Page 67 of The P*ssy Next Door

He looked right at me and gave me a nod. “Hayes, this is it. Make it count.”

I nodded, my jaw set with determination. This was my moment, my chance to win the game for us, and I was going to push myself to the limit to make it happen.

The ball snapped, and I was off, my legs pumping and my heart pounding. I dodged one defender, then another, turned and looked up, knowing Chris's pass would be right where it should be. I snagged the ball out of the air, my eyes locked on the end zone. I was so close, the roar of the crowd a distant echo in my ears. I saw the big-ass defensive lineman coming for me, but I was so damn close. I cradled the ball against my chest and dove for the endzone.

The hit came just like I knew it would, a bone-crushing tackle, and then came another, and another as we all hit the ground really fucking hard.

The air left my lungs in a rush, my vision blurring at the edges. But even as I ate that grass, I knew I'd made it. I'd crossed the line, the ball clutched tight to my chest.

Touchdown.

The last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me was the bright blue of the Denver sky, a perfect mirror of Willa's eyes.

And then... nothing.

I came to in a haze of pain and confusion, the concerned faces of my brothers swimming into view above me.

“Hayes? Can you hear me?” Chris's voice was tight with worry, his hand gripping mine. Everett was on my other side, waving to the sideline frantically.

But that was the last thing I saw before I lost consciousness again.

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING

WILLA

Isat on my parents' couch, my eyes glued to the TV screen as the Mustangs took the field again. The familiar sight of Hayes in his dark blue home uniform sent a pang through my chest, because I should fucking be there.

But instead, I was here, trapped in a stuffy living room with my mother, grandfather, and Xander, all because they'd guilt-tripped me into staying for some “quality family time.” If quality time meant no one even talking to each other and the occasional cheers and boos at the television, yeah, then that's what we were having.

I couldn't even imagine what I'd missed by not hanging out with his family today. They would have at least talked to me. Some of them might have even been happy to see me.

God, I missed my Guncles. They'd been the best thing about this family for years, and while I had no idea what was going to happen to this weird new life I'd carved out over the past few months when they came home to their coffee shop and house, I'd much rather claim them as family than anyone in this room.

I tried to focus on the game, on the way Hayes moved with such grace and power, but my mind kept drifting to our last conversation, to the way he'd been worried for me. He'd called it when he said I needed to break free from the way my family's expectations weighed heavy on me. Today demonstrated that more than anything else ever could.

The thing was, I had been free. Living abroad and only coming home for one visit a year had given me the space to be who I was, not the version of Willa they all expected from me. I didn't regret volunteering to help George and Liam, but I wished I'd... I didn't even know, maybe remembered who I was when I wasn't around the rest of the Rosemounts all the time.

I really needed to get out of Denver.

The commercial break ended, and the game came back on. At least I actually cared about the outcome for once, and that gave me something to pay attention to. This one was a nail-biter, the score tied and the clock ticking down. I leaned forward, my heart in my throat as I watched Hayes catch the ball, his legs pumping as he raced toward the end zone.

A defender came right at Hayes, slamming him into the ground. How he did that every day and got back up so easily was beyond me. I watched and waited while the entire Cleveland Dawgs defense that had piled on him slowly got up.

And there was Hayes, still clutching the ball to his chest. The announcer declared the touchdown, but I barely heard him.

Hayes wasn't getting up. He wasn't even moving.

“No,” I whispered, my hand flying to my mouth. “No, no, no.”

Chris and Everett jogged over to him, and Chris knelt beside him while Everett frantically motioned to the sideline for the medical personnel to hurry over to them.

The stadium that had erupted into cheers went deadly silent.

The announcer's voice was grim as he relayed the news. “It looks like the booth is calling a medical timeout, folks. And from what we can see, the staff are calling for the stretcher and the cart. Looks like they're going to skip the med tent evaluation altogether and take Kingman straight to the locker room.”

A second announcer said the last thing I wanted to hear. “That could indicate a serious injury. The League's concussion protocol states that if a player loses consciousness they have to?—”

I was on my feet before I even realized I was moving, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm in my chest.