Faking the Play (Hot Mess Harems #2)

34. Amelia

Chapter thirty-four

Amelia

“ C ome on! We’re gonna be late!”

A rush of laughter followed the urgent statement, the sound muffled by my dorm door, but I still felt a pang at their happiness. I didn’t know who they were, but I felt pretty safe betting that they were on their way to tonight’s game. It’d been moved here at the last minute and it was all everyone had been talking about for the past two days. Between that, and word of Jason’s expulsion for cheating getting around, I’d been able to get back to almost the same level of invisibility I’d enjoyed before he blew my world up.

Anonymity suited my mood over these last few weeks, but I couldn’t find it in myself to be grateful about it. My feelings since I’d finished crying that awful day had been pretty muted, but I knew that was because I’d pretty much been walking around in a fog. I’d taken two tests and had absolutely no idea how I’d managed to pass them both with decent grades. The only reason I managed to even make it to all of my classes was because ever since my freshman year, I’d set alerts for all of my classes. By this point every semester, everything pretty much worked on muscle memory.

This malaise had, however, gotten bad enough that I was forced to admit to myself last week that if I still had my TA position, I probably would’ve ended up losing it for screwing up grades or something like that.

When I wasn’t in class, I was pretending to do all of my normal things—things like going to the dining hall and the library, and pretending to study—but in reality, I stared at the pages without really seeing what was in front of me. I knew I needed to snap out of it soon or I’d end up failing this semester and completely screwing up my plans for the future. Considering they were the only bright spot I could see in my future at the moment, I needed them desperately.

What I didn’t need was the reminder of why I felt this way. So far, I’d managed to avoid seeing the guys in person, but all of the football stuff as we approached the playoffs for this new bowl game meant that I couldn’t completely get away from them.

I’d tried to avoid hiding in my dorm room too much, but right now it was the only choice. To my relief, Megan hadn’t been here when I got back from dinner. She’d actually been here very rarely over the last couple weeks, and I assumed that meant she’d been spending her time wherever Jason was now living.

I hadn’t asked and I honestly didn’t care.

I snuggled down deeper into my comforter and stared at my computer screen. I didn’t often work on my laptop while I was in bed, preferring to do that sort of thing at my desk. I did use it in bed when I planned on watching a movie or a show. I told myself that I just wanted to be comfortable today while I worked, but I knew I was lying.

The school’s website televised home games.

I’d managed to keep busy during the last two games, but the pull to watch, to see them again, had only grown until I didn’t think I could resist.

“I just want to see that they’re okay.” I said the words out loud, as if that would make them truer. “If I can see that they’re fine, then I’ll know that I didn’t mean as much to them as I thought. If I can see that they’ve gone back to their normal lives as if our time meant nothing, then I could do the same.”

Even as I heard the words in my own voice, I didn’t believe them.

I wanted to see them because I missed them. I was pissed at them, and a part of me even tried to hate them, but I still missed them. Which made me pissed at myself for not being able to rationalize away what I felt. After all, I’d been with Jason for nearly a year, and it hadn’t taken me very long at all to jump into bed with three other men. I’d barely been in a relationship with those guys—if I could even call it a relationship—but losing them again hurt a thousand times more than Jason’s betrayal.

Dammit. I didn’t want to think about what that meant.

That should’ve been the kick in the ass I needed to not go to the school’s website and navigate to the page where the game would be streamed live. But I was apparently as much a glutton for punishment as I was an idiot, and I found myself staring at the screen only minutes later, searching the crowd for a familiar face.

Well, a familiar name and number, to be more accurate. I couldn’t see anyone’s faces with their helmets on, but I really didn’t need to. Not when I could close my eyes and see every detail.

My heart gave an unsteady thump when Logan jogged out to the center of the field for the coin toss. All his gear made it virtually impossible to read his body language or expression, but I thought he looked tired. Maybe I was reading too much into things, wanting the guys to be as affected as I was, but my mind kept insisting that he didn’t look like the same confident quarterback I’d watched these last few years.

As the game began, I looked for Ethan and Ryan, tracking all three men on and off the field as best I could. I barely paid attention to who had the ball or what the rest of the team did, instead focusing solely on those three figures. Each hit they took had my heart pounding. Every time someone from the other team even ran at them, I held my breath. I’d watched games before and, while I might’ve paid a little more attention to them than other players, worried a little more about them, it had been nothing like this.

My room grew dark as time moved on, but I didn’t get up to turn on any lights. I didn’t get up for anything. I sat, my face bathed in the glowing light of my laptop screen, and tried to will everything to be all right. The longer I watched, however, instead of feeling better, I felt worse. Anxiety gnawed at my stomach, and I found myself biting my thumbnail, something I hadn’t done since my first day of second grade when I worried about being the youngest kid in class.

With less than ten minutes left in the game, I shifted position, groaning as my stiff muscles protested the movement. I took my eyes off the screen for just a second and that was when one of the announcers shouted.

“Wow! Quarterback Logan Carter is sacked in what looks like the hardest hit of the season. Carter doesn’t get tackled often, but he picked the wrong time to hesitate on that throw.”

Blood rushed in my ears as I grabbed my laptop and leaned closer to the screen.

“Okay, now wide receiver Ethan Blake is yelling at the referee. It seems he thinks—and now they’re calling for a trainer because Carter isn’t getting up.”

I watched in horror as men gathered around Logan, taking off his helmet. Pain contorted his face and he reached for his leg. Then Ethan was there, grabbing Logan’s hand, and the grim look on Ethan’s face told me more than any announcer could. This was bad.

“What is Ryan Thompson doing on the field?”

The announcer’s question had the camera cutting away from Logan in time to watch Ryan approach one of the referees. He wasn’t yelling, but I could read the intensity radiating off him.

“It seems like Thompson is taking up where Blake left off. Remember, Blake, Carter, and Thompson grew up together and they’re known for watching each other’s backs not only on the field but off it as well.”

Ryan turned away as the ref jogged over to the other team and started talking to the coach. Even on my small screen, I could see the coach’s face getting red, but the ref didn’t look bothered at all as he motioned for one of the other team’s players to come over.

“Now, we don’t know what’s going on, but it seems like number 44 is being taken out of the game because of how he tackled Carter.” There was a pause, and then the camera cut away to where Logan was being lifted onto a stretcher. “It looks like Logan Carter is being taken off the field. That’s not a good sign. We’ve seen him play hurt before and—”

“What the hell?!”

The other announcer’s curse shocked me, but not as much as what I saw when the camera angle changed, cutting to the sidelines just in time to catch number 44 slamming headfirst into Ryan’s back and the two of them falling to the ground.