It’s Always Us (Abandoned Brothers #3)

Prologue

MARK

Eight Years Ago

I scan right and then left. “Roscoe thirty-five! Roscoe thirty-five! Hut! Hut!”

The ball hits my hands, and I jog back. One, two, three steps. My eyes roam. Wait for it. Wait for it.

I dodge a defensive end diving for me, slipping to the right. My heart pounds its steady beat, bumping against my ribs, my adrenaline soaring to the highest level.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It’s all I hear.

Wait for it.

I sprint forward and scan. There it is.

I pull my arm back and thrust it forward, releasing the ball into the air. I watch it fly.

My hands round into fists, tracking its path. The ball spirals toward its target and . . . drops right in. The crowd roars, and it kicks my lungs back into rhythm.

I flex my arms, squeezing them together. I did it! My team charges me in crazed elation, their hands smacking my helmet and hitting my pads.

I jog off the field, letting our kicker take his place as more teammates and coaches reward me with praise. Only thirty-four seconds between me and winning the first game of my college career .

I pull my helmet off and stand with my team, watching the ball fly through the goalposts. Fans erupt again, but their loud chorus doesn’t quiet this time.

I take a seat on the bench, resting my forearms on my knees. I did it. I made it . . . just like she said I could.

I push up, turning my back to the field. My eyes drift over the stands, section by section, searching. A burning ache erupts in my chest, wanting to believe she’s here somewhere.

“Let’s go, Sandberg!” I’m tugged from behind back toward the field and the reminder that this is the only thing I have left, but my eyes won’t leave the crowd, needing her to be here—proof that I wasn’t wrong.

I join my team and the chaos in the middle of the field, trying again to force myself to let go of what was and focus on what is. All there is left for me. This. This game, these guys, and to continue to prove I’m worthy of being here.

“Nothing but ‘W’s’ this season!” someone hollers, gripping my pads.

I shake hands with the other team, talk to reporters, and then join my team in the locker room. Everything moves fast, but my mind is stuck somewhere far away.

I’ve worked so hard, and it paid off, but the one I need is gone. Vanished. She just disappeared.

I tug on a shirt, and a hand lands on my shoulder.

“Come on, man. We’re hittin’ the pub for some grub,” Higgins says.

“I’m not—”

His arm slides around my shoulders, steering me in the direction of the after-party. “Nah, you’re coming. This is just the beginning, Sandberg. You better remember me when you’re at the top.”

It’s dark and late when I fall onto the edge of my bed in my tiny dorm room. Two hours of constant noise, replays, and plans for the season ahead, but I heard none of it. My mind was lost in what used to be and the place I want to be again.

I rest my arms on my knees and run a hand over my face. How could I have been so wrong?

I pull my phone from my pocket and stare at the screen. Her name calls to me, but my gut pinches tight, warning me of what will happen if I tap her name. The same thing that’s happened since I said goodbye. But what if . . .

I close my eyes, still able to feel her lips on mine as she told me she’d see me soon. Her eyes and mouth delivering the promise.

I need to hear her voice one more time. To know she was real. That what we had wasn’t only my imagination.

I tap her name.

The phone number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.

I grip my phone, wanting it and the hope it holds to crumble into a million pieces. I check the time. 12:42 a.m.

My finger taps the second number. It rings and rings and rings. Over and over again.

I end the call, giving up. I want to banish her from my mind and what I thought we had. What I knew we had. The only thing I thought was mine and always would be. The only love I’ve ever known. But it wasn’t real.

I reach for the mini-fridge and pull a can from the door. The tab cracks and hisses, and I take a long, slow drink. The cold liquid soothes my thick throat, but I need it to numb my heart and mind.

I guzzle the last of it and pull another, seeking quick relief. I tap her name again. The same automated message plays again and again. I pop another tab and lie back, staring at the ceiling as everything starts to dull into a tolerable haze. I float. Anger and frustration lift as hope settles in to take its place.

I wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t a lie. It couldn’t have been.

I see her face. Her blue eyes. Her gentle smile. Her faith in me.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight as my world spins. Her words surround me.

“I’ll see you soon.”