Chapter 1 — Cohen

The metal bar rattles as I re-rack it. My hands slip and I swear, reaching for a towel to mop the sweat off my face. I upped the weight today and my body is feeling it.

“Shit, Cohen. How much time did you take off this summer?” My team captain, and oldest friend, laughs.

“None of it,” I say, sitting up. “You?”

Avery Callaway, our cocky quarterback, grins. “I was hitting the gym. Two-a-days.” He flexes obnoxiously. I flip him the middle finger.

“Yeah, okay,” I snicker, knowing Callaway was MIA last week, having an intense sexcapade with a SI swimsuit model from the early 2000s.

Ever since his public breakup with Mila Lewis, another one of my good friends, Avery has spiraled in his romantic life.

Not that I should judge. My situation isn’t much better. I date woman after woman hoping to feel something—a spark, a connection, a desire to want more than the moment—but it hasn’t happened yet. To be honest, I’m done trying.

If Cupid wants to knock me on my ass, he’ll need to send an arrow straight through my heart.

“I haven’t seen you in a minute,” I continue, standing.

Avery slides onto the bench and I move to spot him.

He shrugs. “Things have been hectic.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Your MILF call it quits?”

He snorts. “Fuck off.” He completes a set and sits up, taking a swig of water. “Nah, Raia’s home.”

I frown. Last I heard, little Raia Callaway was training to play soccer in Europe. That had always been her dream. Play abroad for a handful of years before coming back to the States to play and inspire little girls across the country that they can be professional soccer players too.

Hell, it’s why she went to that fancy boarding school in New England. It’s why she ghosted our hometown most summers. It’s why I’ve lost touch with her over the past few years…

What would make her change course and come home now?

“Why?” I ask, dumbfounded.

Avery sighs heavily.

A prickle of unease works through me. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’ll be all right,” Avery replies without giving any damn information.

I wait impatiently.

He takes another swig of water. “Brooks broke up with her.”

My face scrunches up in confusion. Raia Callaway came home because some bougey dickwad broke her heart? “And?” I ask, knowing there has to be more to the story.

“Right before a big game.”

I tip my head back and groan. I hope I’m wrong on where this story is headed. “She was distracted.”

“Collided and went down,” Avery confirms.

“How bad is it?” It must be pretty bad if her ass is in Knoxville and not Bologna or Barcelona.

“Broken ribs, a displaced shoulder, and a hyperextended knee. On their own, she probably could have battled through the injuries, but all together…”

“She’s out for the summer,” I conclude.

“Yep,” Avery agrees, laying back down to complete another set.

I spot him, noting how focused he is. That’s Avery. He can push his personal life to the side and home in on football all day, every day, if he has to. Then, he can turn it off and be fully present in his personal life.

It’s why he was such a great boyfriend to Mila for all those years. I mean, until he wasn’t. It’s why he can keep up with his playboy charades while hanging onto his family-man reputation. It’s why he’s one of the best quarterbacks in the country and literally helped our team earn the tagline “the Pride and Joy of Southern Football.”

I don’t have that capability. So, while he finishes another set, my mind whirls.

“When did she get home?” I ask.

“A few weeks ago.”

“How’s she feeling?”

“Hanging in there.”

“And the ex?” I press.

Avery gives me a look. “Brooks was never gonna be it for her. He’s a good dude but…”

“But?” I wonder.

“Boring as hell. My sister thinks she wants that prim and proper New England blue blood type, but she grew bored with him about two years ago. Right now, she’s too hurt to see it, but him breaking up with her is the best thing that could have happened. Just, you know, not before a game.”

“Right,” I mumble.

Avery finishes his last set and I move to a different machine. I try to lock into the exercises, but my mind keeps circling back to Raia.

I haven’t seen her in years but back in the day, she was like a kid sister to me. Annoying as fuck but adorable. I knew Avery didn’t care much for Brooks and to be honest, I never understood what Raia saw in the guy, but she seemed happy.

Man, it rips me up knowing she’s back in town, brokenhearted and too banged up to play soccer. For an athlete, not being able to play your sport is its own kind of hell.

I make a note to drop into the Callaways’ and visit her this week. Cheer her up. I don’t have anything else going on anyway.

I grunt as I start my next set.

Nope, right now, I need to get my head back into the grind. Training camp, preseason, football.

There’s no time for anything else. There hasn’t been in years.

It’s a few days before I find time to swing by Avery’s parents’ house. My mom requested my presence at my parents’ annual tomato canning tradition. My brother, Cooper, convinced me to join him and his buddies on a day-long biking expedition.

But at the end of the week, and with training camp kicking off on Monday, I ring the Callaways’ doorbell. It’s funny but standing on their front porch transports me to when I was a scrawny nine-year-old and hoped Avery and Raia were home. I used to live for the afternoons when the three of us played hide-and-seek, or manhunt, until the streetlights kicked on.

“Cohen Campbell!” Mrs. C pulls the door wide open. “I haven’t seen you on this porch in ages!”

“I was just thinking that.” I grin broadly before kissing Mrs. C’s cheek in greeting. I thrust a bouquet of flowers into her hands.

“Oh! These are gorgeous.” She beams, studying the pink peonies. “Are they for the patient?”

I laugh and hold up a box of brownies. “No, the flowers are for you. I got chocolate for the patient.”

“You’re a good man,” Mrs. C jokes.

“How’s Raia feeling?”

“Besides being a pain in the ass?”

I laugh. “She always was fiercely independent.”

“Right you are,” Mrs. C agrees as I follow her into the kitchen. “You want a coffee? I’ll let Raia know you’re here.”

“I’ll help myself,” I assure her.

While the Callaways emit Southern hospitality, I’ve been a part of their family long enough to make myself at home.

“Mom has jars of tomato sauce for you. I meant to bring them today, but I’ll drop them off next week,” I promise.

“I can pass by and pick them up. Your mother and I haven’t chatted in too long and now, with all our kids in town…”

“There’s much to gossip about?” I guess.

She smirks. “Raia’s driving me nuts,” she admits before moving toward her daughter’s room. “Raia, Cohen’s here!”

I chuckle as I pour a cup of coffee and kick back at the kitchen table. Everything about this kitchen is exactly as I remember. Eating Popsicles in the summertime, tossing an orange to Avery, right over Raia’s head, while she tried to intervene and catch it. Doing the same thing to Mila years later, when the three of us were thick as thieves, even though I was constantly third-wheeling it.

A moment later, my childhood buddy, the one who was as attached to me as she was to her brother, leans against the doorframe.

And I freeze.

Because little Raia Callaway is all grown up.

She’s wearing a pair of black biking shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Her hair is swept back from her face, twisted and secured at the back of her head with a clip. Her face and feet are bare. She looks casual and comfortable…and fucking beautiful.

“Hey, champ.” I stand.

Raia winces as she steps into the kitchen, and something pulls in my chest. When I get closer, I note the fading bruises on the underside of her jaw.

I reach out tentatively and swipe my thumb over the yellow-green patch of skin. “Got you good,” I mutter.

“You should’ve seen the other girl,” she claps back.

I grin and open my arms. Raia falls into them and lets me hug her while she grips the back of my T-shirt.

“Glad you’re home,” I tell her truthfully.

She nods but doesn’t reply. It’s obvious she would much rather be in Europe, playing soccer, living her dream, than sweating her ass off in Tennessee in July.

I hold her a moment too long and am surprised she smells so damn good. Feels so damn soft. She’s exactly the same and opposite all at once.

I pull away and gesture toward the bakery box. “I brought you brownies.”

Raia smiles and her face opens, like a flower blooming. “They’re my favorite.”

“I remember,” I say softly, opening the box and plating one for her.

She slips into a kitchen chair and lets me pour her a cup of coffee.

She gestures toward the hallway. “Don’t tell Mom I let you serve me.”

I snort and place down her mug. “Yeah? What else is new? My entire childhood was spent waiting on you hand and foot.”

Raia nudges me with her bare foot and her hot pink toenails run against my calf. “Give me a break, Cohen. I’m recuperating.”

“Banged up pretty good, huh?” I take a sip of my coffee.

Her hand moves to the center of her chest, and she presses there, as if holding her heart in place. I’m not sure she realizes she does it. “Yeah. This was a tough setback.”

I nod, wondering if she’s talking about soccer or Brooks.

But I don’t ask because a part of me doesn’t want to know.

A surge of protectiveness runs through me as I watch Raia curiously.

Is she pining for Brooks? Or mourning the loss of starting her soccer career abroad this summer?

Are she and Brooks still talking? Trying to work things out?

Fuck. A bead of anger pulses in my temples.

Why the hell do I care this much?

I clear my throat. “What’s the plan now?”

Raia narrows her eyes. “You mean now that Europe isn’t an option?”

I shrug.

“I was angling for Spain,” she admits, sucking melted chocolate off her thumb.

Shit. I shift uncomfortably in my chair as I watch her. The thing is, Raia isn’t trying to be seductive. She’s not trying to be anything.

And yet, I’m attracted to her in a way I shouldn’t be. In a way I don’t want to be.

“I’m going to heal, hit the gym hard, and go after a spot for next season with everything I have,” she grits out, resolve lining her face.

I smirk at the determination in her tone. “Good.”

“I’m not a quitter, Campbell,” she reminds me, lifting her chin.

“Never took you for one, Callaway.”

The corner of Raia’s mouth turns up and she takes another bite of her brownie. “What about you? Are you ready for training camp?”

I stretch out in my chair, relaxing now that we’re talking about a safe topic. Football. “I’m ready. I’m looking forward to the season starting. We’ve got a solid team this year.”

Raia quirks an eyebrow. “And a talented rookie.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “West was drafted from UCLA. He’s lightning fast. I won’t be surprised if he breaks the record for rushing yards during his career.”

Raia grins. “Are you planning to smash any records?”

I smile back. “Just my own. I was shy of 1,800 receiving yards last season. This year, I want to prove to myself I can beat that.”

“Then you will,” she says simply.

“You think so, champ?”

“Know so, Cohen. You’re capable of whatever you set your mind to.”

I dip my head in thanks. I’ve always had a great support network but hearing the sincerity in Raia’s tone hits differently.

Her belief in my football capabilities, in me, is motivating. It adds to my thirst to prove myself. To be enough.

I can’t remember the last time a woman had this effect on me.

I never thought it would be little Raia Callaway.