The Hearts We Break (The Alphaletes Book 3), page 1
Published by Katelyn Taylor
Cover art by Sammi Bee Designs
Formatted by Katelyn Taylor
The Hearts We Break is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and places are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people or events is coincidental.
The Hearts We Break Copyright © 2023 by Katelyn Taylor
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Playlist
Scarlett's Playlist
I Don’t Want to Be by Gavin DeGraw
You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift
Just a Friend to You by Meghan Trainor
Best Song Ever by One Direction
Remember the Name by Fort Minor
That Way by Tate McRae
Back To You by Selena Gomez
Bubbly by Colby Caillat
Paradise by Coldplay
Five More Minutes by Scotty McCreery
Fire On Fire by Sam Smith
Supermarket Flowers by Ed Sheeran
Slater's Playlist
It’s Goin’ Down by Yung Joc, Nitti
Memories by David Guetta, Kid Cudi
All That Really Matters by ILLENIUM
Friends by Chase Atlantic
Better by Khalid
Freak-A-Leek by Petey Pablo
Night Changes by One Direction
Not In That Way by Sam Smith
Without You by Avicii, Sandro Cavazza
Don’t Give Up On Me by Andy Grammar
Teeth by 5 Seconds of Summer
I Don’t Want to Be by Gavin DeGraw
Dedication
To everyone who has ever been in the friend zone but wanted to get in the end zone.
Trigger Warning
After much deliberation, I have decided to place the triggers into the back of the book. This book is best experienced if you go in blind and I encourage you to do so! If you would like to check over the triggers before starting, please go to the very back of the book. Your mental and emotional health is always first priority.
Contents
Scarlett
Slater
Slater
Scarlett
Slater
Scarlett
Slater
Slater
Scarlett
Slater
Scarlett
Slater
Slater
Slater
Scarlett
Scarlett
Slater
Scarlett
Slater
Slater
Scarlett
Slater
Slater
Scarlett
Scarlett
Slater
Scarlett
Slater
Scarlett
Scarlett
Slater
Scarlett
Slater
Scarlett
Scarlett
Slater
Scarlett
Slater
Thank you
Acknowledgments
Trigger Warnings
Scarlett
There is nothing quite like the rush of adrenaline that comes with that first snap. Despite only ever being on the sidelines, football runs through my veins, it’s ingrained in my soul. It’s not just because my dad and both my older brothers played in college. It’s also not just because there is an extreme beauty to the sport, a delicate balance between skill and instinct. No, football is so fundamentally a part of me for one main reason.
Slater Santos.
I’ll never forget the day the Santos family moved in next door. I was seven years old at the time, Aaron was twelve, Ezra was eight, and the dark curly headed boy with deep chocolate eyes you could drown in was the same. My mom and dad were inside the house, spring cleaning while me and my brothers played outside. They think they were the first ones to see the new neighbors. I guess they were the first to greet them, but from where I sat underneath the large evergreen tree in the backyard blowing bubbles, I saw him first.
He hopped out of the backseat of the black SUV before quietly taking in his surroundings. Even at seven years old, I was already used to living in my brothers’ shadows. I was the quietest Hayes child, and I was okay with that. I didn’t need attention like my brothers so desperately craved from anyone who was around. But when those chocolate eyes fell on me, like two magnets snapping together, I never wanted to be seen more in my life.
Unfortunately for me, a rambunctious Ezra came barreling into our new neighbor, stealing his attention as he and Aaron introduced themselves. When I finally worked up enough nerve to leave behind my special spot and bubble wand, I made my way over to where the group of boys were playing tag. The dark-haired boy looked at me for a moment, pausing as he chased after Aaron and Ezra before giving me a smile that had my little seven year old heart pattering out of rhythm. I was about to introduce myself, but before I could, he was off, running in the direction my brothers took off.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was chasing after him. Even back then, I knew that wherever Slater Santos was going, I wanted to be there. And that’s how it always was. Since that day, we have been practically inseparable.
Losing my mom to ovarian cancer when I was only thirteen was probably the hardest thing I ever faced. If I hadn’t had Slater by my side, I don’t know if I would have survived it. He’s been my rock, my protector, my everything, for as long as I can remember.
The second hardest thing I have ever faced? Sitting in the front row as I watched the man I’ve loved practically my entire life marry someone else. Yeah. That one hurt like hell.
I did what I was supposed to despite the crippling pain inside me. I smiled encouragingly when he told me he was going to propose. I even helped pick out a ring Nikki would like. I was there to help him and my brothers when it came to choosing tuxes, and I congratulated them at the wedding while I was choking down tears and nursing a broken heart.
That was the day I knew Slater would never be mine, not in the way I wanted at least. I could have pulled away, created distance for my own sake, but despite the fact he would never be mine in that way, he will always be my best friend and I can’t imagine living a day without that.
The sound of a whistle brings me back to the present. The roar of the crowd is deafening, the energy palpable inside the stadium as fans for both the Crusaders and the Pumas shout their agreement or outrage at the call just made.
“On the receiving side, number forty three, holding. Fifteen yards.”
“C’mon!” Coach Aberton snaps as he throws his clipboard on the ground and begins pacing.
To be fair, I wasn’t paying too close attention to the play, so I can’t be certain if Aberton is being overdramatic or not. But if I had to go out on a limb, I’d say he was. He’s known for being one of the most hot-headed coaches in the league. Regardless of his reputation, he has countless championships and a handful of Super Bowl rings under his belt so whatever he does works.
“Andrews looks stiff out there,” Collin, the team’s physical therapist comments as he watches our starting wide receiver stretch out his arm. Damion Andrews dislocated his shoulder at the beginning of the season, and though we are in the playoffs now, he’s still hurting.
“Once we get through this game, I’ll work with him. See if I can come up with a more comprehensive plan.”
Collin nods as his eyes stay focused on the field in front of us. I know what you’re thinking, how did I get so lucky, right? I’m an athletic trainer for the NFL, the Seattle Crusaders to be exact. I decided early on that I wanted to help people and the human body always fascinated me, but I never thought about applying that to football until a linebacker on our high school football team broke his ankle in the middle of a game my freshman year. I was one of the first people on the field to help, and unfortunately for Ronnie Robinson, he didn’t seek proper physical therapy following his injury and never played again.
We are in the NFC championship against the Las Vegas Pumas, and the score is currently tied up 31-31. We only have two minutes left in the fourth quarter, and at this point, we really need to pull something off if we want to move on.
The ball is snapped, and Danny Smith, our QB, backpedals a few steps before looking at his options. He has several. Andrews is open about ten yards away, though he’s swarmed with defensemen. Sebastian Caldwell is trying to lose the guy covering him but isn’t having too much luck. Then again, the tight end is 6’6”, so does it really matter if someone is covering him? He could catch the ball over his opponent’s head and take off with ease if he needed to.
Then Smith sees his opening, the perfect player to bring home the win for us. Slater Santos is downfield a way, turned just enough to signal that he’s ready. Smith throws the ball, and it sails across the field in a spiral. It’s no surprise that it lands in Slater’s arms perfectly. I think the man has only fumbled maybe five times in his professional career. It’s like his hands are made of Velcro.
The player covering Slater knows in that moment it’s over for them. If Slater has the ball, that’s all there is to it. Being the fastest running back in the league, he’s nearly untouchable. Don’t get me wrong there are plenty of fast players out there but none quite like Slater. When he runs, it’s almost like he’s flying.
I
My face breaks out into a smile, my heart full at the fact that he is about to win it all for us, to help crown us the NFC champions. Until the worst possible thing could happen. A defensive end, who seemingly comes out of nowhere down the field, begins after Slater. He is covering the distance faster than others, and because of the angle that he’s coming from, I don’t think Slater sees him.
“On your left!” I shout uselessly. The guys on the sidelines can’t hear me over the deafening crowd, let alone Slater, who is over sixty yards away from me.
The impact comes harder than I expect—harder than anyone expects. The two hundred and some pound man drives into Slater low, taking him down at the hips before plowing him into the turf. A collective ‘ooo’ sounds from the sidelined players and coaches as we watch several other players dogpile on top of them.
Slowly, players from both teams begin untangling themselves as they stand up and start making their way back into position. All but one.
“C’mon, Santos. Get up,” Collin murmurs on my left.
I’m running onto the field before I can stop myself. Technically, Collin should be the one to do so, but I can hear him right on my heels, so it doesn’t really matter. When I reach Slater, I drop to the ground to see him cradling his left knee with a pained expression. His eyes come to me first, pain and fear equally heavy in those rich chocolate eyes. I do my best to school my own expression, but I know I don’t do a great job. Slater’s eyes flick over my face quickly, panic beginning to replace the pain on his face.
“You’re gonna be okay, Santos. We got you,” Collin says as several others rush over with the gurney.
I know he’s lying, though. Slater knows he’s lying. We both know that injury too well. I also know that this moment is about to change Slater’s life forever.
Slater
“I don’t even understand why you’re here in the first place. You’re not his wife, Scarlett. I am, in case you need the reminder,” I hear Nikki sneer as a heavy fog begins to lift.
A hollow laugh comes from who I know to be Scar. “No reminder necessary. That gaudy ring you forced Slater to replace your wedding ring with could be seen from space.”
“Get the fuck out of my husband’s room before I-”
“Ladies, ladies,” I rasp dryly. “Can we keep the volumes down? I feel like I just got tackled by a two hundred and fifty pound linebacker…oh wait.”
“Slate! Baby!” Nikki exclaims as she comes closer and wraps her hands around mine. Slowly, I peel my eyes open to find myself in a hospital room. I blink up at Nikki for a moment until my vision clears before I smile weakly. Her big blue eyes are filled with tears, her long blonde hair is smooth hitting just above her ass, and she’s wearing the tight fitted, black satin dress that I bought her a few weeks ago. Or she bought herself with my credit card, same thing, right?
“How you doing, Nik?”
“I’ve been a mess! When I got the call I had to jump on a flight from New York to get back here. They took you into surgery without even talking to me!”
“That’s because they talked to me,” I laugh lightly. “I wasn’t unconscious, Nik.”
“Oh,” she says with furrowed brows like she hadn’t thought of that.
“I told you,” Scar mutters under her breath, earning a poisonous look from my wife.
Internally, I sigh. My two favorite people in the world are like oil and water. I guess there was a time in college where they got along decently, but that is definitely not the case anymore. Scar tries to be cordial, while Nik…well, doesn’t. She is the most real person you’ll ever meet. If she doesn’t like you, she will tell you in the first five seconds of meeting you. Just how she is.
“How did it go?” I ask, directing my question to Scar because I know my best friend well enough to know she was all over the doctors the moment they wheeled me into recovery.
She takes a few steps closer to me, and when she does, I see the blank face she’s wearing begins to slip. Her eyes are slightly reddened like she’s been crying, her fingers are twisting together like they do whenever she’s nervous, and she is currently looking just above my head, not making full eye contact with me. Her dark brown hair is slung into a low ponytail like usual, her arms folded over her Seattle Crusader team gear, before she glances down at her white sneakers.
“Eyes,” I say simply, causing Scar’s hazel ones to snap up to me.
“It was confirmed. Full ACL tear. Surgery went as well as expected.”
I nod. That’s what they had already assumed within five minutes of arriving here.
“Your surgeon and Collin have been talking with me briefly about what comes next. A recovery plan and all of that.”
“Good. Thank god it’s the end of the season, more time to heal.”
Scar looks away again causing my stomach to clench.
“Scarlett,” I say seriously, garnering her attention once more. I rarely use her full name, so she knows I’m serious.
“Collin isn’t sure, based on your age, if you’ll be able to make a full recovery, especially in time for next season.”
“My age? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’m only twenty eight years old!”
“I know, but a six year career in the NFL has obviously taken its toll on your body. You’re-”
“The fastest fucking running back in the league, and they are just ready to dump me?” I scoff.
“No, Aberton was pissed when Collin suggested it. He is just trying to look after you as a person, not just a player.”
“He is a player, though,” Nikki argues.
Scarlett doesn’t even glance at her as she continues to watch me.
“What does the surgeon say? What does he think I can get back to?” I ask.
She cringes softly. “Do you remember when you messed up your knee in eighth grade? How you had to sit on your ass all summer? And then again your junior year of high school? Both times left behind substantial scar tissue and-”
“Goddamnit, Scarlett. Quit beating around the bush.”
“70%. Optimistically.”
I lean back into the bed, my eyes flicking up to the dotted ceiling.
“I can’t perform at 70% mobility. Not the way I need to,” I say quietly.
“No,” Scar confirms. “You can’t.”
Slowly, I feel Nikki’s hands slip from mine before they pull away altogether. Voices begin speaking, but it all sounds muffled, like I’m underwater. Like I’m drowning. So that was it? That tackle, that play, that game? That was my last time on a football field?
Every player knows that eventually his time will come. Most don’t know when that time will be, due to injury or being forced into retirement. Never thought that would be me, though. I’m still on top, or I was. I still had a lot in me. I was going to choose when I was done…but I guess my knee just decided for me.
It's been two weeks since the surgery. The doc just cleared me to lose the crutches, but I think he must be a quack because I hurt just as much today as I did the day after surgery. I can barely put any weight on my left leg, and honestly, I don’t see much point in trying. Everything fucking hurts.
Collin and Scar came to my appointment, both met me with disappointed looks when the doc told me I should be in less pain than I am. I’ve known a lot of guys that have torn their ACL throughout my football career. Some come back for a season or two, but they’re never the same.
Coach is losing faith in me. The whole team is. And if I’m honest, I’m losing faith in myself.
I’m sitting on the couch, watching highlights from last season, when a beige Prada dress obstructs my view, hands on slim hips as a pinched look transforms my wife’s normally stunning face. I glance up to her, waiting for her to say whatever she has to say because god knows it’s always something.
“What?” I finally ask.
“I’m tired of you laying around like a bum. You’re never gonna get back to the field if you just sit and sulk.”
I scoff as I turn the TV off and look up at her.
“I’m not laying around like a bum. I’m fucking hurt, Nik. I hurt every day. Don’t you get that?”
