Page 47 of A Hard Habit to Break

Pete raised both hands in the air, a surrender by the growing red on his cheeks and the tight-pressed lips. “I meant no disrespect. Just dropping by to offer support to the home team. Noah knows he can count on me.”

“Thanks, bro,” Noah called back

Rachel mouth quirked up at the corner, a smirk if he ever saw one. “Did I mention Benji’s a former quarterback?”

“For real?” Noah called.

“Yes,” Rachel chided, “like all-American for San Diego Mechanical University.”

Noah pointed at Benji’s team at the other end of the field, laughing and clapping each other on the backs. “You have got to be kidding me?”

“Have you ever known me to joke?” Rachel called back. “You should’ve guessed Benji had skills when he stepped up to your football challenge. Enjoy your humble pie, Noah.”

At overhearing their conversation, her dad jumped to his feet. “No wonder this is such a great matchup. We’re gonnaneed more beer. Mayor, you want one? Looks like you could use a cool off?”

“Got business to handle; otherwise, I’d join my best friend in teaching his older brothers… and others… a lesson in loyalty,” he said, jacking up his pants and flashing a gigantic rodeo-style belt buckle. “I got a town to run. Busy getting the right kind of businesses to plant roots in Service.”

When he said “best friend,” the pride was in his tone. Noah wondered if people would ever understand their friendship. Pete hadn’t been the type of kid to share, but he had with Noah. They had a brotherhood forged by trust and unwavering support. It had been different for him and Rachel. Was that why desire and resentment ran deep between them?

Matt chuckled at Pete’s antics. “Best you get to it, then.”

The slam about loyalty Pete had injected reminded him of the twisted competition between his best friend and the girl next door. Noah wanted them both in his life.

“See you later, Rachel.”

“Yep,” Noah heard Rachel say as Pete sauntered off. “You will.”

Tobias came running up sporting a cocky grin. He popped the battered white lid on the vintage Igloo cooler, fished in the ice, and pulled out a frosted bottle of water. Standing there, drenched in sweat, he guzzled three-fourths of the contents. It was after three o’clock, and the sun hit the field at just the right angle to give players on and off the field a fine sheen of perspiration.

“Ah, that tastes good going down,” Tobias said, lifting his face to the sun.

“The water?” Noah quizzed at the blissful expression on his face.

“No. Winning. You’re good at everything you set your mind to. I’ve never been a part of a team that could wipe that grin off my little brother’s face.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Noah was used to winning. Did he ever consider the feelings of those who repeatedly lost to the Great Noah Calvary? Did he care?

Tobias gave him a big hug. “Have to admit it does feel good to win… even if it’s a game.”

“Hey,” Noah yelled. “Game ain’t over, bro.”

“Whatever, Noah.” Tobias laughed. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

“You think I’m out of plays, bookworm?”

“Might as well be. The God Squad is baptizing y’all by fire.”

Noah stopped himself from looking at Rachel. She couldn’t be his moral support. He had to show her that Noah Calvary would always be the best. Her plan to take him down would crumble, and he’d line dance through the rumble… preferably with her on his arm.

The next few minutes were brutal. The sound of bodies colliding drew a fair share ofoohs and audible hisses. Noah’s team scored another touchdown to even the score, but their energy expenditure on that last play might have drained their collective well.

“Come on, guys,” Noah rallied his buffed army, who looked confused by their current predicament. “We’re better than this.”

“And they’re better than us.” Stroker grinned, his tone light and jovial.

“Leave me out of your critique. I’m not giving up,” Noah grumbled, openly disgusted with his performance. He and his team needed to regroup. Noah signaled a time-out.

While he pondered his strategy, Benji ran a play that moved his team closer to scoring another goal. Deuce, an affable kid with thick glasses when they were all scrawny and ran up and down the mountain like wildlings without a pack, had undergone a duck-to-less-ducky makeover, with contactlenses and a decent haircut for his chestnut curls. He’d also gotten more vocal.