The Wrong Play: A Football Romance (The Wrong Player Series Book 2)
The Wrong Play: Chapter 24

I couldn’t stop the smile stretched across my face. It seemed like it was a permanent piece of me for the last week, ever since I’d moved in with Jace and discovered…life could actually be fun.

I was sitting in class, waiting for our professor to appear, when a text came in.

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips despite myself. I was going to ignore that comment…I didn’t need to be getting horny when class was about to start.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. But, of course…I didn’t tell him to stop.

I was past the point of wanting him to.

I shook my head, trying to ignore the warmth curling low in my stomach. I needed to focus.

The professor still wasn’t here yet, but the lecture hall was already buzzing. Students filled the seats around me, pulling out laptops, flipping through notebooks, and leaning across tables to whisper. Some of them weren’t even trying to be discreet.

I caught the sideways glances. The murmurs just low enough to be obvious.

Jace.

His name threaded through the air like static electricity, sparking in snippets I tried to ignore but couldn’t quite escape.

I was getting used to the stares. The rumors. The fact that half these people probably had an opinion about me, one way or another.

That was the price I paid for dating someone who was a campus celebrity, though.

Good thing he was worth it.

I glanced at my phone to see what else Jace had sent, and then it happened.

A voice sliced through the chatter, deep, smooth, and rich with authority.

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

My entire body locked up. Every muscle in me turned rigid, my fingers turning ice cold where they gripped my pen.

No.

No, no, no, no.

That voice.

The voice that had once whispered in my ear, wrapping around me like silk, like chains. The voice that had slithered through my nightmares long after I thought I had escaped.

A sound I would know anywhere, no matter how much time had passed.

I turned my head toward the front of the room slowly, dread thickening like tar in my veins.

My stomach dropped into a bottomless, black pit of nothingness.

Callum.

Standing at the front of the lecture hall like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just stolen the air from my lungs.

The world around me tilted, my vision blurring at the edges. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real.

But the room hadn’t changed. The lecture hall was still packed with students—laughing and murmuring, completely oblivious to the chaos ripping through me.

“Wait, who is that?” someone whispered from a few seats over.

“Why do we have a new professor halfway through the term?”

“Does anyone know anything about him?”

“Well, damn,” a girl behind me murmured. “If all historians looked like that, I might actually pay attention.”

A few quiet chuckles followed.

They didn’t know.

None of them had any idea.

They just saw a polished, well-dressed professor, standing with effortless confidence, sharp in his suit and refined in his posture. They saw someone intelligent. Someone impressive. Someone who had stepped into this room like he owned it.

But me?

I saw a monster in a tailored suit.

Callum adjusted his cuffs, smoothed down his tie, exuding effortless confidence. His blue eyes swept over the room, casual, indifferent—until they landed on mine.

And he smiled.

A private little smirk.

Like a secret only we knew.

Like he hadn’t just destroyed me all over again.

I barely registered the students around me, I didn’t hear their murmurs or the scrape of chairs as people settled in. All I could hear was the blood roaring in my ears, the thunderous pound of my pulse. Every instinct in my body was screaming at me to get up and leave before he spoke another word. Before his voice wrapped around my throat like a noose.

But I couldn’t move.

I was paralyzed, locked in place as Callum took his time scanning the room. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Professor Callum Westwood,” he said, his voice settling over the lecture hall like dread incarnate. “I apologize for the sudden change in your syllabus, but I will be filling in as your professor for the remainder of the semester. It is my hope that we’ll have an intellectually stimulating experience together.”

A few murmurs rippled through the students, but he continued, unbothered.

“I’m sure some of you have questions, but rather than waste time on introductions, let’s jump right in.”

Bile rose in my throat.

“History,” he began, his voice calm, deliberate, “is not simply a collection of dates and wars. It is a record of power—who seizes it, who wields it, and who is left in their wake.”

“You see,” he mused, locking eyes with me for just a fraction of a second before moving on. “Throughout history, there have been individuals who do not wait for permission to take what they desire. They do not waste time on trivial concerns like morality or rules set by those weaker than them.”

I curled my fingers into my palms, my nails biting into my skin.

“Consider Alexander the Great,” Callum continued, pacing in front of the room. “A man who carved an empire with his bare hands. A man who didn’t stop because someone told him no. Who didn’t hesitate because an obstacle was in his way. He saw what he wanted. And he took it.”

A chill ran down my spine.

I knew what this was.

He wasn’t talking about history.

He was talking about us.

He was talking about me.

“In the end, history does not remember those who hesitate. Those who cower, who run. No, history remembers the ones who act. The ones who do whatever it takes to ensure that what belongs to them…” He paused, his eyes coming back to mine. “Stays with them.”

The air around me turned suffocating. I wanted to run.

I needed to run.

But I couldn’t.

I was stuck, trapped beneath the weight of his words, of his eyes, of the knowledge that he was standing here, right in front of me, and there was nowhere to hide.

He had found me.

He was never going to let me go.

The class murmured in interest, some nodding in agreement, completely oblivious to the deeper meanings in his words.

“Some people…” He went on, tone casual, almost conversational. “Think they can escape their past. They think they can rewrite their own story. But history…well. History has a way of catching up to you. Doesn’t it?”

A few students shifted, glancing around like they sensed the tension but couldn’t place it.

He turned, slowly pacing, his voice dipping lower. “And in the end, the only thing that matters is this—who is willing to do whatever it takes to win?”

He stopped and looked at me.

“Because those are the ones who always do.”

A memory flashed through my head.

His fingers tightened around my throat.

I gasped, my nails clawing at his wrist, but his grip only tightened—cutting off the little air I had left.

“Shh,” Callum murmured, smiling down at me. Like this was normal. Like this was just another lesson in how to please him.

Like it didn’t feel like he was killing me.

My vision blurred at the edges. Tears spilled down my cheeks. I tried to shake my head, to get some air, but he just tilted his head, watching me like I was fascinating.

His other hand cupped my jaw, thumb stroking my cheek as he pressed me into the mattress. “Look at you,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “So desperate.”

I choked. My body convulsed, instinct screaming at me to fight.

But I didn’t.

Because I had learned by then.

Fighting only made him squeeze harder.

I forced my body to go still, forced myself to surrender.

And just like that, he loosened his grip.

Air rushed into my lungs so fast it burned.

My chest heaved, a violent sob tearing out of my throat, but Callum only sighed, brushing a hand over my damp cheek.

“There you go,” he murmured. “That’s better.”

I jerked back to reality, breath coming fast and shallow as I tried to remind myself I wasn’t there. I wasn’t his anymore.

But it didn’t matter.

Because he was here. Standing at the podium. Watching me.

The rest of the lecture blurred together, my brain barely processing anything but him. Every word he spoke was laced with meaning only I could decipher. Every glance my way felt like a warning.

By the time the hour was up, my pulse was a wreck.

The second he dismissed us, I shoved my notebook into my bag, keeping my head down as I practically ran for the exit.

I was so close.

Just a few more steps and⁠—

“Riley.”

My stomach dropped, and I froze.

I turned slowly, my legs numb. The last few students passed by, oblivious to the way my entire body had gone rigid, like prey caught in a trap.

The door clicked shut, and I was alone with him.

He leaned against the desk, casual, like this wasn’t some twisted nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. His suit was crisp, dark navy, the sleeves perfectly fitted to his frame. The gold of his cufflinks glinted beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, his wedding band gone, like he never even had one. Like his wife’s existence had never mattered.

Like I was the only thing that had ever mattered.

“It’s been a long time, darling.”

The sound of that word—the way it slithered off his tongue, snaking around me, tightening with every syllable—sent a hollow weight sinking deep in my veins.

I swallowed, my nails digging into my palm. “Don’t call me that.”

His lips twitched, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. “You always hated when I called you that. And yet…” He tilted his head, eyes raking over me, soaking me in like he was remembering every inch of me.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “It’s been just a few months, and yet you look like you’ve changed…like you’ve grown up.”

He looked a little disappointed by that and bile was in my throat again.

His gaze flicked to my bag, my fingers curled so tightly around the strap that my knuckles had gone white. “Running off already?” He pushed off the desk, closing the distance between us with lazy, confident strides. “That’s disappointing. I really thought you were going to want to catch up.”

I stepped back, and he smiled.

A slow, knowing smirk. Like he could see inside of me. Like he could still reach into my chest and twist his fingers around my heart, my throat, my everything.

Callum’s voice curled through the air, low and smooth and terrible. “Stay,” he said softly, like it was a request, but I knew better. It was a command.

The word slid down my spine like ice, every muscle in my body locking up. His tone was too familiar, too calculated—the same one that had whispered in my ear in dark rooms, had slithered into my bones until I didn’t know where I ended and he began.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore.

I forced myself to breathe, to push past the way my skin prickled under his gaze. “I don’t want to stay.” My voice wasn’t as strong as I wanted it to be, but it was steady. It was mine.

Callum tilted his head, his smirk lazy, indulgent—like he was already two moves ahead of me in a game I didn’t even want to play. “Yet here you are,” he mused.

I hated him.

I hated how easily he made me doubt myself.

I hated that even now, after everything, after running, after starting over, some part of me still tensed like I was waiting for his approval.

He reached for me, a slow, deliberate movement, and I flinched before I could stop myself, jerking back like his fingers were fire and I’d been burned one too many times.

A flicker of something crossed his face—dark amusement laced with something sharper, something colder. And then he laughed, soft and condescending, his eyes drinking in every inch of my reaction.

“Still so jumpy,” he murmured, lowering his hand, but not before I saw the cruel edge in his gaze. “I’d almost think you were afraid of me.”

The breath in my lungs turned stale, every fiber of my being screaming at me to get out, to put as much distance between us as possible.

“Why are you here?” My voice wavered, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

He leaned in just enough that his scent hit me—cedarwood and leather. The same cologne, the same intoxicating mix of power and poison that used to cling to my sheets, my clothes, my skin.

The past came rushing back so fast it stole my breath.

“You think you can leave me, darling?” His voice echoed in my skull, a ghost of another time, another place. “You think you can run?”

I blinked hard, yanking myself out of the memory, forcing air into my lungs as he hummed, watching me with that same calculating stare. “I suppose you could say…I missed you.” He exhaled, feigning wistfulness. “I was so distraught after you left, I could hardly function.”

A shudder raked through me, bile rising seemingly higher in my throat.

“That’s not true,” I whispered.

“No?” His smirk deepened. “I did tell you that you’d never get away from me.”

His voice was almost gentle now, like he was soothing a skittish animal. “Tell me, Riley. Did you really think I wouldn’t replace you?” His eyes softened just enough to make it worse. “Did you really think some state school and a different city would make you disappear?”

My stomach twisted into knots, the air between us turning suffocating.

He took another slow step forward, his voice dipping into something quieter, something laced with dark amusement. “Imagine my surprise when I turned on ESPN…” He sighed, like he was recounting a fond memory. “And there you were. Headlining.” His eyes darkened, glinting with something possessive. “All over the screen. All over him.”

The shift was subtle, but I felt it. The barely-there clench of his jaw. The faint edge creeping into his voice as he said, “That boy.”

Jace.

My stomach dropped.

Callum didn’t say Jace’s name. He didn’t have to. The disdain, the warning—it was all there.

“Riley,” he murmured, lifting his hand as if to touch me again, trailing his fingers just beneath my chin before I yanked my head away.

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes flashed. A glint of something wicked.

He was enjoying this. Enjoying my fear. “I’m divorcing her.”

My eyes widened in surprise, feeling the pure threat. Because if he did that, he would have even more freedom to come after me. To try and trap me.

Without living his double life with his wife.

I swallowed hard, my voice shaking. “You don’t belong here.”

He smiled then—the kind of smile that could kill. “I’m not so sure about that.”

I forced myself to stand still, to breathe, even as my chest ached with the effort.

He took a step back, like he’d had his fun, like he’d already won. “Stay away from me,” I managed to grit out.

His smile widened, condescending, patient. “Oh, Riley…” He shook his head, sighing like he was disappointed in me, like I was being difficult.

And then, just as I turned to leave, his voice caught me like a hook sinking into my ribs.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

I nearly stumbled.

But I didn’t look back.

I forced one foot in front of the other, made my way to the door, my breath uneven, my hands shaking.

I didn’t run.

Even though everything in me was screaming to.

By the time my shift at the coffee shop ended, my entire body ached, but not from exhaustion. Not from the hours spent on my feet or the countless cups of burnt espresso I’d poured.

No, the ache was deeper. Heavier.

Callum had found me.

And I had to pretend like everything was fine.

I walked into Jace’s house and tried to breathe. The air smelled warm and familiar—faint traces of his cologne in the air.

Safe.

I wanted to sink into it, let it wrap around me, pretend the day hadn’t happened.

Jace was in the kitchen, as usual, because I’d learned that he couldn’t exist for more than a few minutes without food, and I took a deep breath before walking into the room.

He didn’t say anything for a second. Just stood there, eyes flicking over me, assessing. Then, without a single ounce of warning⁠—

“That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.”

Before I could even process what was happening, he lunged across the kitchen, grabbing me by the waist and hauling me up into his arms like some kind of dramatic movie hero. A very dramatic, very unhinged movie hero.

I squeaked, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck as he spun us in a circle, my hair whipping into my face. “Jace!”

“I missed you,” he groaned, squeezing me tighter, like he was physically incapable of functioning without having me in his orbit. “It was so tragic. So painful. I think I might have withered away from sheer heartbreak. Did you even think about me today? Did you even mourn my absence?”

I huffed out a laugh, trying to wriggle free, but his grip was ironclad. “I was in class and then work, you lunatic.”

He gasps. “Even worse! You left me to fend for myself. What if I had perished from neglect?”

I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks ached from smiling. “You were at practice, Thatcher.”

He ignored me, setting me down just long enough to grab my face between both of his hands, his thumbs brushing my cheeks like I was some delicate, tragic thing. “I’ve come to a decision.” His voice dropped, solemn and serious. “You should carry me around in your pocket. Just—fold me up, shove me in there, and keep me close at all times. That way, we’ll never have to be apart again.”

I stared at him, deadpan. “You are six-foot-four, Jace.”

He waved that off. “And yet, I believe in you. I believe in us.”

I laughed, shaking my head, but he just wrapped his arms around me again, pulling me into his chest, his chin resting on the top of my head like he had no plans of letting go.

“Missed you, Riley-girl,” he murmured, his voice softer now, still playful but edged with something real.

I swallowed hard, trying not to cry as I pressed my cheek against his chest, letting myself sink into him for just a second. “Missed you, too.”

And for just a moment, I let myself pretend it was that simple.

“I’ve got a new one today,” he said, still holding me close as he grabbed a cookie from the counter and started munching it. I snorted as a crumb fell on my nose.

“What is it?” I asked, trying to force a grin across my mouth.

“What do you call a man with a two-inch penis?”

I blinked, trying to think of what the answer could possibly be. “I have absolutely no idea,” I told him, shaking my head as another cookie crumb fell on my face.

“Just-in,” Jace said proudly.

It took me a second, and then a strange cackle came from my mouth.

“See, you have a much better sense of humor than Parker and Matty. I need to have a talk with them about how much they’ve slipped in the per se rankings lately.”

I forced a smile as he pulled me back so we could look at each other. “Yeah, you better get on that,” I told him softly, trying to keep that smile on my lips.

His brows drew together as he studied my face. “Riley.” His voice was careful, his eyes running over me like he was cataloging every inch, every flicker of something off.

“Yes, Jace.”

“What’s wrong?”

I opened my mouth, hesitating while I tried to think of what to say.

“It was just a long day at work. I swear the entire freshman class of UT came in for caramel macchiatos all at once.” I exhaled a laugh like it was funny, like it was normal. Like I hadn’t spent the last three hours gripping the counter so hard my nails had nearly splintered, Callum’s words replaying in my head over and over like a curse.

Jace didn’t look convinced. His gaze lingered, his jaw ticking slightly.

“Yeah?” He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “You sure that’s all?”

I nodded too fast. “Yep. Just tired.”

He didn’t say anything. Just watched me.

And I felt it.

Felt his gaze on me all evening.

Through dinner, when I barely ate. Through the movie we half-watched, when I curled into his side, pretending that the warmth of his body was enough to keep the cold fear at bay. Through every tiny moment where I felt my mind drifting, my fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie, needing something solid to hold onto.

Because if Jace knew⁠—

If he knew that Callum was here, that he was watching, waiting, already sinking his claws in—if he knew that Callum had been as old as my father…and married…

Would he still look at me the same way?

Or would he see me as something broken?

As something ruined?

I pressed closer to him, breathing in his scent, feeling the solid warmth of him under my fingertips.

Jace Thatcher was a lot of things—reckless, cocky, infuriatingly overconfident.

But he was also safe.

And if I could pretend—just for tonight—maybe I could let myself believe that safety was real. That I could have this, even if only for a little while.

So, I smiled when he kissed my temple. Laughed at something Matty said from the other room. Forced my body to relax even as the fear coiled deep inside me, whispering what I already knew.

Jace wouldn’t just let this go.

And when he found out the truth⁠—

I wasn’t sure if he’d still want me at all.