Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 20 TRISTAN

Tessa’s waiting in her front window a little before six when I head out to the truck. It’s a brisk thirty-seven degrees—warmer than it has been in the mornings, and I’m thinking we might be able to get out to the field this morning to run some practice drills.

I didn’t sleep well last night—not after our chat about history. I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened immediately after she left town. It was all wrong. It wasn’t meant to happen the way it did. It scarred me, and it’s something I need to keep left in the past.

It’s better this way. We both made mistakes. We both have secrets. It’s better to just leave the past behind us.

Still, though. I don’t trust the person it involves, and I feel like the truth will eventually emerge anyway. It always does, and I should be the one to tell her…but just as she’s holding onto some secrets, I guess I am, too.

Her arms are crossed over her chest as she walks out her door when she spots me. She hops right into the truck, rubbing her own arms for warmth. I fire up the engine and blast the heat.

“Cold?” I ask.

“You made me leave my warm bed way too early for these frigid temps,” she whines, and I laugh.

“I’ll spring for a coffee later for you. The market now serves Starbucks, you know.” What I really want to say is some inuendo about how I could’ve made her bed even warmer, but I lay off the flirting. We keep getting close to the line and nearly crossing it, and I know how she feels about the fact that I’m married—despite the truth of that marriage. I won’t push her into something she’s not comfortable with, but I can’t pretend like I don’t love spending time with her.

She giggles. “Thanks. I’ll be okay.”

If it wasn’t thirty-seven degrees and she didn’t look like she was freezing, I probably would have asked if she wanted to walk. We always used to walk to school together when we could. There were a lot of days we couldn’t—when I had early morning workouts or after school practice. The school is less than a mile from our street, and I remember walking with her was always a nice way to center myself at the start of the day.

Because that’s what she represents to me. She centered me. She helped me find balance in the chaos. She never asked me for a single damn thing, and yet I was willing to give it all to her.

I shake off the memories, and she lets off a soft chuckle as we pull into the parking lot.

“Gosh, this takes me back,” she says, staring at the building. We parked here not so long ago—on our first night back in town, but we’ve grown closer since then.

“Wait until you get inside,” I say, and I cut the engine. We walk into the weight room, and we’re among the first to arrive. Coach Beatty is talking to two boys I recognize from the other times I’ve been in here since I’ve been home.

“Good morning,” he says, and his eyes edge over to Tessa. “Tessa Taylor. Our number one fan,” he teases, and we all get a good laugh as she moves over to give him a hug. He used to always tease her about being the Falcons’ number one fan since she and I were always together. She even joined the cheerleading squad despite the fact that cheer wasn’t really in her repertoire just so she could ensure she’d be able to attend all my games.

God, I loved her back then. And now…I’m falling for her all over again.

“You want to run some sprint drills?” I ask Coach.

He glances at his watch. “Thirty-eight now…should be okay. You think?”

I tell Coach what my trainers have told me. “Cold weather is hard on muscles but great on endurance, so as long as we get in a good warm-up, we’ll be fine.”

Coach nods as more boys start to file into the room. I hear my name whispered among them, and they seem to stand a little taller, more at attention when they spot me. It’s not the circus my public appearances tend to make, but it’s something different. Some level of respect indifferent teenage boys tend to lack mixed with an admiration for my accomplishments they tend not to admit to.

Tessa takes it all in beside me, and that’s when I remember why I invited her along with me this morning.

“Can we talk to you about the festival while the boys warm up?” I ask Coach.

He nods and barks out some warm-up orders to the kids in the room, and the three of us move over toward his office for a private conversation. “What’s going on?”

“We were wondering if we could tap your boys to help with some of the event set-up and tear down,” I say.

“Things like tables and chairs, booths, tents,” Tessa adds. “We’ll need loads of volunteers once the police block off Main Street.”

“Of course,” Coach says. “I’m always looking for ways to get the team to give back. I can have twenty or thirty kids at your disposal so long as you’re willing to sign off on volunteer hours. Deal?”

We both nod and say, “Deal,” at the same time.

We hammer out some of the details, and then Coach needs to get back to his boys.

“Anyone want to run some sprint drills today?” he asks the boys, and there’s a series of moans throughout the room. “Okay, okay. But what if Tristan ran them with you?”

“Sprints help with speed and agility,” I say. “Two must haves if you want to continue beyond the high school level. So don’t think of them as torture. Think of how they’re improving your performance. A tiny little mindset shift like that completely changes your perspective.”

I glance over at Tessa, and she’s watching me carefully. I spot something in her eyes—heat, maybe, or some sort of appreciation for the things I’m telling these boys.

“Let’s go!” Jacob, one of the senior team captains, says, and his battle cry combined with my words seems to send a spark through the room.

Coach leads the boys out to the practice field. Tessa stands near Coach while I run the first drill.

“Let’s start easy,” I call out to the boys. “Two ten-yard sprints with a ten second rest in between, and then two twenty-yard sprints with a twenty second rest in between. Fast as you can with the mindset shift we talked about in the weight room.” I line up on the line with them. “Ready? Go!” I yell, and I take off for the ten-yard line. I arrive first—not shocking given my training—but these boys are close behind. It’s only ten yards, after all. I count to ten and yell, “Go!” and we all race back to the end zone where we started.

We run to the twenty, break, and run back. The boys are fired up now, so we run to the thirty, rest thirty, and head back. We run to the forty, rest thirty again, and run back. I’m hitting my stride, feeling pretty damn good about being back on this field and stretching my legs despite the cold.

It’s on the way to the fifty when I feel it…a little pop at the back of my thigh. I’ve felt it before, but this one feels a little more severe.

I drop down to the ground as I clutch my hamstring.

Fuck .

Not again.