Rally (Treasure State Wildcats Book 3)

Faye and I each smacked a card from our respective stacks onto the camper’s table. Her ten beat my three, so she pulled both into her growing pile.

“I used to play this with Gloria when she was little,” she said, putting another card down in our game of war. “I’d stack her deck with aces so she’d eventually win. Maybe that was my mistake. I protected her from losing too often.”

“Maybe,” I murmured. Or maybe Gloria’s problem was that she was a brat who thought she could manipulate Faye.

It had been a few hours since she’d told me about the Thanksgiving fiasco, and I was still pissed. Probably would be for a while. Hopefully the anger would fizzle before I saw Gloria again. If not, she’d be receiving a lecture on how to treat her sister.

“You’re mad at her,” Faye said.

“Yep.”

“I’m kind of mad at her too.”

I gave her a sad smile, then turned over another card. Five. She beat it with a king.

After she swept them into her stack, she turned toward the window, staring out over the dark, snow-covered yard.

Our yard.

I hadn’t wanted to risk a trip to the mountains where we could get stuck in the snow. Plus it was cold, not exactly great camping weather. So we’d gone camping in the driveway. If Faye decided it wasn’t her thing, we could just go inside the house.

“How will the camper get back to your parents?” she asked.

“They’re coming to our playoff game next weekend. They’ll pick it up then.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Playoffs are, what, exactly?”

I grinned as she turned over another card, both of us idly playing as I explained the difference between preseason and regular season and post season.

“So this playoff game is a big deal then,” she said.

I chuckled. “It’s a big deal.”

Making the playoffs was huge. None of us had really expected to make it so far this season with a new head coach. But we’d surpassed everyone’s expectations and won the conference championship in a victory over the University of Montana Grizzlies.

“The playoffs are about as big of a deal as beating the Grizzlies.”

“Ah. Even I know beating the Griz is important.”

During my time as a Wildcat player, we’d never lost that rivalry game. Whatever funk I’d been in had passed after that loss in Idaho. Clearing the air with Faye had cleared my head. Not that I’d ever admit that to Maverick.

But it wasn’t just me who’d refocused. The whole team and all of our coaches had shown up to the next practice with a newfound drive. No more losing. Especially to the Grizzlies. And I wanted to take us as far into the playoffs as we could make it.

“I hate the Grizzlies,” I said.

“Hate? That’s a strong word.”

“Strong but true.”

She hummed. “What if Squish wants to go to U of M someday?”

“Don’t even put that into the universe.”

She laughed and pretended to zip her lips closed.

That laugh was music to my ears. It was better than a stadium full of cheering fans. Better than the cannons that went off whenever the Wildcats scored a touchdown. Better than my name chanted over and over and over again in a parade.

“I like your laugh. I don’t get to hear it enough.”

Her cheeks flushed as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Thanks for this. Camping in the driveway. I needed it.”

“Welcome.” I flipped over a card. Queen. Hers was an ace. “I’m giving up. You win.”

She laughed again as she collected the cards and organized them in a deck. “I never win. I’ll take it.”

It was only a joke, her never winning. But it was true, wasn’t it?

Faye didn’t win often enough.

Football had been my life for so long, winning had been such a priority and goal. I’d been lucky too. I won more often than not. If I was being honest with myself, I took most victories for granted. Some were hard-earned but most came easy.

Faye needed more wins.

Maybe I could help her with that.

Maybe if Faye and I stuck together, we could do this. All of it. We could have this baby and still chase our dreams.

We’d both win.

I relaxed into my seat, and since my legs were too long for this table, our knees knocked. They’d been touching on and off all day, and not once had Faye shied away.

“Do you have it?” she asked. “The envelope?”

“Yes.”

Since her ultrasound, for weeks, I’d been carrying an unopened envelope in my pocket. It was wrinkled and folded in quarters, but I’d taken it with me everywhere in case Faye wanted to open it up. I’d even brought it to the camper.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you think we should open it?”

“Up to you.”

It was killing me to know that the answer was in my pocket. That I’d had it with me for weeks. I was dying to know if we were having a boy or a girl. But I wanted Faye to make the call. If she decided to wait until Squish was born, then I’d wait.

“I think I want to know,” she said.

I shifted in my seat, fishing it out of my pocket to lay on the table. “Do you want to open it?”

She shook her head. “You do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes?”

I chuckled. “Faye.”

“Do it. Before I change my mind.” She covered her face with her hands.

I wanted to find out so badly I wasn’t going to give her the chance to change her mind. I tore into the envelope and tugged out the letter.

All the words blurred but one.

Boy.

“It’s a boy.”

Her hands dropped from her face to her belly. “A boy.”

“A boy.”

We stared at each other, both letting it sink in. Then a smile stretched across her face, a smile so beautiful I forgot how to breathe. “I guess we can start thinking of names.”

I doubted my son would enjoy being called Squish in high school.

“How about Tyler?” The moment I said it I knew it was wrong. It didn’t feel right.

Given the scrunch of her nose, it didn’t to Faye either. “No. Mathias?”

“There’s a Mathias on the team, and he’s a douche. Cody?”

“No. Arlo,” she suggested.

“Henry?”

“Meh. Owen.”

At some point, we’d land on one that we both liked, right? Or at some point, we were going to run out of options.

We volleyed names back and forth for a few minutes until my phone dinged from the counter.

“Dinner.” I slid out of my seat and held out a hand, helping Faye to her feet. Then we made the short trek from the camper to the house, our breaths billowing in the frozen air until we were inside, where it smelled like roasted chicken and potatoes and vegetables.

Other than a trip this morning to the grocery store to pick up food, the camper had been our hangout spot. Normally on Thanksgiving, Dad and I would watch a football game or two, but I had no desire to turn on the TV. Instead, Faye and I had played games in the camper and when she’d started yawning, I’d sent her to the bedroom for a nap while I’d wasted an hour on my phone.

The only time we’d spent inside the house had been after the store, when we’d prepped the chicken and potatoes for the oven.

Spending a day with Faye had been as natural as breathing. I kept waiting for an awkward silence or for her to disappear to her room. But she hadn’t once looked at the camper’s door like she was ready to escape.

It was like hanging out with a friend.

If she thought of me as a friend? Well, that would suck. A lot.

She hadn’t made a move to kiss me in the past month. I assumed it was because she wanted to take things slow. But did she see me as a friend?

No. Hell no.

I was not settling for friendship. Two people with this kind of chemistry were not just friends.

Faye took oven mitts out of a drawer, glancing at me as she opened the oven. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re not friends.”

“Huh?” Her forehead furrowed, but the hot air escaping from the oven must have blasted her in the face because she frowned and took out the roasting pan, setting it on the stovetop. Then she tore off the oven mitts and faced me with hurt in those caramel eyes. “We’re not friends?”

“No, we are friends. We’re more than friends. We’re roommates. We’ve got Squish. We have . . .”

A future.

We had a future.

It wasn’t crystal clear. There were still big chunks missing from what tomorrow looked like. And on the edges, it was fuzzy at best. But there was one thing in focus.

Faye.

She was there, no matter what.

I wanted more days like this, again and again. If I did get drafted, if I went into the NFL, there was no way I could leave Faye behind in Mission.

“Would you go with me?” I asked.

“Go where? To a football game?”

“No. Go to wherever I get drafted. If I get drafted.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows came together as she looked to the roasting pan. “I, um . . .”

Was she going to say no? She was going to say no. I could see it on her face. She was trying to find a way to let me down gently.

Had I read too much into us? Had I taken that kiss, the electricity, as something serious? Was this one-sided?

Fuck. My stomach dropped.

“Don’t worry about it.” I waved it off and went to the fridge, using the door as a barricade so she wouldn’t see me grit my teeth.

“Rush,” she said. “I didn’t⁠—”

“It’s all right, Faye. That’s a big ask for you to just wait around to see what happens. I get it.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“Forget I asked.”

“Would you listen to me?” She pushed the door, so hard the tray of condiments in the door almost hit me in the temple before I dodged out of the way. “I can’t answer that question right now. I’m not going to make you a promise I can’t guarantee I’ll keep.”

That was fair. And real. It just wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

Because it meant she was still wary. She still had that bear spray. She still wasn’t in this, not completely.

Damn, it was a blow. I’d never wanted a woman who might not want me back. It was sobering. Especially because I’d never wanted someone the way I wanted Faye.

“You’re right.” My shoulders sagged, my frame deflating on a loud exhale. “I don’t know if I’ll even go to the draft. I don’t know why I’m even thinking that far ahead right now.”

“You’re a planner.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I like making plans. But they usually fall apart.”

Like moving out of her ex’s place when she had money saved. Like dinner with her sister for Thanksgiving. Like going to graduate school.

Faye closed the distance between us, tilting up her face as I tilted down mine.

God, she was beautiful. Her ex was such an idiot. He’d had this beauty in his life, and he’d cheated on her. Dumb fuck. But at least he’d had her. I sure as hell couldn’t call her mine.

“Michael,” she said.

It was a truce. A name suggestion to keep us from getting into a fight on Thanksgiving.

I shook my head. “Tanner.”

“Tommy.”

“Eugene.”

She scrunched up her nose. “Hard no.”

I lifted a hand, about to brush the hair at her temples with my fingertips. But her eyes clocked the movement, and I couldn’t tell if it was wariness in her gaze or panic.

My arm crashed into my side. I was about to step away, to busy myself with setting places at the table, when her hand shot out toward my side, latching onto the fabric of my shirt.

She balled it into her fist and held tight. “Rush. We’re not friends.”

The air rushed from my lungs. “Thank fuck.”

“You are petrifying,” she whispered.

“I’m just me.” I lifted the same arm, and this time I didn’t stop until my fingers were in her hair.

“Just you?” She let out a dry laugh. “Rush Ramsey. Quarterback of the Wildcats football team. Smart. Funny. Gorgeous. Every girl’s dream. Put yourself in my shoes. It’s terrifying.”

“Is that why you haven’t kissed me? Because you’re scared?”

She nodded. “I never want you to feel stuck with me. I never want you to feel trapped. If you go to the NFL, you’ll have so many⁠—”

“Don’t say options.”

She gave me a sad smile. “You’re out of my league, Rush.”

My league? Did she not think she was good enough?

All this time, I’d been trying to prove myself to her. To prove that I was loyal, despite my past mistakes. Prove that I would be around for her to lean on. But her mother, her ex and her epic losing streak really had done a number on her confidence.

“There is no league,” I said.

“We both know that’s not the type of world we live in. I don’t want to be the woman on the big screen and have spectators wonder what the hell you’re doing with me.”

It was the most raw, real confession I’d ever heard. It hit so hard that it rocked me on my heels. Not because it was right. Because she was so fucking wrong.

“If there wasn’t a Squish, I would want you.”

“Rush—”

“Just listen for a minute, okay?” I dropped my fingers from her hair to her mouth. “I don’t know how to make you see what I see. I don’t know how to convince you that you’re the most beautiful, snarky, smart, caring, spitfire of a woman I’ve ever met.”

Not a single one of those words sank in. I could practically see them bounce off her ears.

Practice. We needed practice. Until those words were as second nature to her as the plays in my playbook.

Dad had always taught me with baseball analogies. Faye was going to get football parallels instead.

“The NFL draft is all about picks. You’re my pick.”

All she had to do was pick me back.

Her eyes searched mine, maybe for permission. She wasn’t used to doing anything for herself, was she? She’d bend over backward to give her sister cash or wait tables for Dusty or let me chase my dreams while she stayed behind.

She wrapped her hand around my wrist, tugging my fingers free from her lips. She swallowed hard.

Then she lifted up on her toes.

It was only an inch, but I got the message.

I bent, about to crush my mouth to hers.

Except the front door flew open and Maverick stormed inside.

Faye lowered to her heels and let go of my shirt.

Well, fuck. I dragged a hand over my face, leaving my palm over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream. So close. And so far away. One step forward, two back.

Mav slammed the front door so hard Faye jumped.

“Maverick,” I barked.

“Don’t.” He held up a hand as he marched through the house. He was supposed to be at his parents’ place all weekend. The only reason he’d come here was if something bad had happened.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“My mom has cancer.” He dropped that bomb as he breezed past the kitchen, not sparing me or Faye a glance. Then he slammed the door to his bedroom too.

Faye gasped.

“Oh shit.” I raked a hand through my hair.

His mom, Meredith, was one of the nicest people I’d ever met. He’d mentioned a while ago that she hadn’t been feeling well, but I’d assumed it was just a cold or flu bug. Cancer?

“You should go check on him,” Faye said.

“Yeah. Don’t wait on me to eat.”

“Okay.”

So much for Thanksgiving.

By the time I left Maverick’s room, hours had passed. He’d told me all about Meredith’s diagnosis, that she wasn’t just sick, but dying. And for the first time in my life, I’d watched my best friend cry.

I walked through the spotless kitchen and opened the fridge, finding the leftovers inside. Except my appetite was gone, so I shut off the lights and trudged upstairs.

Faye’s room was dark too, so I went to my own and dug out my phone.

“Hey,” Mom answered with a yawn on the third ring. “Everything okay?”

“I love you.”

“Aww. I love you too. Happy Thanksgiving.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Happy Thanksgiving.”