Once Upon A Half-Time 1(101)

Ten seconds left. This was it.

I didn’t need to hear the call. I read it in Jack’s eyes.

Time to prove my worth.

The past four weeks I’d played well. Held my own. Kept the team alive.

This was the moment that would define me.

The sweat stung my eyes. I wiped it away. Didn’t matter. More would spill. I couldn’t catch my breath, and every second I spent on my feet shocked me with a piercing agony even the adrenaline couldn’t cure.

Jack barked the snap count. My heart lurched.

The ball snapped.

And I sprinted, slamming through the linebacker assigned to cover me and jetting across the field. I cut, turning just as Jack found me in the open field.

The pass spiraled through the air. A defender leapt to bat it away.

I surged forward, nipping the ball with my fingertips and grasped it just as I lost my balance and tumbled through the back of the end zone. I plummeted to the ground, swearing the entire way.

I didn’t breathe until the stadium started to cheer.

I’d fallen into line of media and reporters, but Elle was the first one there.

She snapped a picture. I gave her the ball.

“It’s yours, Red!”

She took it and leapt out of the way as the offense crashed through the end zone. Jack beat everyone there, chasing me down the field the instant the ball was in the air.

He slammed into me, pulling me into a hug, beating my helmet and cheering louder than anyone in the stands.

“That’s what I want from you!” He slammed his hands into my chest. “Every fucking game, rookie. Every single one!”

The game ended, and the success belonged to me.

A victory over my opponents. A win for the team.

And the proof that I needed.

This was where I belonged.





Elle’s Epilogue





How many football players did it take to ruin a photoshoot?

One. His name was Lachlan Reed.

“Who’s idea was this again?” I groaned, lowering the camera onto my swelling belly. “You take any longer, Charming, and this baby’s gonna pop out.”

He grinned, flexed, and made a kissy face at the camera. “Our boy’s still got two months to cook. But these guns…” He kissed his biceps. “These are prime grade, ready for the spotlight.”

I snapped a shot and gave up. It wasn’t even our shoot. Lachlan was selected by the league for one of their Rookie/Veteran shoots—a passing of the mantle for players close to the end of their reign and the up-and-comers. It was one of Piper and Leah’s initiatives.

Piper huffed though, marching into Lachlan’s shoot with a finger pointed to his face. “If you don’t take this picture before I have to go nurse my infant son, so help me God, Lachlan Reed—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Lachlan backed away, nearly taking the green screen and half of the lights with him. “Easy! I’m sorry!”

I loved that the one person Lachlan feared was Piper Hawthorne.

She loved it too.

“Yeah. I’ll go. Take it.” He snapped his fingers towards the league photographer. “Hurry, man!”

I grinned, shooting a couple behind-the-scene shots that would entertain the rather large female fan base Lachlan had coveted. He posed with the football as the back doors opened.

“Jude!” Piper greeted him with a wide smile. “I knew I could count on you!”

Jude Owens wore a sharp, black suit, matching his long dark hair, intense brow, and stern, perpetually tensed jaw. The running back currently had no home in the league, recently released. Rumor was he contemplated retirement.

He’d never do it.

Not in a million years.

Jude might have had the fancy suit, the killer car, the panty-melting smile, but he didn’t have that championship ring.

And the future Hall of Famer deserved a ring.

He greeted Piper with a polite nod.

“Change of plans.” Piper pointed to his suit. “You’re doing a photo set as the league’s most eligible bachelor.”

“I can hook you up.” I aimed the camera. “Work it, Jude.”

Lachlan held his arms out. “I’m right here!”

“Take your pictures, honey,” I teased.

“You’re carrying my baby.”

“Just one picture of the sexiest man in the room?”

Lachlan’s expression fell—the sad, kicked puppy dog look. I winked and snapped a picture of my husband. He grinned.

“You’re trouble, woman,” Lachlan said.

“Take your pictures. Jude’s already here.”

The photographer surrendered and abandoned his post. “Forget it. We’re done. I’ll find something salvageable.” He shook his head as he passed me, his words bewildered. “And you’re having his child.”