The Quarterback's Redemption

Graduation Night, Six Years Ago

The bass from downstairs pulsed through the floorboards, but up here in Caspian Drake's study, the music felt distant, dreamlike. I stood by his desk, fingertips trailing over acceptance letters from top American football programs across the country. Each one promised glory to the golden boy of our high school, the quarterback who'd broken every record in our division.

"So, what do you think, Sage?" Caspian's voice carried that characteristic confidence that made every girl in school swoon. "Which one would you choose?"

I pushed my glasses up my nose, trying to focus on the letters rather than how close he was standing. The scent of his cologne was distracting, nothing like the cheap body spray other guys bathed in. "Well, their law schools' rankings should be a consideration if you're planning for the long term. Even NFL players need a backup plan."

He laughed, and the sound sent warmth spreading through my chest. "Always thinking ten steps ahead, aren't you?" His fingers brushed mine as he reached for one of the letters. "That's what I like about you, Sage. You see things differently."

I should have known better. The star quarterback didn't invite the valedictorian to his graduation party—to his private study—just to discuss college choices. But in that moment, with his green eyes focused entirely on me, I let myself believe I was special.

When he kissed me, it felt like every cliché romance novel I'd secretly read instead of studying. His lips were soft, confident, knowing. My hands trembled as they found his shoulders, broad from years of training. The acceptance letters scattered to the floor, forgotten.

"Are you sure?" he whispered against my neck, his fingers already working on the buttons of my blouse.

I nodded, unable to find my voice. I'd never done this before—had never wanted to, until now. The leather of his study's couch was cool against my bare skin, but his touch burned everywhere it landed. There was pain, yes, but also a pleasure I hadn't expected, hadn't known to expect.

Later, wrapped in his American football jersey—number 12, the number that would follow him to the NFL—we did it again. This time, I let myself be louder, bolder. His name fell from my lips like a prayer as waves of pleasure crashed over me.

In the grey light of dawn, I slipped from his arms, gathering my scattered clothes. The jersey I folded neatly, placing it on the arm of the couch. My fingers lingered on the fabric for a moment before I turned away.

Three days later, I stood in the shadows of Caspian's backyard, his freshly washed jersey clutched in my hands. Maybe washing it was my way of trying to hold onto that night, to prove I could be more than just the school's resident bookworm. More than just the girl whose dad walked out, leaving her with nothing but academic awards and trust issues.

Voices drifted from around the corner of the house. Male voices, laughing.

"I can't believe you actually did it. Balls of steel, man." The voice belonged to Ryan Thompson, Caspian's receiver.

"Come on, she wasn't that bad." Caspian's reply made my stomach clench.

"But Sage Winters? The fucking bookworm?" Another teammate chimed in. "When we made that bet, I thought you'd at least pick someone hot."

"Hey, under those glasses and baggy clothes..." Caspian's defense of me died in a laugh. "Besides, a bet's a bet. You owe me five hundred bucks."

The jersey slipped from my numb fingers. In that moment, everything shattered—not just my heart, but my entire world view. Every touch, every whispered word, every moment I'd replayed in my mind suddenly turned poison in my memories. Five hundred dollars. That's what my first time was worth. That's what I was worth.

I must have made a sound, because suddenly they were quiet, and then Caspian appeared around the corner. His eyes widened when he saw me, and for a split second, I saw something like regret flash across his face. Too little, too late.

"Sage—"

"That night..." My voice cracked, thick with unshed tears and bitter realizations. The smart, careful Sage would have walked away dignified. But I wasn't that girl anymore. He'd taken her from me, along with my trust, my self-worth, and something I could never get back. "It won't happen again. Though I—"

"Though what?"

Though I thought you were different. Though I believed in you. Though you made me feel like I mattered. Each thought burned like acid in my throat. "But I need to focus on my goals." I turned and ran, ignoring him calling my name.

Home should have been a sanctuary. Instead, I found Robert lounging in the living room, his eyes following me as I tried to slip past. My stepfather's gaze had always made my skin crawl, but tonight it felt like sandpaper against my already raw nerves.

"Late night?" His voice carried that edge I'd grown to dread. "Or should I say early morning? Saw you sneaking in yesterday."

I kept walking, but his next words froze me in place.

"God, you're stupid." He chuckled, the sound slithering down my spine. "All those academic awards, and you can't even tell when you're being played. But I guess that's what happens when daddy leaves—you'll fall for any guy who pays attention."

I ran upstairs, locking my bedroom door. Only then did I let myself break down, muffling my sobs in my pillow. The pain came in waves—humiliation, betrayal, self-loathing. Each sob felt like it was tearing something loose inside me, something I'd never get back. The smart, careful Sage was gone, replaced by someone who felt stupid and small and used.

But somewhere between the tears and the darkness, something else took root. A determination, hard and sharp as broken glass. They'd all underestimated me—Caspian, his friends, Robert. They thought I was just the quiet bookworm, easy to use, easy to break. They were wrong. I'd show them all just how wrong they were.

Present Day

The clinking of glasses and murmur of conversation filled the upscale restaurant where I worked part-time to supplement my internship at Morgan & Wright. I'd learned to tune out the ambient noise, focus on the task at hand—just like I'd learned to tune out so many other things.

"Hey, turn that up!" A patron called out, pointing to the mounted TV.

The volume increased, and suddenly his voice filled the restaurant. Caspian Drake, star quarterback for the Warriors, discussing their Super Bowl chances. The camera loved him even more now than it had in high school—all chiseled jawline and confident smile. Six years had been kind to him, turning boyish charm into something more mature, more powerful.

My hands didn't shake as I carried plates to table seven. Six years of practice had made me an expert at hiding my feelings. I kept my eyes firmly on the tray, even as the sports reporter's voice grew louder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, breaking news from the Warriors camp. Star quarterback Caspian Drake has just announced he's seeking new representation in his contract dispute with team management. Sources say he's specifically requested..."

The crash of shattering glass startled the entire restaurant as my tray slipped from my fingers. Expensive wine splashed across designer shoes, but I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

"Are you okay?" someone asked, but their voice seemed miles away.

On the screen, Caspian's face filled the frame, those familiar green eyes staring straight into the camera like he could see me. Like he was looking for me.

"Sometimes," he was saying, "the universe gives you a second chance to right your worst mistakes."

I pretended to be calm and unconcerned.

Unbeknownst to me, fate was preparing to play a joke on me because of him.