Fair Catch: An Enemies-to-Lovers Roommate Sports Romance Read online

  Copyright (C) 2022 Kandi Steiner

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.

  The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Kandi Steiner

  Edited by Elaine York/Allusion Publishing

  Cover Photography by Perrywinkle Photography

  Cover Design by Kandi Steiner

  Formatting by Elaine York/Allusion Publishing

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  The Wrong Game

  More from Kandi Steiner

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For all the girls who love football as much as I do…

  This one’s for you.

  Riley

  A pinky promise is a sacred vow.

  That was established for me at a young age. First, by my neighbor best friend who made me swear not to tell that she liked a boy in class, and secondly — solidly — by my twin brother when he made me vow not to tell our parents that he’d broken their favorite vase from their honeymoon trip.

  It seemed simple as a kid, wrapping my pinky around another and knowing from that moment on, we shared something no one else would.

  It was the ultimate symbol of trust, of responsibility, and I took it seriously.

  Especially with Gavin.

  Older than me by roughly six minutes, Gavin wasn’t ever just my brother. He was my twin. And as only twins understood, there was a bond more powerful than blood, more powerful than friendship, more powerful than love that united us.

  He’d asked me over the years to make many pinky promises.

  Pinky promise you won’t tell that I went to that party.

  Pinky promise you won’t tell that I got an F on that paper.

  Pinky promise you won’t tell that I snuck Larissa into my room last night.

  The older we got, the more I found myself making promises, and I kept every single one. I promised without even thinking twice, without hesitation, without an ounce of doubt that I couldn’t keep the vow.

  Until now.

  “Riley, please.”

  Gavin’s nose flared as his eyes searched mine, our hands clasped together at the side of the hospital bed. His shaggy, dark blond hair was greasy and matted to his forehead, his eyes hollow and red, skin ashen. If I didn’t know his diagnosis, I’d assume he was dying.

  I shook my head, straining to swallow the knot in my throat.

  “You have to,” he pleaded, squeezing my hand. “I swear, I’ll never ask you for anything again.”

  My eyes welled with tears as he winced, trying to shift himself in bed but having difficulty. I helped him get comfortable again, and then he grabbed my hand once more, and I stared at that point of contact so I didn’t stare at his legs.

  His immobile, paralyzed legs.

  Just the word — paralyzed — made bile rise in my throat. It still felt like a nightmare, like an alternate universe that couldn’t possibly be real. My brother was only sixteen. He was healthy, a competitive athlete, a young boy with a bright future ahead of him.

  Until the person who was always supposed to have his back decided to drive drunk and throw all that out a broken windshield.

  I shook my head like I could shake the anger, trying to focus on what Gavin was asking me.

  “I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can. You’re a better kicker than me already and you know it.”

  “That’s soccer, Gav. It’s different.”

  “Not by much.”

  Something of a laugh slipped out on a breath as I shook my head, swallowing down the bigger issue at hand.

  “I’m a girl.”

  “And?”

  I leveled my gaze at him. “Girls don’t play football.”

  “Sure they do. There are a ton of girls playing football.”

  “Not at the collegiate level.”

  “It’s happened before. It can happen again. And if anyone can do it — it’s you.” He noted my hesitancy and squeezed my hand again. “Don’t act like you haven’t loved football, maybe even more than me, your entire life. You’ve run kicking drills just as much as I have.”

  “For fun.”

  “Only because you never considered it could be for more than that.”

  I sipped a long, slow breath through my nose, letting it out just as hesitantly.

  “I can help,” Gavin continued. “I’ll coach you. You already have the hardest part of it — which is that you can kick like Matt Prater.”

  I frowned, staring at my chipping nail polish, at where my twin’s hand held mine, strong and steady.

  “Why are you asking me this?” I found his gaze. “Why is it so important to you?”

  Gavin rolled his lips, looking past me as his eyes lost focus. “Football has been my dream since I was five years old,” he confessed, and I knew that already without him saying so. I’d grown up in the same backyard where we played football anytime we weren’t watching it on television. “And now I’ll never play again.”

  “You don’t know that for—”

  “Riley,” he said, cutting me off. “I’m never going to walk again, let alone play football.”

  “But they said—”

  “Riley, stop!” He heaved, his manic eyes meeting mine. “I’m paralyzed from the waist down, okay? Please don’t deny that or pretend like we can change it.”

  Tears flooded my eyes in an instant, and they were mirrored in my twin, one sliding silently down his cheek as he leaned toward me. I longed for so many things in that moment — namely to trade places with him, to take his pain for my own, to suffer that fate knowing he could go on to do what he’d always wanted to.

  “I’ve lost my legs, sis. I can’t lose football, too.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, releasing two hot tears that burned like lava.

  “I know this is a lot to ask. But I also know you’d feel more powerless if I wasn’t asking you for anything, if there was nothing you could do.”

  My heart lurched at that, at how well he knew me, how true that statement was.

  “Just… try. If you don’t make the team, I’ll drop it.”

  “What if I make the high school team, but not college?”

  He shrugged. “At least you tried.”

  I swallowed
, something of a smile tugging at the corner of my lips as I shook my head before looking at my twin again. “Not everyone is going to be okay with this, you know.”

  “I’ll kill anyone who isn’t. And whoever I can’t handle, Zeke will.”

  My blood ran cold at the mention of his best friend — a title I very much believed should be stripped after what he did.

  And as if my brother conjured the devil himself, there was a soft rap of knuckles on the door frame, and Zeke popped his head in with a shamed smile where he usually sported a cocky grin. He wore a flat-billed hat backward over his black fade, and even in the baggy sweatpants and long-sleeve shirt he wore, I could see the definition of his muscles, thick and lean from years of playing football.

  And his legs worked just fine, carrying him into the room so easily it made me grind my teeth.

  “Hey, man,” Gavin said, lighting up at the sight of him. “You bring the goods?”

  “You know I’d never let you down,” Zeke replied, holding up the brown bag of greasy burgers from my brother’s favorite place.

  I snorted, standing and already heading for the door. “Not sure that’s an accurate statement anymore.”

  Zeke’s shoulders slumped at my remark, and Gavin gave me a look, to which I gave one right back like what?

  I turned to leave, but Gavin called out for me. He didn’t have to ask again when I turned to face him, when I saw the desperation in his eyes.

  “Okay,” I said simply.

  He thrust his fist into the air, and Zeke cocked a brow, glancing between us. “What did I miss?”

  “Riley’s going to take my place.”

  Zeke’s other eyebrow lifted to join the first one.

  “She’s going to try out for the team.” He paused. “And make it. Because obviously.”

  At that, Zeke smiled, his warm brown eyes finding mine. “We’ll have the best kicker in the state.”

  That smile snuck under my skin like a parasite, one that made me want to scratch his eyes out. And yet, even with anger simmering low in my belly, I still saw the boy I’d grown up with when he smiled like that. I saw one of our first friends, our best friend, someone I knew without a single doubt in my mind I could trust.

  Or so I thought.

  I ignored him, speaking only to my brother. “I agree to try.”

  “That’s all I’m asking,” Gavin said.

  Then, he held out his pinky.

  My heart thumped loud in my ears as I stared at that outstretched finger, doubt whispering into the depths of my soul. But I reached out anyway, hooking my pinky around his and pulling tight.

  I promise.

  With my brother far too smiley for his situation, I turned for the door, but Zeke slipped his hand into the crook of my arm to stop me.

  That motion alone would have, even just weeks ago, made my heart flutter. It would have made my neck heat and my pulse race, would have made my sixteen-year-old knees so weak I’d have likely collapsed into a heap of bones at his feet.

  Now, it made me grimace.

  “Hey, if you want to run drills, I can help you get ready for tryouts.”

  I ripped my arm from his grasp, leveling my murderous gaze with his.

  “It’s your fault my brother is in this situation at all, you irresponsible, selfish prick,” I seethed. “So, the only thing I need from you is for you to go back in time and never be born.”

  “Riley,” Gavin tried, but I held up a hand to silence him.

  “I can’t keep you away from my brother. That’s his choice. But as for me?” I sneered, pointing my finger right into his chest. “Stay far away from me, Zeke Collins.”

  With that threat, I left my brother and his sorry excuse for a best friend behind me.

  And I got to work.

  Two years later...

  Riley

  With my duffel bag slung over one shoulder, I wrangled my thick hair into a high ponytail and pulled tight. That one simple adjustment was a signal to the rest of my body, to my brain.

  It meant it was time for business.

  Summer was still thick in the air, though there were whispers of fall on the soft breeze rolling through the North Boston University campus. I savored its touch as I walked the short distance from my temporary dorm room over to the stadium, cracking my neck in eager anticipation of the first day of fall camp.

  It was a different kind of nervous than my first day on campus in May. That day was filled with nerves I imagined any college freshman might experience — the thrill of being on my own, the terror of figuring out what that meant, the pressure of figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.

  May meant the start of summer term, of getting two of my tougher courses out of the way before fall — and thus, football — came. Summer meant hot conditioning workouts in the sun with my new coaches, lifting weights, and “voluntary” kicking drills. It was hard work, but it was just practice, just something to do while we waited for this day.

  For fall camp.

  Today kicked off the real season. Today, I’d work with my coaches on the game, get my install packet, and start competing for my spot on the field.

  Clouds spread across the sky in lazy, cotton-like waves, the sun’s glow peering through them. A million shades of blue and gold danced in a way that made me think of one of my favorite artists — Charles Harold Davis.

  How strange that just two years ago, that was all I could think about, all I was consumed with. Outside of soccer, my life consisted of planning my next museum trip, curating my own little assortment of art, dreaming about an internship that would lead to a career where I was in charge of a museum’s entire collection.

  One pinky promise had shifted my priorities, had steered me in a new direction.

  And though it wasn’t the same, I was surprised to find how much football lit me up in the same way, how much passion I had for the sport that always felt off-limits to me.

  Now that I had it, I’d do everything to fight to keep it.

  Anticipation buzzed through me like an ever-present electric shock as I scanned my badge at the stadium and disappeared into the hallway, sneakers already carrying me toward the locker room like it was second nature. My muscles were larger than when I entered this facility the first time, my head clearer, my heart steadier.

  The past couple of months — no, the past couple of years — had prepared me for this.

  I was ready.

  When I pushed through the locker room door, I was pleased to find I was one of the earliest to show up. I nodded at Holden Moore, a redshirt freshman whom I wagered would be our QB1. He was wrapping his ankle, and he gave me a nod that told me he was half impressed, half suspicious. He didn’t trust me yet, which was fine.

  I didn’t trust anyone, either.

  A few other guys were in the locker room, too — a defensive end I recognized from the weight room, a receiver known for his impressive work on the team last year, and of course, the coaches and athletic training staff.

  Their eyes followed me as I made my way over to the temporary locker assigned to me, one I would have to work hard over the next month to keep for the season. I’d been offered a scholarship, sure — but that didn’t mean my spot on the team was guaranteed.

  As I got situated, some of them watched carefully, their eyes drifting up to me before quickly snapping back to whatever they were doing before. Others stared blatantly, something between confusion and a sneer marking their features. I seemed to get more and more of those as boys filed in, but I ignored them, focusing on getting myself ready for my first shot in front of Coach Sanders.

  When you’re the only girl on the football team, you get used to the stares.

  You have to.

  Fortunately, I had plenty of practice in high school.

  It didn’t take long for me to have not only the stares of my teammates, but of every student, teacher, administrator, and parent alike at Hollis High. Add on the story of what happened to my brother, and it was a me
dia frenzy at that first game I played — one that never died down.

  It wasn’t all negative. In fact, a lot of the news outlets praised Coach for having a female kicker, like it was him who earned the right to be out there in those pads. The better ones highlighted my talent — regardless of my sex — and asked respectful questions in the interviews Coach set up for me week after week. And of course, there were girls at school who thought it was awesome, who praised me for fighting the patriarchy and made t-shirts with my number and wore them every Friday night.

  Still, I knew the difference between those who were genuine and those who surveyed me with that look — the one that told me they were secretly hoping I failed.

  I felt that exact sentiment burning into my skin as I got dressed in my shorts and practice jersey. The admin team had been adamant about asking about my comfort when it came to the locker room, offering me a private, unused office if I’d like it instead. But I didn’t want to alienate myself any more than my tits already did for me, so I elected to be in the locker room just like all the guys.

  The team guidance counselor, Mrs. Pierson, had been particularly concerned with that decision, and only signed off on it after thoroughly analyzing me in multiple sessions. After making me promise to alert her at the first sign of anything she should be aware of, she reluctantly agreed, seeming to understand where I was coming from when I pointed out how tough it would be already without adding on special treatment like a separate locker room or shower.

  I wouldn’t be getting naked in there, of course. And honestly, my underwear and sports bra covered more than any swimsuit I’d seen in the past decade, so I wasn’t worried.

  And if any of the guys on the team had a problem with it?

  That was on them.

  As I dressed, more and more of the team filed into the locker room without a single one saying a word to me.

  I didn’t mind. I didn’t feel like talking, either.

  Tucking my helmet under my arm and hustling out onto the field once I was ready, I joined those who were already warming up as we all waited for Coach to greet the team. We had about ten minutes until report time, and I’d always had the philosophy that if you weren’t early, you were late.