Page 23 of Broken Saint
He had her first.
The reality of the situation is that if it weren’t for him, then I might never have met Ella. Yes, she was a jersey chaser at Maddison. But she wasn’t a shameless one who whored herself through the entire team.
She dated Sawyer her freshman year, and she’d often be hanging out with us. It shouldn’t have bothered me. The guys fucked and dated girls every day of the week. But from the first moment I laid eyes on her, I knew there was something different about her. Something that intrigued me, something that stopped me from looking the other way and allowing them to embark on their relationship like I would have done any other member of the team.
But it was her. And. I couldn’t. Fucking. Forget. About. Her.
And the situation hadn’t gotten any better when they finally broke up.
I needed her so fucking bad at that point that bro code had long been forgotten. So when she turned up to the first football party of the season of her sophomore year, there was only one thing on my mind.
Fuck her and get her out of my system.
I was convinced that I’d get my fill and then I could move on with my life.
I almost bark out a laugh at how fucking ridiculous that hope was.
Even now, years down the line and on the entirely opposite side of the fucking country, she’s still up in my head.
Once wasn’t enough to get her out of my system. Neither was any of the other times we were together after that.
The last time I saw her was the day she and my brother—one of her best friends—graduated.
I’d done my first season here as a Saint by then, but I promised West and Dad that I’d be there just like he was for me.
Seeing her again shouldn’t have affected me. But from the second my eyes landed on her, I felt that pull again. The one I hoped I’d severed. But it didn’t matter how many women I fucked my rookie year; my mind always took me back to her.
When I returned to Seattle after that weekend, I told myself that I was done. I had no desire to embark on any kind of relationship with her or anyone. I had a job to do here. One I’d spent my entire life dreaming about and working toward.
I went into my second season as a Saint with a clear head and one focus in mind. Winning. My life was on the field, and that was all I needed to think about. Women were nothing more than a relief.
And it’s worked. Until recently, when the charm seems to have vanished at the prospect of spending a few hours with nameless, faceless jersey chasers.
For whatever reason, thoughts of her, of our past, have started to worm their way back in. And having Sawyer fucking Cooper standing in front of me is the exact reminder I don’t need right now.
Our season has been good so far, but the Bulls have proved more than once that they have the skills and determination to derail us.
I need to be focused, to be thinking about the hours and hours of film we’ve watched in preparation for our first Monday night game of the season.
We’re going to have all eyes on us tonight, and we need to prove we’re good enough to take it all the way this year. We need the playoffs. We need the fucking Super Bowl.
We’re ready for it; I know we are. It’s in our grasp. All we’ve got to do is fucking take it.
“Ready?” Luca asks, dragging me from my musings, and when I look up, I find Sawyer has vanished and he and Kane are staring at me like I’ve just sprouted an extra head.
“What?” I bark when they both begin to smirk.
“I can’t believe he still gets to you, man,” Luca says, throwing his arm around my shoulder, leading me toward our locker room so we can get ready.
“He doesn’t,” I argue, but it’s weak at best.
“Whatever you say, man,” Kane adds.
“Did you hear the ego on him? They might have fucked us over last year, but they didn’t even make the playoffs.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s his ego you have an issue with.”
“He’s a prick.”