The Wrong Play: A Football Romance (The Wrong Player Series Book 2)
The Wrong Play: Chapter 33

I wasn’t sure when I started shaking.

Maybe it was when I first saw the headlines on my phone. Maybe it was when the whispers started floating through campus. Maybe it was when I walked into class, and every single person was either talking about it or reading about it.

Professor Callum Westwood Under Investigation

University Suspends Professor Amidst Scandal

Police Confirm Criminal Charges

I reread the words again and again, my vision blurring, a strange lightness threading through my veins.

It was real. He was actually gone.

I had spent so long suffocating under the weight of him, trapped in a current I could never escape. Whether in person or lurking in the shadows of my mind, he was always there—haunting me, hunting me. His voice had threaded through every quiet moment, his threats slithering into my thoughts, a constant reminder that no matter how far I ran, I’d never be beyond his reach.

He didn’t need to stand beside me to corner me, he had mastered the art of making me feel caged with nothing but a whisper, a glance, the unshakable knowledge that he was watching. Always watching. Always waiting.

But now?

Now, he was the one losing everything.

I covered my mouth with my hands, a sob breaking loose from my throat.

I should have felt relieved.

I should have felt safe.

Instead, I felt overwhelmed.

The pressure, the fear, the suffocating weight I had carried for so long suddenly cracked apart all at once, and the pieces collapsed over me in waves.

I stumbled back, bracing my hands against the table, struggling to catch my breath.

And then…

Warm hands grabbed my waist.

A familiar grip. A solid, immovable force.

Jace.

I barely registered how I got outside, how I was suddenly in his arms, his strong hands cupping my face, tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to look at him.

He was searching my eyes like he could fix me just by holding me.

“Breathe, babycakes.” His voice was low, soothing, but edged with something rougher. “You’re okay.”

I shook my head, another sob escaping. “I—he’s—Jace, he’s⁠—”

“I know.”

His thumb traced the tear sliding down my cheek, and I felt it like a brand.

I let out a broken laugh. “It’s over.”

His jaw clenched tight, but his eyes softened, filled with something deep and aching. “Yeah, Riley-girl. It’s over.”

I grabbed fistfuls of his hoodie, pulling him closer, burying my face against his chest. He was so warm, so solid, his arms wrapping around me, holding me together even as I was falling apart.

I felt his lips press against the top of my head, lingering, like a silent promise.

“You never have to be afraid of him again.”

A fresh wave of tears burned in my throat. “Jace⁠—”

His grip tightened. “Shh. You don’t have to say anything. I got you.”

I pulled back just enough to look at him, really look at him—the strong lines of his face, the way his hair was slightly damp from practice, the shadows under his eyes that told me he had barely slept.

Like he had been watching over me this whole time.

The realization hit me like a punch to the chest.

“Jace.” My voice trembled. “Did you⁠—”

His smirk was slow, smug, and infuriatingly beautiful.

“Did I what, baby?”

I sniffled, narrowing my eyes. “You know what I’m asking.”

He tangled his fingers in my hair, tilting my head back so I was trapped in his gaze.

And then…he smiled.

That dark, knowing, I-would-burn-the-world-down-for-you smile.

“I told you, didn’t I?” His voice was soft, almost teasing. “You’re mine. No one gets to touch what’s mine.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

“Jace.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips over mine, barely a whisper of contact, but it stole every bit of air from my lungs.

I could barely breathe, the heat of him, the sheer intensity of him swallowing me whole.

“Jace,” I whispered, my voice barely more than air, curling into him, drawn to him like gravity itself. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

His chuckle was low and rough, his grip tightening on my hips as he pulled me flush against him. “Good thing you don’t have to.”

I stared up at him, that strange lightness spreading. “You always—” My throat tightened, emotion clawing its way up. “You always take care of me.”

“Damn right, I do,” he murmured, his breath warm against my lips, his eyes dark with something fierce and unshakable.

A half-laugh, half-sob tumbled from my lips. “You can’t just…just erase everything bad in my life.”

His smirk deepened, wicked and sure. “Watch me.”

And then, his lips crashed into mine.

No warning. No hesitation. Just heat, raw, all-consuming, mind-destroying, world-ending heat.

I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his fingers digging into my waist, pressing me back against the wall like he wanted to sink into my bones, like he wanted to mark me from the inside out.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t soft.

It was desperate, possessive…full of every promise he had ever made. And as my knees went weak, as my body melted against his, I didn’t fight it.

I let him catch me.

The room was still bathed in the afterglow of what we’d just done, our breaths still uneven, the heat of Jace’s body pressing against mine as we lay tangled in the sheets. My head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing, anchoring me in the quiet darkness. His fingers lazily traced circles on my bare back, his touch soft, unhurried.

I could have stayed like that forever.

But then I shifted, stretching slightly, and my hand brushed against his ribs.

He flinched.

I froze, my fingers barely skimming his skin. Jace Thatcher was not a man who flinched.

Frowning, and before he could stop me, I lifted myself onto my elbow, peering down at him through the dimness in the room to see if he had some bruise from football that I hadn’t noticed.

His smirk was lazy, satisfied, but his eyes flashed with something almost…nervous.

That should have been my first warning.

“What was that?” I asked, my voice still husky from multiple orgasms and him.

“Nothing.” His grip on my hip tightened slightly, like he was trying to distract me. “Come back here, Riley-girl. I wasn’t done with you yet.”

I narrowed my eyes. He was hiding something.

And when Jace hid something, it usually meant chaos.

I pushed myself up further, shifting the sheets down his body, and that’s when I saw it.

Ink.

Of my name.

Etched onto his ribs like it had belonged there all along.

I sucked in a breath, my heart hammering. “Jace…what the hell is that?”

His lips twitched, but his hand reached for me again, like he knew I was about to freak the hell out.

“Riley, before you⁠—”

“You tattooed my name on your ribs?” I hissed, my palm flattening against the inked skin like I needed to confirm it was real.

And it was.

His skin was still warm from the healing process, slightly raised, the ink fresh. My full name stretched across his ribs in an elegant, bold script, right beneath the edge of his heart.

I gaped at him.

He grinned up at me like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. “I was going to wait until the right moment to show you, but…” He exhaled, cocky and completely unrepentant. “You’re evidently a nosy Nelly, babycakes.”

“Nosy? I’m nosy?” My voice pitched. “Jace, you tattooed my freaking name on your body!”

“Yeah,” he said, completely unbothered, dragging a hand through his messy golden hair. “And?”

I blinked at him. And?

“Jace,” I whispered, my fingers still pressed against the ink. My head was spinning. My heart was pounding. “Why…why your ribs?”

His expression changed, softening just slightly, the teasing smirk giving way to something deeper. His fingers brushed over mine, pressing my palm against his skin like he wanted me to feel the weight of it.

“Because,” he murmured, voice quieter now, rougher. “Your name belongs right here.” He tapped his ribs, just over the ink, just over his heart. “Every breath I take, I want you to be part of it. Every time I move, I want to feel you with me. I don’t want you on my arm where it’ll fade in the sun. I don’t want you on my back where I’ll never see it. I want you here, Riley. Where you can’t be ignored. Where you can’t be erased.”

My chest clenched.

Emotion swelled in my throat, choking me.

I stared down at him, at this ridiculous, reckless, beautiful man who had just branded himself with me.

“You’re insane,” I whispered, because what else could I even say?

Jace smirked. “I think at this point that’s old news.”

I wanted to run my fingers over it. I wanted to trace every line, every curve, to press my lips against the proof that he had made me a part of him—permanent, unshakable, like I was something that could never be erased. I wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry, because Jace had gone and inked me onto his body like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like I had always belonged there. Like I always would.

Like he never had a single doubt about it.

I swallowed hard. “I think this means you’re serious about me, Jace Thatcher.”

His smirk softened, and those eyes—warm brown with flecks of amber catching the light—held me captive. Steady. Unyielding. Certain. Like he already knew how this story ended.

“I told you,” he said simply, “you’re mine.”

I drew in a breath, the kind that felt like it reached the deepest parts of me, stirring places I’d long thought abandoned.

Jace Thatcher.

Fierce and reckless. Unyielding and mine. A storm I should’ve feared, but instead, I had run straight into it, replaceing shelter in the very thing that could destroy me.

I exhaled, my fingers brushing over his skin, mapping the warmth of him, the solidity, the unwavering presence that had become my foundation.

And in that moment, something within me, something fragile and aching, mended, not with stitches, but with fire, sealing every crack with the only thing strong enough to make me whole.

Him.