"Fuck!" I cursed loudly, ripped off my helmet, and tossed it onto the turf. It bounced a few times, then spun under the sideline bleachers.

I probably shouldn't have been so frustrated as Drake punched through the field goal, but three points weren't enough when we faced the offensively charged UW Huskies.

Yeah, those Huskies. Hightower's Huskies.

For once he kept a neutral face, but most of them smirked at us in their white away jerseys and purple pants on the opposite side of where our teams met again, at Allegiant Stadium in Las Vegas. And he chose today, the PAC-12 championship game, for a career-record scoring game.

With seven minutes left in the third quarter, we were now behind 45-49. UW won the coin toss, scored on their opening drive, and offensively hadn't looked back. If I hadn't battled him from the opposite side of the field, I would've been impressed.

I was fairly sure that the defensive guys, on both teams, were our usual stars but they each faced an offensive shoot-off in today's game. Admittedly, Hightower charged forwards, just a bit more efficiently, with perfectly crisp, longer yardage passes. He already had three hundred and eighty-seven yards passing with three touchdowns, but his legs hadn't stopped moving. He'd also run for a hundred and fifteen yards and two touchdown passes.

By no coincidence, eight NFL team's scouts witnessed our offensive slugfest.

On my side, my numbers were higher than normal, and I'd executed our spread offense damn near perfect. Even with no huddle, my guys hit their routes with the precision only two weeks of practice ensured. Play after play, although slower than Hightower's show, we charged down the field and tied up the game with every returned opportunity - until a moment where I'd flung the ball a little too hard, it bounced off Griff's outstretched fingertips, and bounced out of bounds.

My fingers clenched into my sweaty hair as I flung myself onto the bench with a hard plop. I hadn't said a word but was thankful that the guys had left me a two-foot radius of space the entire game.

Since I'd unleashed out all my failed relationship feelings, I'd mentally closed off my brain to any possible topic outside football and school. Academically, I'd completed all of my assignments and taken the final exams in three of my courses earlier. My fourth class only required a term paper, so I'd submitted that to my professor then completely submerged myself into a solid week of preparations for the PAC-12 playoffs.

Without a request from the players, Coach Campbell had splurged with team funds and given every offensive and defensive starter on the team a single hotel room. We'd had enough distractions already and he knocked on every guy's door like a warden and made sure we were at least in our rooms, and alone, by eight pm the night before.

With Vegas' closer proximity to Los Angeles, which was also a much bigger market than Seattle, the crowd was about sixty-percent USC fans, but still forty percent UW. Last week, Hightower had informed me in a text, just minutes before his press release aired on ESPN, that he'd declared himself eligible for the NFL draft.

The insane number of ten UW jerseys in the stands showed their appreciation for their transferred-in quarterback for his second and final season. Our bittersweet reunion for the coin toss ended with a usual Hightower taunt, "Catch me if you can."

My social media accounts were still locked, but now by my choice. I should've waited until after the season ended to get a new phone but had gotten one after I'd mentally sobered up. Physically, I'd sobered up a lot faster but when my headspace felt clear enough, I'd reached out to only Mom and Ellie.

Still, the sight of just Mom in her designated seat, next to Delilah, had hit me harder than I'd expected. In a text message I shouldn't have read, Ellie informed me that she'd unsuccessfully convinced Harper to come today.

Can't imagine what bullshit excuse she got, trying not to care though.

My emotional reaction had subsided into a dull burn of anger that I'd used as motivation for harder workouts, more film study prep, and my physical efforts in today's game. The only time I couldn't shut out Harper was when I laid in bed at night. The more I'd replayed our conversation, the angrier I got at the bullshit excuses she'd given me.

She couldn't even admit she didn't want to be with me. The girl with zero filter couldn't tell me the real reason.

I should not be thinking about this now.

Roars from the other half of the stadium snapped me out of my headspace. I lifted my head up and internally groaned as Hightower's favorite target, Wes Brown, converted a forty-two-yard touchdown into a wider lead 45-55, soon to be 56 after their kicker added the extra point.

Fuck, he makes it look so easy too.

"Jake!" Coach McGuire, my quarterback coach, handed me my helmet.

With a grunt, I gnashed my teeth into my mouthguard and nodded stiffly. With quick hands, I slipped on my helmet, strapped it in place, and trotted out for my best efforts.

In football, like life, some days your best efforts just aren't enough. And those heartbreaking days fucking suck, especially when you lose by four fucking points in a 56-52 loss.

"Good game... good game," I muttered on autorepeat, my chin dipped down through one sweaty handshake after another. A bitter taste crept up my throat the more times I said those two words, until a large, sweaty hand palmed my chest.

My eyes lifted from the purple number ten to a pair of blue eyes, tinted slightly enough gray that they looked like the ocean I grew up near. They flashed me a hood of sympathy over the excitement that bubbled up behind it.

"Good game, Jake," Logan patted my number seven. His skin was flushed pink, forehead marked from his helmet, and his blonde hair dark and damp with perspiration.

"Better game," I grumbled, then cursed because fuck, that hurt to admit. With an outstretched arm, I slapped him hard on the back and added, "If anyone asks, I'll deny saying that."

His hearty laugh hit my ear as he pulled back. "Wouldn't expect anything else. See you after?"

I silently nodded, put on my best mask of professionalism, and pointed two fingers up at all the stands where USC fans still sat. In a moment that tightened my chest around my pained heart, they stood up and cheered loudly. The black seats blurred as my throat swelled up, so I just pounded one fist into my chest.

My arm dropped down to my side and my head hung low as I walked off to the sidelines, where Coach Campbell hooked me in for a hug.

"Played your best," he mumbled. "All I ask, Jake."

My throat squeezed in tighter as I rasped out the harsh truth, "Sorry it wasn't enough today, Coach."

"Next year." He slapped me on the back and smiled tightly as he pulled back. "Still played a helluva game, kept us in as long as you could. And you put that personal shit aside, I'm proud of you Jake."

At least one of us is.

Since the last thing I wanted was that I bawled my eyes out on the field, I just nodded tightly and tucked my head down. We walked silently into our locker room, where the air was thick with sweat, body odor, floor cleaner, disappointment, and crushed dreams.

With our 11-2 record and size of USC's fan base, we all knew that Coach Campbell had already gotten some lower bowl invitations. While my bet was on the Alamo or Cotton Bowl, Griff secretly hoped we went to the Cheez-it Bowl.

Yet, at that moment, we all felt the hard loss. Separately, we hung our heads, swore, lost ourselves under loud streams of music, or whatever each individual guy needed to soothe his bruised ego. Collectively, we shared the fallout within the mostly quiet room.

"Next year," Evan grumbled quietly at me, which I nodded at.

Griff's eyes met mine, full of disappointment. I knew he'd considered declaring his draft eligibility and, with his best season, he should have. Unfortunately, this year's draft was most likely stocked full of too many talented wide receivers, reflected in the uncertainty that held both him and Evan back from making the same declaration Hightower had.

Coach Campbell's encouraging 'I'm proud of you,' post-game pickup speech barely registered in my brain. After the team prayer and promise we got right back to practice on Monday, I showered quickly then welcomed Mom's outstretched arms from where she waited outside the locker room.

"Oh, Jake," her soothing voice closed my eyes and I drew a ragged breath. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," I assured her, although the crushing weight in the middle of my chest suggested otherwise. "Just wasn't my day."

"Bullshit," she whispered and squeezed me tightly as we exited the parking lot into the dry, Los Vegas air. "But I hope you're up for some company."

My heart clenched at who I already knew it wasn't, and fuck I hated that initial reaction.

"It's not Hightower, is it," I joked and pulled back.

"Stop." She punched me lightly in the shoulder. "Before he hears you."

"Too late," Logan's deep voice followed his chuckle.

My eyes lifted across the parking lot, where his tall frame dwarfed my tiny sister's, who took two steps for every one of his. Her dark brown eyes shone as she broke away from Hightower's hand hold, then jumped onto me with her light weight.

"Jake!" Ellie cried quietly, her arms squeezed around my neck. "I'm sorry -"

"Save the buts." I squeezed her ribs until she gasped in my ear and squirmed until I dropped her. "Good to see you, Ellie."

"You both played amazingly well. I've chewed off all my fingernails." She held up both her hands, which really looked ragged.

"Sure you're hungry for dinner?" I teased her as she dropped her stubby nailed hands.

"Yes, please... About dinner..." Her eyes pleaded as she rolled her lower lip under and held it there with her teeth. "Can we please?"

My eyes closed because a greasy hamburger was the last thing I needed in my stomach, but apparently Ellie had me almost as wrapped around her tiny finger as Hightower.

Almost. I still have some dignity.

"Don't tell me," a female voice called out. Ellie slid down me and linked one hand back in Logan's, then one elbow into his mom's. "In-and-Out."

"Of course," Ellie grinned widely. "It's -"

"Best in California," a male voice chuckled quietly.

I blinked at the tall, thin man with gray hair and glasses who stood next to Mrs. Hightower. My eyes blinked faster at their linked hands but a sinking feeling filled my stomach and I swallowed tightly. "Mr. Reynolds."

"Jake." He stepped forward and gave me a stiff handshake. With a polite smile, he offered, "Great game. Sorry for your side."

"Thanks." I averted my eyes from the smugness in Hightower's. "Are we even now?"

Fuck, he won't let me forget this.

"Wins? We're tied," he replied and hugged his arm around Ellie. "Touchdowns, no competition."

"Good thing I have another season then," I teased as we headed to Mom's rental car. Mr. Reynolds also had one and even though an obvious question burned inside me, I rode over with Mom, Ellie, and Logan.

After a short drive and neon glow cast over my skin, I closed my eyes and groaned at the grease-permeated air. "If there is one of these in a ten-mile radius, then Ellie knows about it," I grumbled to Mom as we sat down at an available red-topped table.

"How is she?" I asked Mr. Reynolds quietly when he sat down and slid a tray in between him and Mrs. Hightower.

A frown drew his eyebrows together and he picked up his drink cup. With a slight lean back, he shook his head a few times. "I don't know, honestly. She's not speaking much to me, not since after she changed her number again."

"She..." My voice faded as I absorbed his words.

"Security purposes," he said quietly, since now the entire table's eyes were on Harper's Dad.

Security?

My eyebrows drew together and I watched as Mrs. High-Grace, as she'd insisted six times that I called her, patted his closest forearm. "She'll come around, David."

"She's not speaking to me," Ellie murmured quietly, then shifted her eyes to mine. "I don't have her new number either."

"Makes three of us." Mom sighed and poked a french fry in Mr. Reynolds' direction. "But if I'd have been there when Vanessa showed up, then you'd be bailing me out, David."

"I work in juvenile defense." He flashed her a humorless smile, then looked back at me with a heavy weight in his eyes.

I hadn't realized until I'd seen Harper's mom how little she actually looked like her dad. Other than his height, his short, neatly combed gray hair was previously black and brown eyes looked slightly larger from behind his glasses. "Did they catch who did it, Jake?"

"Kind of," I admitted and leaned my forearms on the table between us. "Jackass rival from UCLA."

Hightower's eyes snapped up to mine because he knew who I referred to, but just silently shook his head. Ellie's face furrowed with confusion, as did Mom's, so I clarified, "Not Kieran Meade."

That much information I knew. Coach Campbell had stayed pretty close-lipped about non-USC related events, but behind closed doors, he'd confessed that Burke had been suspended for his involvement and Kieran had been found innocent. Coach Campbell assured me Drake was on the team for the rest of the season but to expect a new kicker next year.

My eyes lifted to Mr. Reynolds'. "I know Harper didn't do it."

"Doesn't seem like she would." His frown deepened. "But she's gotten quite a character beating from it."

"She has?" I sat back in my seat with my shoulders slouched and he nodded.

"You can't be serious, Jake." Ellie stared at me, her mouth slightly open. "She was practically blamed for the entire thing for three weeks, until UCLA's statement two days ago."

"I keep my phone off," I reminded her, which only earned me an eye roll and a quiet huff. Her tiny fingers flew over her phone, which she then shoved across the table at me.

Unnamed UCLA students have been suspended, after overwhelming evidence related to the USC scandal.

Plural? Wonder who else besides Burke.

"About time something good came out of that shit," I mumbled, then looked at Mr. Reynolds again. "I'm sure USC will have their own statement."

"They already issued one." Ellie frowned, then flipped down the article, which just showed a generic privacy violation, assurance of USC's protection of student privacy, and their full support of me.

Harper was right. Nothing about her.

Easy enough fix.

I pulled out my own phone, then unlocked it. With my attention on my screen, I unlocked my social media accounts one at a time, then tagged the article Ellie had shown me. After I typed up a message that broke more than two weeks' social media silence from me, I showed the statement to Mr. Reynolds before I posted it.

"I know this isn't your area... but does this read right?"

His eyes skimmed over my words, then nodded silently, so I posted my statement.

I'm deeply sorry for the hurt and embarrassment that my private actions have inflicted on those close to me, the University of Southern California, my fellow teammates, staff, alumni, and all Trojan fans.

Three weeks ago, private, personal photos of me were stolen without my knowledge or authorized permission, and released to the public. The media has unfairly targeted Ms. Harper Reynolds, a close family friend, as the source of the privacy violation. This disgusting accusation has been made without cause or proof, and I'd like to publicly defend her innocence.

In addition to requesting privacy while the appropriate authorities investigate this violation of my privacy, I'd also like to thank my teammates, the university, and fans for their support during this embarrassing and difficult situation.

"That was nice of you," Mom said quietly as my phone lit up with notifications.

"Probably should've cleared that with the University first." My chest heaved with a sigh and I shut off my phone. "But long overdue."

"For what it's worth, I appreciate it." Ellie offered me a sympathetic look that matched Logan's.

"It'll blow over eventually," he added.

"It's the least I can do," I offered weakly.

Honestly, I hadn't submitted any statement prior to now because I didn't want to toss more gasoline on the media's fire of distractions for the team. While I'd gotten, and still got, my deserved share of 'disgusting' and 'what an idiot'-types of comments, largely positive support had swelled around me. Both the leaked photos and my blubbered broken heart video had generated enough sympathy that my number of social media followers had now quadrupled.

In my silence though, I'd ignored the backlash directed at me but also Harper. So, even though she wanted nothing to do with me, she was right, I was wrong, and I owed her that much.

Ellie was right, eventually the media's attention on my leaked pictures and video faded away. I got a verbal warning when I'd released a statement without approval from the university's legal department but they had no problems with my actual message.

Behind closed doors, Coach Campbell informed me that Ethan Burke was, anonymously for the privacy of UCLA, identified as being a person of interest related to my privacy violation. In similar interviews as the USC internal investigations, I reiterated the same information to the LA County's Public Defender's Office.

Had Harper been speaking to me, I'm sure she would've explained the revenge porn laws better but my limited understanding was that Burke was just slapped with a first-time misdemeanor charge, with a one-thousand dollar fine and the six-month jail time waived.

While a longer, more drawn out lawsuit followed against Pornhub, I personally wanted the entire issue gone and breathed easier the more time that passed. The issue resurged after we won the Alamo Bowl over Oklahoma, but the entire team and my cabin-fever housemates stayed silent. We even avoided a celebratory party and instead opted for a housemate-only dinner.

The end of December brought a much-needed Christmas break, which fed into the start of the spring semester. With the season over, my academic course load doubled, which included a lot of general education credits I avoided in the fall because they had nothing to do with my concentration in Sports Management.

I'd also carved more time in my schedule so that I still volunteered more often at -

"Ahh, watching out! Incoming!" A voice called out, right before a sharp force slammed into my right shin and I doubled over at both the impact and the pain that followed. "Oh shit, I'm sorry!"

"Woah!" I shot my hands out and dropped the two USC jerseys I kept in my hand at the two pairs of shocked eyes that greeted me. "Hey... speed demon."

"Jake!" Wyatt's blue eyes lit up at me from where he sat in a wheelchair. A pair of brown eyes crinkled behind him, paired with a rainbow clown wig and giant red rubber nose.

"So sorry about that," the nurse rushed, who also wore an interesting choice of black scrubs with giant cupcakes with different faces on them. Her cheeks flushed pink as she took off the clown wig and a long, dark brown braid fell over her right shoulder. With a sheepish smile, she turned to Wyatt. "Fun's over, back to your room."

"Thanks for nothing, Jake." Wyatt's sad eyes pouted at me but dropped to the puddled jerseys on my feet. "Those for me?"

I'd already given Wyatt and his dad new, generic home jerseys but today had brought one of my game-worn away jerseys. The athletic department usually auctioned them off, or kept them from the more successful players, but I always swiped a couple from my contributed pile.

"They were, but now I'm not sure because you tried to take out my shin," I teased and picked them up while the nurse pushed his chair around the desk and towards his room. He wore a light blue hospital mask over his mouth and groaned quietly as he climbed into bed.

As the nurse scattered out the room as fast as her feet carried her, I reached out and gently grabbed her arm. "Wait a minute. Sorry if this is forward, but do I know you? I feel like I'd recognize this nose anywhere," I teased and tapped the tip of her clown nose with my index finger.

"Oh gosh." She pulled it off right away, which revealed the spread of brown freckles over her tanned cheeks, until it turned bright pink, continued over her nose. She shook her dark brown bangs out of her eyes and smiled sheepishly. "I forgot I was wearing that."

"You didn't answer my question," I reminded her and stroked my thumb over the warm, smooth skin on her upper arm. My action probably seemed forward but I swore I knew her somewhere.

"No, you don't, Jacob Harrison." She huffed and yanked her arm back. "At least, I wouldn't expect you to."

"Give me a little credit..." I reached down and gently threaded my finger under her work ID, which read 'Jana Russo.' "Italiano, eh?" (Italian, huh?)

"Molto intelligente, casco per cervello," she shot bad with narrowed eyes (Very clever, helmet for brains).

By the time my lips curled upwards, I realized I'd forgotten that not only was my hand still on her arm but Wyatt's eyes shifted between us like our exchange entertained him.

"Jake?" Wyatt's voice called out to me. "Did you hear? My bell ceremony is next month."

My face cracked into a huge grin and I looked back at Jana, who smiled widely and nodded. "Really? That's amazing, bro."

"Yeah." He nodded excitedly. "My numbers have to look good enough."

"Which ones?" I whispered to Jana.

"White blood cells," she whispered back, then shot me a smile and left his room.

"Hope this is your size." I held up the game-worn, size-XL jersey that I'd actually gotten for Wyatt's dad.

"Are you blind?" he frowned and shook his head, which noticeably had a fine layer of light blonde fuzz that wasn't there the first time I met him. "That won't fit me."

"Oh, sorry," I dropped it on the table next to his bed and picked up the youth-sized one, then realized I hadn't sanitized it. "This one?"

"Better," he laughed, then pointed to the table as his shoulders slumped. "My mom's gonna spray it with Lysol before I'm allowed to touch it."

"I understand." I'd washed my hands with sanitizer and dressed up in a protective medical suit in the hallway but, just in case, I set both jerseys on the table and took a seat on the chair under his television.

"What happened against U-Dub?" he pounced right away. "That PAC-Twelve loss was painful to watch."

"Painful? Not even a little exciting?" I teased and stretched my legs out long. "I scored five touchdowns, tough critic."

"A loss is a loss," he retorted in a dry voice with a shake of his head. "Hightower sure has your number, doesn't he?"

"Just wasn't my game," I replied and offered a smile. "There's always next year. And I expect you'll be here, so tell me more about this upcoming bell ceremony."

He sat upright in bed, his eyes pooled with hope. "Would you come?"

"I can if you want..." I hesitated since that seemed awfully personal but maybe the kid didn't get any visitors. "Is that a family thing?"

"Maybe, I dunno." He shrugged his shoulders, then looked down at his lap. "I wish my sister would go. I've only met her once but she seemed cool. Mom said I shouldn't expect her to come back though."

The weight behind his words struck right into my chest.

Harper... visited him? She needed to.

"Don't lose hope." Dryness coated over my throat and I swallowed against it. "You never know."

After I chatted with Wyatt until his eyelids drooped, where he offered me absolutely no update on Harper except that he was happy he met her, I spotted Jana behind the nurse's station. Her head was tipped down and she typed away at the computer, so I leaned my elbows on the counter. "Tell me where I know you from, please. Do you go to USC?"

"Not anymore," she clipped in a tight voice without a look up. "We took Foundations of Western Art together two years ago."

"We did?" My eyebrows lifted.

"You're kind of memorable." She snorted quietly and then threw a desk pen at me. "Does this refresh your memory?"

My mental lightbulb flashed on as my hand squeezed around the pen mid-air. I knew I'd made a mistake taking Foundations of Western Art when I first walked into a nearly full auditorium and nearly passed out from the first presentation.

That's what I get for signing up for the first course listed under the Global Perspective courses.

But I sat near a short, thin, brown-haired girl who'd thrown pens at me every five minutes when I'd snored too loud. I think I'd asked her out and she shot me down before I'd gotten the full sentence out.

"Memorable, huh?" My lips curled up at her words and I pointed the pen tip at her.

"Because you didn't fit in the seats and the only way I didn't also fall asleep was if I threw stuff at you," she teased and took back the pen from my extended hand.

She was right. The lecture hall seats were not made for a broad, 6ft4 frame.

"Good to see you again." I smiled at her. "Are you still at USC?"

"No, I graduated last year." She shook her head. "I'm at the online FNP program, hopefully wrapping up this spring."

"Sounds impressive." I had no idea what a FNP program was but the resolve and pride that shone in her eyes was enough proof for me. "Guess I'll see you around, Jana."

"Hey." Her hand grabbed my arm as I turned to leave and she offered me a soft smile. "Thanks for coming back here, for Wyatt. I know the team does promo stuff but the kids don't know that. So coming on your own, it... means a lot to him."

"Yeah..." I mumbled and dragged one of my hands through my hair because I'd visited just one kid here today. "Anyone other than Wyatt up for a visitor?"

Her brown eyes lit up beautifully and she nodded. "Absolutely."

"One condition." I held up my index finger. "I'm not wearing any damn clown nose."

"We'll see," was all she replied and shot me a wink.