Quarterback Keeper: A College Sports Romance (Fall Lake Ballers, ebook 1)

Chapter One
Kylian

“Mom.” I crossed the college’s parking lot, my phone pressed against my ear, headed for my SUV. “I can pick up food for dinner tonight. I’m leaving now.”
“No need, Kylian.” Mom’s voice held a note of strain. “I’m on my way to the grocery store. I already know what I want to make for dinner, and you know how it goes. If I have a craving, I better act on it.”
“Are you feeling okay?” I didn’t like that she’d gone out so close to her last hospital treatment. Unlocking my SUV, I held open the back door, tensely waiting for her answer.
“I’m fine, but I’m driving. I’ll see you at home.”
I said goodbye then pocketed my phone. My backpack landed on the floorboard of my used Chevy Trailblazer with a thump. A bone-deep exhaustion had settled in after classes, the squeezing in of some homework, and a grueling practice. The day wasn’t even close to over. On autopilot, I drove through rows of parked cars in the athletic lot before merging into traffic that would take me from Evanston to an up-and-coming area on the south side of Chicago. It took a little over an hour, not too long without traffic.
As I turned onto Mom’s street, I got lucky and pulled into a parking spot half a block from the run-down building. My dad was a silent partner, but still a slumlord, for the building where Mom and I had lived until I moved out so I would be near campus. It was a point of contention between us and one I planned on bringing up again at dinner.
Movement caught my eye. I turned and swore as I jumped out of the SUV, shoving my keys into the pocket of my athletic pants to free my hands. “Mom.” I jogged to her as she slowly made her way from the CR-V I’d bought her to the front door of the four-story brownstone, a bag of groceries in her arms. I swooped in, relieved her of the heavy burden, and kissed her on the cheek then flashed a carefree smile that I hoped fooled her into thinking I wasn’t in a shit mood.
I held the door, which also gave me time to study her. Her ordinarily shiny chestnut hair was dull and barely reached her shoulders, as it’d fallen out with the first round of chemo treatments that seemed a lifetime ago. New lines etched around her mouth but failed to steal the remnants of the vibrancy that clung to her—though I could tell she was tired. Stage four metastatic breast cancer would do that to a person.
As we climbed the stairs, she took my offered elbow rather than the railing, which had who knew what kind of germs.
“The condo next to mine is for sale. I want to put in an offer so you can move out of this dump. And it would be better if we lived in the same building. I could see you more.”
Mom snorted. “You mean the dump you grew up in? Come on, Kylian. It’s not that bad. We have lots of great memories here. And because of your father, I live here rent free.”
The only good thing about the place was Mom’s lack of rent. Still… “The elevator has been broken since I was in high school.” I pushed my agenda, ignoring the dank, musty smell that’d clung to the stairwell for as long as I could remember. “You live on the fourth floor, and you can’t tell me that’s easy to climb after treatments.”
“I’m glad it’s broken.” Her shoulders squared as she dug in her heels on the matter. “The exercise is good for me, and I see a lot more of you than I ever did when you were in high school. You bring me food and take me to doctor’s visits.”
“I would still do those things.”
“Kyl, between your commitments with football and school, that broken elevator has given us time we wouldn’t have had otherwise.”
Ridiculous, but I couldn’t deny it. Other than my mom, I lived for football. It was all I thought about and trained for, and I worked hard to be better than I was the day before. Last year, I even learned the defensive plays to get an edge on making quick decisions for the offensive line with the opposing team’s defense.
“We have so many memories here,” Mom said, pulling me from my thoughts. “And there are my friends. Mrs. Carlson in 2E and Fred in 4D with his cute little Chihuahua. Besides, I can picture the years ahead.” She glanced at me, a calculating look in her tired deep-blue eyes. “With all the grandkids you’re going to give me running up those stairs.”
I didn’t say a word. There was more to come. There always was, and it killed me that I couldn’t give her what she craved most. I wouldn’t.
“Football isn’t your whole life. It’s a part of it and might, someday, be a job. I want to see you get married and know that you have someone to care for and who will take care of you.”
I clenched my fist, helplessness washing over me at her dreams I couldn’t fulfill. “I don’t need anyone, Mom. I’ve got you.”
The sigh that pushed past her lips almost broke me. It said everything neither of us wanted to talk about. The doctor had been clear at the last appointment I’d gone to with her. She had months left, and that was if she was lucky and the experimental treatment plan worked.
On the final set of stairs, she squeezed my arm. “You’ve always been a good son.”
I opened my mouth, but she shushed me. At her door, she fished for her keys, unlocked it, and let us inside.
“I know you work hard and think you have to make up for what your dad couldn’t be for us, but that’s unnecessary and unrealistic. That’s not your burden. What I want most in my time left here is to see you happy.”
And settled. She’d left out saying it, though she already had.
Mom shut the door behind us and flipped the deadbolt into place. I glanced around, noting the folded blanket on the couch where I knew she spent most of her recovery time after treatments. Everything about the apartment was tired, from the worn carpet that should’ve been ripped up and replaced with hardwood or vinyl years ago to the sagging furniture and lackluster kitchen. I set the grocery bag on the black-and-gray-spotted laminated counter, fighting another wave of anger at my dad and his business partners for refusing to update the building, specifically Mom’s apartment. I’d tried to pay to have it done myself, but she’d refused.
I unpacked and put away the groceries, leaving out the bread, lettuce, and tomato. Mom got the bacon on a tray and slid it into the oven. We were having sandwiches for dinner. I waved off her apology because I didn’t have much of an appetite with everything going on. After she set the timer, I urged her to sit on one of the kitchen chairs.
Her expression turned guarded, and she wrung her hands in her lap. “Has your father gotten ahold of you?”
“No, not recently.” I didn’t check, but I bet I had three missed calls or a few texts from him. I didn’t care. Hatred bubbled under the tightly controlled expression I maintained for Mom’s benefit. I wished with everything in me that he would leave us alone. “Why?” I both dreaded and needed to hear her reason for asking. Dad had always been more concerned about money and reputation to meddle too deeply with Mom and me—until recently. He wanted me, along with my football reputation, which was escalating to possible NFL status, to stand beside him as he kicked things off for his political aspirations. Fuck that.
“I’m not sure. Your father called trying to find you.”
Annoyance ripped through me, and I sucked in air to stop my reaction. Mom didn’t need that, and she was who I cared about. I would deal with him later—speak to him so she didn’t have to. The less she knew about what he’d threatened me with, the better.
Mom had thought Dad was paying her medical bills, but I’d been covering her expenses until she’d discovered my part in the payments and the balance in my trust from Grandad passing away was almost gone—but I would figure it out. The plan was to complete my final year at Fall Lake University, but it might not be in the cards if I needed to come up with money to help Mom.
When I’d approached Dad about the bills for the new treatment, he’d only agreed to help if I did something for him. His ask was outrageous. The latest demand was that I date some contributor’s daughter—he’d even hinted at me marrying her—during the campaign to keep the funds rolling in, and my father would pay for whatever Mom wanted or needed, including the twenty-thousand-dollar-apiece experimental treatments currently prolonging her life.
The more I thought about it, the less college seemed like a priority.
I chatted with Mom while we assembled the sandwiches and ate at the tiny two-person table in her small kitchen. My mind never strayed from the decisions I had to make. Money was a factor, and I would do anything for Mom. All I needed was a solid offer from a team in the league. Until then, I could stretch my remaining funds. I didn’t care what I had to do.
I’d broached the idea of paying for her treatments with my money from Grandad, but Mom had put her foot down hard, threatening to stop them altogether if I did that. She kept track of all the invoices and insurance details. I couldn’t sneak payments anymore without her finding out. That left one other option—Dad.
Her explanation was she didn’t want to ruin my life. But she was my life.
It wasn’t until I’d helped clean the kitchen, kissed her on her cheek, and closed the door behind me—waiting until I heard the bolt slide home, that I pulled my phone from my pocket. I had a text from Dad.
Hey, superstar. I saw you on ESPN last night. Call me. We need to talk.
Fury crackled and raced through my veins on the heels of the thinly veiled motivation in the text from dear old Dad. Even with a great evening with Mom, he managed to derail my mood. Fuck him.
My hands balled into fists as I rushed down the stairs and out the door of the brownstone. I knew what Dad’s hollow congratulations meant—another attempt to use me for his power-hungry gain. With his narcissistic, overinflated ego, he had never cared about Mom or me, and with the increase in press coverage during football season, his demands had rolled in like clockwork.
ESPN’s coverage last night had predicted Fall Lake U’s QB1—me—as a first-round pick in the upcoming NFL draft, if I entered it early and forwent my final year at school. I hadn’t planned to because I’d promised Mom I would get my degree, and that was the smart thing to do. Accidents happened, derailing NFL careers before they even got started. But that was before the latest round of bills. With her escalating costs, my decision continued to waver.
Based on Dad’s latest text, he’d heard ESPN’s prediction. He should’ve known better. But he didn’t. That would require listening and giving a shit about Mom and me.
His current obsession and single-minded ambition was to advance from being one of five Republicans running for Illinois State Senate to the primary election by any means necessary. His new blond bimbo of a wife was step one. I was step two—to use his football-phenom son, heralded as the next Tom Brady, to stand beside him as he kicked off his campaign. The thought of hobnobbing with one-percenters who manipulated the political scene made my stomach cramp. It wasn’t my thing. It hadn’t been Mom’s either. Which was why everything had changed.
I unlocked my SUV with the key fob and threw myself inside. The weight resting on my shoulders continued to increase. My family both wanted and needed something from me, and time quickly fell through my grasp. My dad wanted to use me. My mom was dying, and I couldn’t save her. Both wanted me to marry but for entirely different reasons.
The only thing I wanted was for my mom to live. Marriage? I’d survived my parents’ toxic relationship and bitter divorce to know I didn’t ever want to be legally tied to another person—not in the name of love or for my dad’s political gain.
I leaned my head against the headrest and contemplated going home, where I lived with my two best friends, who were also my teammates. They’d had my back more times than I wanted to admit—even running interference with my dad when they sensed I was about to blow up in front of a stadium full of people and a slew of reporters waiting to catch anything newsworthy about the tycoon senate candidate who had done so many wonderful things for low-income housing and his son.
My mind was a chaotic mess, and I knew I wasn’t ready to go to my condo yet. Rather than head home and do one of the many things I needed to, I redirected and drove to the boat. The luxury sailboat had been a bribe from Dad after the divorce, and I loved taking Mom out on it as a giant fuck-you to the old man. That was then. Mom was too sick to handle the waves anymore. Still, it was a good place to think and decompress. I needed to devise a solid plan, and a sunset sail on the lake was where I would do it.

Ebooks are delivered instantly by link in your confirmation email (and as a backup, also by email from our delivery partner, BookFunnel).

You can read your new ebooks on any eReader (Amazon, Kobo, Nook), tablet, phone, computer, and/or in the free BookFunnel app.