Brody’s watching me, his teasing smile morphing into heat and mischief. He cocks his head, dark brown eyes pinning me to the bed. He looks like the Big Bad Wolf, the kind of guy my brother always warned me away from.

I scrub a hand over my face in a vain attempt to restore semblance to my chaotic insides. It doesn’t work. I can’t pull myself together when he’s looking at me like that. “Let me just go wash my face and we can start the tute. I need to wake up a little.”

I go to move but Brody takes up a lot of room. His frame dwarfs my tiny bed. I pause and give him a look that says please move.

He grins unapologetically.

“Can you move?”

Having to force those words past my lips is not a good thing.

Thankfully Brody stands, backing away a little with his palms up. He jerks his head at the bedroom door. “So go.”

I quickly swing my legs over the edge of the bed. “Sonofab—” I suck in a sharp breath.

His teasing smile is gone in an instant, replaced with an expression of concern. “What the hell, Jordan?”

My stomach rolls and I can’t hide the grimace.

“Your ankle?” he asks.

Not pausing for an answer, Brody slides one of those delicious hands down the bared length of my left leg. His palm scrapes smooth skin, and I can’t fight the shiver. My body erupts in goose bumps when he reaches the swollen joint, encasing it with his fingers.

He presses down around the injured area. “How does that feel?”

I grit my teeth, a light sweat breaking across my brow. “Hurts.”

“Dammit, Jordan.” He fixes me with a scowl. It does nothing to lessen the ache pulsing between my legs. “You trained this afternoon on a rolled ankle? I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“Of course I trained,” I snap. “You think I want to miss a game? Coach would bench me with an injury like this.”

“You deserve to get benched for doing something so …”

“So, what? Stupid?”

His lips press flat. “I hate that word.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply, shamed at my insensitivity. “I won’t use it anymore.”

Brody takes one of the pillows from behind me. Lifting my leg gently, he places it beneath my left foot. He sets my leg back down with care, but it still tears a pained moan from my throat. “You’re a liability to your team playing with an injured ankle, Jordan.”

I let out a frustrated huff. “What, like you’ve never done it?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Anger radiates from Brody’s dark eyes as he stands, his jaw ticking. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve trained with injuries? How many games I’ve played with cracked ribs, strains, sprains, and concussions? I know what it means to be benched. There’s always another player there itching to take your place, prove their worth, prove they’re better than you.”

“Then why are you so angry I trained with mine?”

“Because you have a choice. I don’t!” His voice rises like thunder until it vibrates right through me, making me shake. “Football is all I have!”

“I have a choice?” I burst out, my own frustration rising by the second. “I didn’t give up everything and come halfway across the world to get benched for an ankle sprain!”

“You’re lucky, Jordan. You’ve got a brain.” His finger jabs at the photo on my corkboard that I tacked up only yesterday of me with my parents. It makes my gut clench to see us smiling happily at the camera, the snapshot a daily reminder of how easy it is to lose what you care for most. “You’ve got a fucking family. You’ve got the world at your feet. A smart girl with talent who looks like you? Scouts are gonna be busting down your door to get at you. You just … you … ” A frustrated groan slips from his lips. He grabs at his hair and stalks for the door.

“Where are you going?” I demand when his hand circles the handle. I push up on my feet and pitch forward, my ankle giving out beneath me.

Brody moves fast, grabbing underneath my armpits before I crumple to the floor. “Dammit, Jordan.”

Anger has him breathing hard. I meet his eyes to find him staring down at me. It freezes me in place and desire slams me like a freight train.

When he eventually speaks his voice is hoarse. “I wasn’t leaving. I was going to get you a first aid kit. You need some ice and a bandage.”

Making sure I’m steady, Brody’s hands fall away and he leaves the room like Satan’s on his heels. I sink to the edge of the bed, brushing hair from my face with a shaky hand. When he returns, he’s carrying a first aid kit in his hand.

He crouches at me feet.

“I can do it,” I squawk, my voice like a crazed bird. In my defense, I have Brody sitting back on his heels, taking my leg in both hands and resting my foot on his knee.

“Let me,” Brody says quietly, his head bowed as he takes a bandage from the kit by the floor on his left. Unwrapping it from the package, he begins winding it around my ankle. After a few turns, he looks up from beneath thick lashes. “Not too tight?”

I clear my throat. “No. It’s good.”

He returns to his task, extending the bandage up the length of my calf and back down as he speaks. “Are you worried about scouts, Jordan? Because you don’t need to be. If they see something they like, they’ll come back.”

I’m tempted to throw out a cavalier comment and hide the fear. If I don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist, right? I even go so far as to open my mouth before I snap it shut.

Brody’s head is bent at his task, fingers nimble and brow furrowed in concentration. There’s sweetness beneath his cocky exterior. I don’t see him share that with anyone else, but for some reason I’m given peeks. Instead of turning away, I look, and now it’s all I can see.

“Getting this international sports scholarship was like winning the lottery.” Brody pauses and stares up at me, his eyes dark and troubled in the waning light. “I’ve come from having nothing, and now I’m on the verge of having almost everything, and I know I’ll never get another chance like it.” Like always, the thought overwhelms me. I turned my head away, staring blindly at the wall over Brody’s shoulder.

Brody

I set Jordan’s foot on the floor and push up on my knees. It brings my face in line with hers. Taking her chin in my hand, I drag her gaze back to mine. The searing blue in her eyes is dull and tired. “Is that what today was all about?”

Jordan’s lips press tight for a moment. “I’m scared,” she says. “Sometimes the pressure gets too much, and I push myself too hard.” Her eyes search my face. She’s waiting for me to brush her fears off as trivial, but I don’t. How can I, when the same fear echoes inside my own heart? “I’m so scared I’m going to mess it up.”

“Why?” I push, forcing her to give me more. “What’s gonna happen if you mess up?”

Jordan hesitates so I take her hands in mine, linking our fingers and resting them on her thighs. She stares down at them as she speaks. “I don’t have it all. I have my brother and I have soccer, and that’s it. He gave up so much to get me here. I was the one with the talent and the drive to succeed. He went without so I could benefit, every decision revolving around my future. And he put me first because his belief in me is as sure as his belief in the sun rising and setting each day.”

Jordan has someone who believes in her. Isn’t that half the battle? I swallow bittersweet emotion. My father can’t wait to see me fall. To say I told you so. I’ll never understand it, and yet I’ll do anything to prove him wrong. Whatever it takes. And sometimes that scares me more then failing does.

Rather than offer up empty platitudes that help no one, I grab the neckline of my shirt. It musses my hair as I drag it over my head and toss it on the floor. Jordan’s gaze drops to the ink on my chest, the tattoo placed to the right of my heart where I see it in the mirror every day.