The Wrong Play: A Football Romance (The Wrong Player Series Book 2)
The Wrong Play: Chapter 16

I pulled my phone from my bag, fingers absentmindedly swiping through my notifications as I waited for Jace to finish up in the locker room. The stadium crowd was thinning, the lingering hum of victory still buzzing in the crisp night air. My cheeks ached from smiling so much, my throat raw from cheering.

For once, I’d let myself enjoy the moment.

But then, my phone dinged. I looked down and my smile dropped. It was an email. From him.

My stomach plummeted, a sharp, ice-cold feeling cutting through the warmth that had been filling my chest just moments before.

The subject line was empty. Just my name.

And the message?

I can’t wait to see you soon.

I stopped breathing.

A ringing noise filled my ears, drowning out the distant cheers and conversations around me. My body went cold, my fingers tightening around my phone so hard I thought the screen might crack.

No.

No, no, no.

I blinked fast, trying to swallow the panic, to shove it down into the deepest part of me where it couldn’t suffocate me, but it was too late.

Because my mind had already cracked open.

And the memories spilled out like poison.

I was crying.

Soft, silent tears streaking down my cheeks as I sat on the edge of his bed, my hands clutching the sheets, gripping the fabric like it could somehow ground me.

“Don’t be like this, Riley,” Callum sighed, his voice laced with exasperation, like I was the one in the wrong. Like I was overreacting.

I wasn’t. I knew that. But he was so good at making me doubt myself.

“You’re hurting my feelings,” he continued, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he crossed the room toward me.

My shoulders hunched automatically. Bracing. For what? I didn’t know.

Maybe for the words that would come next. Maybe for the hands that always followed.

I hated when he was disappointed in me. I hated when I made him upset. I hated that I cared so much.

“You didn’t even try,” he murmured, stopping in front of me. His fingers brushed against my cheek, his nails scraping lightly down my jaw. “You just lay there.”

I flinched.

“I told you I wasn’t in the mood,” I whispered, but my voice was pathetic, breaking on the last word.

“You’re never in the mood.”

His fingers slid lower, wrapping around my throat, not squeezing, just holding. A quiet reminder.

A warning.

“But I always make it good for you, don’t I?” he asked softly, lips tilting in a knowing smirk.

I nodded, because it was easier. Because it was safer. Because I knew if I fought him on this, it would only get worse.

And I didn’t want worse.

I shuddered, snapping back to reality so fast it made my head spin.

The stadium lights suddenly seemed too bright. The air too thick, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake. I squeezed my eyes shut.

I was safe now. I was away from him.

He was still there, though, wasn’t he? In my inbox. In my mind. In the way my body still reacted like he was standing right behind me. I glanced around, almost expecting him to be standing in the crowd, watching.

But of course, he wasn’t.

I sucked in a deep breath, forcing my expression into something neutral. Something that wouldn’t make Jace look too closely and see the cracks.

Just in time.

Because there he was.

His presence crashed into me before I could even prepare for it—arms wrapping around my waist, feet leaving the ground as he spun me in the air like I weighed nothing.

“Helloooo, Riley-girl,” he murmured, grinning up at me as he held me close, my feet still dangling above the pavement. His eyes were so bright, so full of victory and joy and me.

I faked a smile, forcing lightness into my voice as I let my hands tangle in his damp hair. He deserved this—deserved my happiness, my excitement, my unwavering support. Jace had worked for this, bled for this, and the last thing I wanted was for my mess to taint it. So I lifted my chin, let my lips curve just enough, and pretended that the weight in my chest wasn’t pressing down so hard it hurt.

“You were amazing, Thatcher.”

And as he kissed my cheek, murmuring something cocky and sweet against my skin, I clung to the feeling.

To him.

The room was dark except for the faint sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows over the sheets tangled around us. My body still hummed from him, my skin warm where his hands had been. But the afterglow wasn’t enough to chase away the anxiety clawing its way through my chest.

“Riley,” Jace murmured, his voice thick, aching with something deeper than just satisfaction. Love. I could hear it in the way he said my name. Felt it in the way his fingers traced my bare shoulder, slow and reverent.

I blinked, and before I could stop it, a tear slipped down my cheek, hot and unbidden.

Jace noticed immediately. His brows pulled together, concern flickering in his gorgeous brown eyes. He reached up, catching the tear with the pad of his thumb. “Hey,” he whispered. “What’s wrong? Did I⁠—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off, my voice barely above a breath. I shook my head, swallowing past the lump forming in my throat. “You can’t say my name like that.”

He went still, watching me. “Like what?”

“Like you love me.”

Silence stretched between us, thick, heavy. His hand lingered on my cheek, thumb brushing over my skin like he could smooth away the cracks forming inside me. But nothing could smooth them. Nothing could make them go away.

“Riley,” he said again, softer this time, like a prayer, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping between his fingers. “I⁠—”

“No,” I interrupted, my voice breaking. I pulled back, needing space, needing air. “You don’t get to love me, Jace. You don’t understand. Love—real love—it doesn’t save you. It ruins you. It takes everything you have and leaves you bleeding. And I can’t—” My breath hitched, my fingers curling into the sheets. “I can’t watch you bleed for me.”

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t flinch or look away. He just watched me like he was trying to map every fracture, every hidden wound I refused to show.

“Who hurt you?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm.

I closed my eyes. Shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

His jaw tensed. “It matters to me.”

I exhaled, shakily, pressing my palm against my chest as if I could hold in everything threatening to spill out. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Just don’t say my name like that again,” I whispered. “Please.”

Jace swallowed hard, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for me again. Instead, he nodded, though the anguish in his eyes made my chest feel even tighter.

A war raged inside me, screaming at me to take it back. To let myself believe, even for a second, that maybe love wasn’t what I thought it was. That maybe Jace wasn’t like him. But the scars on my soul whispered the truth.

I turned away from him, curling onto my side, staring at the wall as another tear slipped free. I wanted to believe love could be something other than pain. But I knew better.

And Jace deserved better than me.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sound, the soft, steady rhythm of our breathing. My body was exhausted, my mind frayed, and eventually, my eyes drifted shut. But just as I teetered on the edge of sleep, I felt it—his fingers ghosting over my arm, the weight of his presence still wrapped around me like something unshakable.

Then, in the quietest voice, barely more than a breath, he whispered, “Some day, I’m going to say it. And some day, you’re going to believe it.”

I didn’t move, didn’t let him know I was still awake.

But the words slipped into the cracks of my heart, settling deep.