The Banshee and the Linebacker (A Paranormal Romance) by P.R. Mason Page B
Authors: P.R. Mason
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okay. I promise. I really wanted a car, anyway." Keagan leaned in and ran the tip of his index finger along my jaw. He whispered in my ear, "More room to maneuver in the backseat of a car."
"Hey." Liam shouted from the field. He removed his helmet and threw it to the ground as he barreled towards us. "Get your hands off her, dude."
When Liam reached us, he grabbed Keagan by the shoulders and spun him away from me. Liam rammed his brother with arms outstretched and Keagan staggered back a step, but didn't go down.
"You'll have to do better than that on the field Friday night, little brother." Keagan sneered.
Liam's face contorted with rage and he swung at Keagan.
"No," I screamed.
Keagan leaped to the right and away with a laugh. Liam's punch failed to land.
"Weak, bro. You are so whipped you're almost cream," Keagan said.
This only enraged Liam further and he came after Keagan, tackling him. The two rolled on the dirt punching at each other. The players on the field stopped their practice and were focused on the fight, with hoots, whistles, and shouted encouragements.
"Beat his ass, Liam," Billy Broaderick called.
"Keagan. Liam," I yelled. "Stop it. Both of you."
Coach Dixon finally arrived and pulled Liam off Keagan, with my boyfriend continuing to strain against the coach's hold so he could get back to pummeling his brother.
"Knock it off or I'll make sure you're suspended," the coach growled.
Liam stopped straining and the coach released him.
He stood puffing and glowering at his brother. "You're lucky the coach saved you, you sorry douchebag."
When I walked to Liam and hooked my arm through his, Keagan took in my position and nodded as if he knew I'd just signaled my allegiance. Guilt gnawed at me and I dropped Liam's arm. Why did I feel guilty? I hadn't hurt Keagan with the gesture had I?
Keagan rose before brushing himself off and turned to the coach. "For your information, you don't have the power to get me suspended or anything else anymore."
"I was sorry to see you leave the Academy, son," the coach said.
An angry fire lit Keagan's face. "I'm not your son and I don't need your pity. Save your sorry for Friday. You'll need it when the Hawks beat your cream puffs into the fake ground of this shitty place."
Liam lunged for Keagan.
This time there'd be blood from both brothers.
Grabbing Liam's arm, I fought to hold him back. But then my eyesight faded, the sound of the surrounding voices muffled, and a vision began. Like a nail shooting through my skull from a pneumatic gun, the images moved through my brain in fast-motion and then slowed.
A football stadium loomed all around me, but it was night and crowds packed the bleachers. Over the loudspeaker, the announcer talked about this being the best game in the history of the two teams and said something about the battle of the brothers. I realized a game was in progress. Glancing to the right I saw the scoreboard lit with visitors: 20, home: 14. The clock was stopped with one minute, twenty seconds left to play in the fourth quarter. Liam stood on the field with number 33 on his uniform. Keagan— at the position of linebacker—fidgeted with impatience in the defensive line. The quarterback called a play and handed off to Liam. He didn't get more than a few steps before Keagan hammered him and the two went down.
Pain, breath-stealing in its intensity, jolted through me as if I'd been struck.
Keagan bounced back up, leaping to his feet. Liam stayed down, lying still with his head at an odd angle. Keagan drew off his helmet. A gloating smile quickly fell from his lips and those taunting eyes became anguished. Coach Dixon and others rushed from the sidelines but it was hopeless. I knew what had happened. The excruciating ache in my neck told me that Liam's had been broken.
Dead. Liam. Dead.
"Nooooooooooooo," I screamed, keening. Falling to my knees, with my head buried in my hands, I wept.
Chapter Two
Why was
"Hey." Liam shouted from the field. He removed his helmet and threw it to the ground as he barreled towards us. "Get your hands off her, dude."
When Liam reached us, he grabbed Keagan by the shoulders and spun him away from me. Liam rammed his brother with arms outstretched and Keagan staggered back a step, but didn't go down.
"You'll have to do better than that on the field Friday night, little brother." Keagan sneered.
Liam's face contorted with rage and he swung at Keagan.
"No," I screamed.
Keagan leaped to the right and away with a laugh. Liam's punch failed to land.
"Weak, bro. You are so whipped you're almost cream," Keagan said.
This only enraged Liam further and he came after Keagan, tackling him. The two rolled on the dirt punching at each other. The players on the field stopped their practice and were focused on the fight, with hoots, whistles, and shouted encouragements.
"Beat his ass, Liam," Billy Broaderick called.
"Keagan. Liam," I yelled. "Stop it. Both of you."
Coach Dixon finally arrived and pulled Liam off Keagan, with my boyfriend continuing to strain against the coach's hold so he could get back to pummeling his brother.
"Knock it off or I'll make sure you're suspended," the coach growled.
Liam stopped straining and the coach released him.
He stood puffing and glowering at his brother. "You're lucky the coach saved you, you sorry douchebag."
When I walked to Liam and hooked my arm through his, Keagan took in my position and nodded as if he knew I'd just signaled my allegiance. Guilt gnawed at me and I dropped Liam's arm. Why did I feel guilty? I hadn't hurt Keagan with the gesture had I?
Keagan rose before brushing himself off and turned to the coach. "For your information, you don't have the power to get me suspended or anything else anymore."
"I was sorry to see you leave the Academy, son," the coach said.
An angry fire lit Keagan's face. "I'm not your son and I don't need your pity. Save your sorry for Friday. You'll need it when the Hawks beat your cream puffs into the fake ground of this shitty place."
Liam lunged for Keagan.
This time there'd be blood from both brothers.
Grabbing Liam's arm, I fought to hold him back. But then my eyesight faded, the sound of the surrounding voices muffled, and a vision began. Like a nail shooting through my skull from a pneumatic gun, the images moved through my brain in fast-motion and then slowed.
A football stadium loomed all around me, but it was night and crowds packed the bleachers. Over the loudspeaker, the announcer talked about this being the best game in the history of the two teams and said something about the battle of the brothers. I realized a game was in progress. Glancing to the right I saw the scoreboard lit with visitors: 20, home: 14. The clock was stopped with one minute, twenty seconds left to play in the fourth quarter. Liam stood on the field with number 33 on his uniform. Keagan— at the position of linebacker—fidgeted with impatience in the defensive line. The quarterback called a play and handed off to Liam. He didn't get more than a few steps before Keagan hammered him and the two went down.
Pain, breath-stealing in its intensity, jolted through me as if I'd been struck.
Keagan bounced back up, leaping to his feet. Liam stayed down, lying still with his head at an odd angle. Keagan drew off his helmet. A gloating smile quickly fell from his lips and those taunting eyes became anguished. Coach Dixon and others rushed from the sidelines but it was hopeless. I knew what had happened. The excruciating ache in my neck told me that Liam's had been broken.
Dead. Liam. Dead.
"Nooooooooooooo," I screamed, keening. Falling to my knees, with my head buried in my hands, I wept.
Chapter Two
Why was
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