.”

Holden grabbed my face. “Because he cares about you, and it worries him sick to think about anything bad ever happening to you — even something as small as getting your heart broken by a stupid jock.”

I knew he was trying to lighten the mood, to make me smile, but I couldn’t. It was impossible. The only thing I could do was spiral.

“It’s not your fault that Abby is gone,” he said, forcing me to look at him. “Do you hear me? It’s not your fault. And the fact that you care so deeply for her that you help her live on through your own life proves that you’re not this evil monster you think you are.”

I shook my head, over and over.

“You are a great sister, and a great daughter, and a great person. Have you made some mistakes? Maybe. But we all do.” His eyes searched mine. “What matters is that you’re still here, and you’re trying. You are working on it.” He swallowed. “That’s all we can do.”

Something of a laugh came out of my nose, and I looked down, away from him, wanting so desperately to believe him even while everything inside of me pushed that sentiment away.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Want to know why?” I looked him right in the eye. “Because in the end, we all die. And to be honest, I can’t wait for my time to come. I can’t wait to be free.”

It was the only thing I’d said that night that made him crack.

I saw it the moment I said it, I saw how his breath hitched, how tears pricked his eyes, how his jaw tightened and his throat constricted. I waited for him to explode, to tell me I was selfish for thinking that way.

Instead, he slid his hands back, cradling my neck, his thumbs on my jaw and holding me still as his eyes bore into mine.

“It does matter,” he breathed. “You matter.”

I blinked, setting free two teardrops that went racing down each of my cheeks.

“You are enough, Julep,” he whispered, the words wrecking me and healing me all at once. “And you are needed. Most of all by me.”

He swallowed the cry that those words elicited from me, pulling me into him and kissing me as if to seal that sentiment inside of me until I believed it. He didn’t kiss me with the passion to take my clothes off, he kissed me with the desperation to save me.

And I was hanging on just enough to let him.

I melted, and he took my weight as he kissed one wet cheek and then the other, over and over, tracing the trails my tears had made before finding my lips again. I tasted my pain when he kissed me, felt myself trembling in his lap as he wrapped me in his arms and held me as tightly as he could.

He kissed me until my tears dried up. He kissed me until my lips were raw. He kissed me, and then I pulled him down onto me, tearing at his clothes until we were bare and pressed against each other.

I couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t satiate my need for him until he was inside me.

Once he was, everything slowed — my heart, his breath, my panic, his thrusts. His fingertips curled around my shoulders, and he held me there as he plunged into me, as I wrapped my arms and legs around him and pleaded for more.

This wasn’t my thigh hiked up and him fucking me in a dark closet, it wasn’t me bent over a desk with my pants around my ankles, it wasn’t fast and furious and filthy like so many of our times together had been.

This was passion, pure and raw and soul deep.

This was Holden Moore seeing me for absolutely everything that I was — every chaotic, fucked-up, maimed piece of me.

And somehow finding it beautiful enough that he wanted to claim it.

So, I let him. I opened in every way that I could, invited him inside every dark crack of my being and asked him to fill it with his light.

I need you, I told him with every kiss.

I’m here, he said back with every thrust of his hips.

Don’t leave me, I begged with every bite of my nails into his back.

And when we finished, and he sat against the window, pulling me into his lap and kissing me hard and long and relentlessly until I was straddling him and we were connected again, I knew his answer without him uttering a single word.

I never could.