All The Glory
Authors: Elle Casey
Tags: #New Adult, #football, #scandal, #Mystery, #Romance
All The Glory
Elle Casey
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2014 Elle Casey, all rights reserved, worldwide.
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OTHER BOOKS BY ELLE CASEY
NEW ADULT ROMANCE
Shine Not Burn
(2-book series)
By Degrees
Don’t Make Me Beautiful
Rebel
(3-book series)
ADULT CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Full Measure
(written as Kat Lee)
Just One Night
(romantic serial)
YA PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Duality
(2-book series)
YA URBAN FANTASY
War of the Fae
(4-book series)
Clash of the Otherworlds
(3-book series, follows
War of the Fae
)
My Vampire Summer
Aces High
YA DYSTOPIAN
Apocalypsis
(4-book series)
YA ACTION ADVENTURE
Wrecked
(2-book series)
DEDICATION
For those betrayed.
May you find peace, love, and the strength to forgive.
Chapter One
THIS IS THE STORY ABOUT how Jason Bradley went from hero to zero in ten seconds flat. It’s his story, not mine, but he insists I’m better at the telling part, so here I am. Hopefully I won’t suck at it because his story, his version of it, is important. Like, really important.
You’re probably wondering who I am, how I got to be the special, chosen one telling this sordid tale. Well, let’s just say I’m the only one who really knows the whole thing from start to finish. Lucky me, right? Yeah, well, we’ll get to the details of me later, but first, let me tell you a little bit about who Jason
used
to be in all his glory, or so the whole world thought. Then you’ll be able to truly appreciate who he came to be in the end of things…
Chapter Two
“SET! … BLUE, TWENTY-THREE! … BLUE twenty-three! … Hut! Hut!”
The ball got snapped and the quarterback grabbed it, running backwards a few steps so he could survey the field. The defense was all over Jason, or at least they were trying to be all over Jason, but as usual he was slicker than a greased farm animal that oinks.
He managed to find a hole and get through it, breaking free of the pack and wide open, running so fast his legs were a blur. That’s how he got his nickname. The Blur. Totally original, right?
Ugh
. If I had been in charge of nicknames on the day he earned that one, I would have called him Mister Bighead. But no one ever asked me what I thought about Jason, least of all Jason himself. We were not friends. And yes, that’s an understatement.
I’m not a big fan of football, but like eighty percent of the kids at our high school, I go to the games. The home games, anyway. Our school is very competitive and we make it to State almost every year. The atmosphere in the stadium is always really energized, the snack stand makes pretty decent nachos, and I got extra credit in phys ed class for going, so yeah … that explains my presence there pretty succinctly.
Jason made it to the state championships as a sophomore playing first string wide receiver on the varsity team. It was his senior year that really came into focus for people, though.
See, he was being courted by some colleges already, even though he still had all of senior year ahead of him, and they were coming out to see the games. Even for non-football people like me, it was pretty exciting news. We’d sit in the stands and try to figure out who the scouts were and where they might be from.
Rumor had it that he was a shoo-in for one of the top five, Auburn, Florida, Michigan ... I found out later directly from him that one of those wasn’t actually on the list of interested parties, but it’s really not relevant to the story … mostly because he didn’t end up going to any of those places and because after he did what he did, no one cared about his YAC. Yes, that’s a real word for those of you who don’t give a flying crap about football like me — it’s yards after catch, which used to be a really big deal in Jason’s life. After
The Incident
, no one even wanted to admit they’d talked to him.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the game…
Jason was running, his legs a blur, his gloved hands going up as the ball sailed over the field and all the heads of his competitors. It always amazed me how he seemed impossibly far away and then at the last second the ball would drop and his hands would just be there. I didn’t have to like the guy to admire his mad skills. I liked to call him mister grabbyhands in my head sometimes. I never said it out loud because my friend Bobby would for sure have thought I was talking about something else, which I wasn’t.
Jason was really close to the end zone. The game was almost over and the score was tied. A giant bulldozer of a guy on the opposing team was headed his way, arms going out, ready to take a flying leap.
My hands clenched in my lap and I let out a mighty scream. I had no idea where it came from. I didn’t even like Jason at that point in our lives, maybe even outright disliked him. If he got nailed before he scored it was really no big deal to me. Part of me wished it would happen. His big old head could have used a little shrinkage at that point.
But of course that didn’t happen. Jason was the golden boy and he did what all golden boys do; he leapt into the air, snatched the ball, and then took off like some superhero sans cape into the end zone.
Guys dove behind him trying to take him out, but they all missed. They always came up empty, miscalculating and underestimating the speed at which his feet could eat up the ground.
That game was the last one that Jason would ever play. I saw him after. His face was flushed with exertion and self-importance. Everyone was patting him on the back, and a couple people hit him on the butt too.
For the record, I never understood that special social permission our football-fanatic society has … allowing men to touch each other in such an intimate way just because they’re on a football field. You’d never see a guy doing that at the mall or at school in the hallways. Or maybe you would and then you’d see him getting his ass beat down. You sure do see it in football, though. Fully grown men strut around wearing those tighty-whitey stretchy pants, spanking each other and saying
Good job
. It makes zero rational sense.
Stupid football. Stupid football players.
I saw Jason at a party after that game. Normally, I avoid big parties at strangers’ houses, but my friend Bobby convinced me to go. I drove my beater Toyota over there and paid my five bucks and pretended to have a beer but drank cream soda instead.
It was at that party that I talked to Jason face-to-face for the first time in forever. Even though I’d known of him for years, both of us living in the same neighborhood and attending the same schools, I’d never really spoken to him after third grade. It wasn’t that I actively avoided him, but guys like Jason don’t talk to people like me unless they have to. I was invisible. Usually. But not this night.
Chapter Three
I WAS COMING OUT OF the bathroom and he was standing in the hallway for some reason. I’ve never been in a bathroom that had a door that opened outwards, but that night I was. And I was so busy making sure I didn’t have toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe, I wasn’t paying any attention to who might be on the other side of the door.
It swung open and made contact with something hard. My eyes bugged out and my heart stopped for just a second.
What the … That can’t be good.
“Holy shit, watch it, would ya? Jesus.”
I stuck my head around the door and saw Jason standing there, holding his forehead. We were the only ones around, which was really weird because the house was full of people, not only from our school but others.
“Oh, crap. I’m sorry. Did I hit you in the head?” I look at the door, wondering how it was that I could have managed that. Seems like I should have hit his foot first.
“Yes, you hit me in the head.” He was rubbing his eyebrow above his right eye, and it struck me that I could have ended his football career with one ill-timed bathroom door opening. A wide receiver missing vision in one eye probably isn’t as effective as a guy with two functioning eyeballs. It kind of put the whole thing into perspective for me. I felt really bad. Football was his life, after all.
“I’m sorry, Jason. Really. I should have opened it more slowly but I was worried about the toilet paper.”
Yeah. I said that.
I wanted to bang my own head against the door, but that would have been even more embarrassing and I was already doing pretty well in that area.
He slowly dropped his hand away and let it fall to his side. “The toilet paper?”
My grin came out kind of crooked. My mom hates it when I do that. She says it makes me look like I’m mental, but it’s automatic; I can’t help it. When I’m feeling awkward, I look awkward. I can always be counted on to have the corresponding facial expression for each and every embarrassing event.
I quickly decided a short explanation was in order. Everyone worries about toilet paper on shoes, right?
He won’t think I’m weird. Maybe.
“I always check before I leave the bathroom to make sure I don’t have any paper stuck to my shoe.”
He stared at me for a couple seconds and then grinned. “I always check my zipper.”
My awkward smile morphed into something more normal-looking. The fact that he didn’t hate me for almost knocking his eye out made me go all warm.
I opened my mouth to tell him I thought that was probably a good idea, but we were interrupted by his girlfriend.
Brittney Blake. Do I really need to describe her for you? I’ll just cut to the chase and say that she’s exactly the kind of girl you’d expect to see going out with the hottest football star our school had seen in twenty years. And she was wicked jealous of any girl who thought she was good enough to talk to her boyfriend.
“Jason, what are you doing?” She had a red Solo cup in her hand and if her heavily-lidded eyes were any indication, she wasn’t fake-drinking the beer like I was.