Comeback (The Holland Brothers Book 3)

We have a home game Monday night against Seattle. Brogan and I are on the field warming up. Music around the stadium is hyping up the crowd. Fall finally hit Arizona, and I love the chill in the air. It reminds me of late nights back in Valley, staying after everyone else was gone. Just me and Brogan, neither of us wanting to go home.

I can’t imagine playing this game without him. We’ve been fortunate to stay together. High school, college, now the Mavericks. I love this game, but I can no longer separate football from playing with Brogan. It’s my hope that I’ll never have to find out what it’s like to play without him, but if I do, I wonder if I’d still love it.

Glancing over at the crowd, I look for Sabrina. She and London are coming tonight, but they haven’t arrived yet.

“They’ll be here,” Brogan says when I look back at him. He has a knowing grin. “You’ll get used to it.”

“What?”

“Having your girlfriend in the stands. I was so nervous the first few times London came. Especially before we were official. I wanted to impress her so badly.”

“It isn’t that.”

He doesn’t look like he believes me.

“She doesn’t make me nervous. She makes me calmer somehow. I can’t explain it. It’s like having family in the crowd. It feels right.”

He pauses his warmups to stare at me. I fear I might have said too much.

“Well, fuck. That’s some real romantic shit.”

A rough chuckle shakes my chest.

“Holland!” Graham steps into my line of sight, killing my good mood instantly.

“Graham.” I tip my head to him and hope he’ll keep right on going. But of course, I’m not that fucking lucky.

“Thinking about making some catches tonight?” He flashes a taunting grin.

“That’s the plan.”

“Well don’t worry about it if you can’t get it done. I’m feeling good tonight.” He bounces around on his toes, swinging his arms loose. “Jump in the backpack, Holland. I’ll carry us to a W.”

My glare finally sends him moving along.

“God, I fucking hate that guy,” I mutter when he’s out of earshot.

“Don’t let him get in your head. He knows you’re the better player.”

“Not lately.” I’m not getting open and when I do, I’m not performing like I should. Brogan’s right, I need to keep him out of my head, but it’s easier said than done.

As the game nears kickoff, we head to the sideline. During the pregame announcements I run through all my starts in my head, then visualize myself getting open and scoring touchdowns.

I glance over at where London and Sabrina should be sitting, but their seats are still empty. She’ll be here. I know she will, but I wish I could see her, just for a second, before stepping back out onto the field.

The noise during a game is deafening. At least that’s what other guys tell me. I’m used to the rumble of background noise. Sure, I can tell there’s more of it, but it’s easy to ignore it and focus on Cody and Coach as I listen and watch for signals.

They’re both good at making adjustments for me. Brogan does too, though I doubt he even realizes it anymore. Any time we’re on the field together, he glances at me as we head for the line of scrimmage to make sure I know the play.

He does that now as Cody claps his hands together and our offense breaks to take our spots. I nod at Brogan, and he returns the gesture. Such a small thing that means more than he could ever know.

Adrenaline pumps as I wait for the snap. Those seconds always feel like the longest. Despite the noise vying for my attention, the only thing I hear is my own heartbeat.

And then Cody has the ball and chaos erupts. My feet move almost of their own mind. Thinking takes too long when it comes to getting past the defensive line. I rely on the hours of practice running routes. I trust the play and myself as I sprint then look back for Cody. He goes to Tripp on the other side of the field with slightly less coverage and the defenders shift in that direction.

We move down the field slowly, fighting off Seattle’s defense. On third down, Cody finally finds me open. As soon as I catch the ball, I take off with two defenders hot on my heels. I feel one of the guys get a grip on my shoulder and I lean forward out of his grasp, and the ball slips loose.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There are only two jobs in receiving. Catch the ball and hold the fuck onto it no matter what.

Seattle covers it quickly and the crowd groans their disgust at me.

“You alright?” Brogan asks as he helps me to my feet. Taking hard hits never really gets easier, but as long as I’m not injured, I know it’ll pass quickly.

I groan and sign back, Not dead yet.

Though I kind of wish I were right now. Fuck. I can’t believe I fumbled the ball. One fucking job.

“Shake it off,” he says as we head to the sideline.

I nod my head. I take off my helmet, resist the urge to throw it, and grab water while I take a second to be pissed at myself. Brogan’s right, I have to shake it off before I go back out there so I don’t make more careless mistakes.

Graham steps in front of me wearing a sympathetic smile. “Damn, Holland, you’re making me look good lately. I thought I was going to have some real competition on this team but you’re practically handing me my next contract.”

That smile that was all fake concern turns to a smirk. “Try to put up a little fight. Otherwise, it won’t feel as good when they trade your ass.”

He walks off before I can get the ‘fuck you’ out of my mouth.

By halftime, we’re down by fourteen points and the mood in the locker room is quiet frustration. I don’t see a lot of time on the field after that and when I do it’s like I can’t remember how to get open.

The final score has us losing to Seattle by an embarrassing thirty-four to six.

As we’re heading off the field, I glance up in the stands. In the midst of the shitty game, I forgot about Sabrina and London being here. I hold in a groan. The first game she comes to as my girlfriend and I play like shit.

Brogan nudges me and tips his head toward them. He leads the way to them, bypassing reporters and cameras.

Sabrina’s smile is soft and unsure as we approach. I hate to imagine what my face looks like right now. I’ve never been great at masking my emotions. If I’m pissed, I look pissed. But I don’t want her to think it’s about anything but me.

Brogan reaches up and hugs London.

“Sorry about the game,” she says to him, placing a kiss on his lips. I look to Sabrina.

“Hey,” she says as tentative as she looks.

I attempt a smile and jut my chin, then move closer so I can hug her.

“That sucked,” she says, and pulls back just enough to sign it as well.

A real honest laugh bubbles up in my chest. “It sure fucking did. Sorry you had to see that.”

Her brows pinch together. “What kind of fair-weather girlfriend do you think I am?”

“I…” Well, damn. That’s about the best thing she could have said. Warmth spreads through my chest and I pull her tighter to me, claiming her mouth.

It’s easy to forget that I’m not only a football player. It’s what I do, and I love it, but it’s a fickle ass game.

When we finally break apart, I’ve somehow managed to shake off the loss and my shitty performance.

“You’ll get ’em next time.” She makes half a heart with her pointer and middle finger on one hand, holding it out to me.

I do the same, placing my half up to hers.