Unintentional: Blitzed, #2

By Amy Jarecki

Jason owned the field—a major player, the best of the best. Invincible…

 

Until he drove home with three other wide receivers. The semi came out of nowhere and in one minuscule flash, his dreams were destroyed. Now as the machines endlessly beep around his hospital bed, he doesn't understand how he survived. And he's not sure he wants to keep living. Except when he hears her voice—a voice like melted caramel swirled in molten chocolate. The only way he can meet her is to open his eyes. But he just can't do that right now.

 

Raised in the system, Ellie plays the drums. Her sticks kept her out of juvie during high school—got her a scholarship, too. But now that she's a student at Madison U, she's as invisible as a clump of dirt beneath the grass on the football field. There's only one person in school she talks to—and he's in a coma. God save her if he ever wakes up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Jarecki
• Release date: Aug 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798224850402

Book preview

Also by Amy Jarecki

Blitzed

Defenseless

Unintentional

Tackled

Highland Dynasty

A Highland Knight's Desire

A Highland Knight to Remember

Highland Knight of Rapture

Knight in Highland Armor

Highland Knight of Dreams

Highland Force

Captured by the Pirate Laird

The HIghland Henchman

Beauty and the Barbarian

Return of the Highland Laird

ICE

Hunt for Evil

Body Shot

Mach One

Standalone

Time Warriors

UNINTENTIONAL

A Stand-Alone College Sports Romance

Blitzed Series - Book Two

by

Amy Jarecki

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author Amy Jarecki, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

PUBISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 Amy Jarecki

ISBN: 9781942442400

Table of Contents

UNINTENTIONAL

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Epilogue

Other Books by Amy Jarecki

About the Author

Chapter One

Jason

A WEEK AGO

My wheels burned rubber, announcing "here is the king of the universe" as I revved my Jeep Wrangler up the interstate onramp, heading home from the finest wide receivers camp I’d ever been to in my life. Nearly every team in the NFL sent scouts who wined and dined us to the max. And for once in my life, I was at the top of my game—they couldn’t throw anything at me I wasn’t able to catch. I’d never been in better shape or this psyched for spring training to kickoff.

Holy mother, I was so close to going pro, my muscles twitched.

As soon as I merged into traffic, the damned clouds opened. I’d noticed when a few flakes of snow had shimmered in the parking lot halogens, but now the flakes were big and multitudinous. Only in Minnesota does it snow in April. I flicked on the wipers and watched as they pushed slush to the side of the windshield. At least it’s not sticking.

Yet, said Connor, the freshman in the backseat.

I glanced to Marcus, the junior riding shotgun. You got a playlist for us?

He lit up his phone. You want Christmas carols?

Fuck that shit. Tony, the sophomore in the car, pushed his face between the two front seats. We just had the awesomest four days on the field. Hello? With Jason’s Spidey fingers there’s not a team out there that can stop us next season. Rock this car, bro!

Rock? asked Marcus, giving me a snigger. You look more like a country-western hillbilly to me.

I laughed. Marcus was always talking smack to the underclassmen even though Tony wasn’t lying. We weren’t only invited to Minnesota’s brand-new US Bank Stadium, we’d spent our time running kick-ass plays, some even I’d never seen before. Come fall, I’ll be a red-shirt senior and I couldn’t think of a single corner in our division who could best me. I’d never been so confident going into a season. Yeah, this was the year the Gyrfalcons would be undefeated.

My year.

As I changed lanes, Marcus’ playlist of best all time rappers blasted through the speakers. I sniggered, doubting he even had a country-western tune on his list, the oaf.

Tony slid back to his seat. Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.

Recalculating, said Google Maps, breaking through my speakers. There’s an accident ahead. Take the next exit.

Marcus tapped the map on my screen. Whoa. The freeway is backed up for miles.

I knew I hated Minnesota, I grumbled, moving into the right lane and signaling for the exit.

It’s because their college team sucks. I swear they’re all gay, said the freshman.

"Hey, have you already forgotten sensitivity training? I frowned at Connor in the rearview mirror. A few years ago, his remark would have been funny, but no more. You’ll get your ass suspended if you keep that shit up."

The dude smirked.

I cleared my throat and put on my coach voice as I followed Google’s directions to turn right. Next time we play Minnesota, son, just remember they’re all fine boy scouts.

Marcus snickered. They’re all in the 4-H horse-shit collection club.

I laughed so hard my flanks cramped. Yeah—their coach keeps the stuff on the sidelines for us to feed their D-line.

You are on the fastest route, said Google, taking us through a series of turns—drive two miles, turn right—drive five miles, turn left. On and on it went until I checked the screen. What? The damned fastest route added two hours to our trip.

That’s my man Googs. Marcus tilted his seat back. He’ll get us home. Trust him.

Right. I turned my wipers off because the snow wasn’t sticking to the windshield anymore. It was whipping past us in a vortex, sticking to the road now and piling up fast.

Crank up the tunes, Connor whined.

Tony’s face pushed forward from the rear seats again. Maybe we should get a hotel.

He might be right. If it kept snowing like this, we’d be better off hunkering down than trying to weave our way through rural Minnesota in the dark. I nudged Marcus. Wingman—ask Google for the nearest hotel.

I don’t have any money, muttered Connor.

You’re such a rookie, said Marcus, swiping his finger across his phone. Everyone knew we’d put the room on my card and turn in an expense report. Coach would approve it as long as we didn’t stay at a five-star. He always did. Marcus stopped swiping. Shit.

What? I asked.

I don’t have any service. He checked my phone. You neither.

The dudes in the back concurred.

Slowing down, I turned on my high beams and saw nothing but sheets of white hurtling toward us. Keep an eye on your bars. It’s probably just a moment of dead space—shouldn’t last for more than a mile or two.

On I drove, making right and left turns while our bars remained at zero. Thank God Google had downloaded our route—at least it appeared that way.

When Lose Yourself came on, Marcus turned up the volume so loud my windshield rattled. With the visibility no more than two feet, I nearly told him to shut it off, but the brothers in the back were rapping along, throwing their fists, and bobbing their heads to the beat. Might as well let them party. In this whiteout we aren’t going anywhere in a hurry.

I checked my phone for service just as the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

Fuck, my stomach dropped into my scrotum.

From out of the corner of my eye, headlights headed straight for us. In the fraction of a second it took for me to squeeze my fingers around the steering wheel, a semi broad-sided us. The airbag slammed into my chest. My throat burned with my bellow as the Jeep flipped, landed on the roof, crushing my head. Over and over the SUV rolled, smashing the vehicle with every jolting collision.

Glass shattered. Connor screamed. I grunted as something rammed my leg. But the pain in my calf was supplanted by a slash to my face and my temple colliding with my side window.

Still gripping the wheel, I tried to hold on while everything flickered. . . right before the world turned black.

Chapter Two

Ellie

PRESENT DAY.

I’ve been invisible to dudes like you my entire life.

The truth made me numb. It always did, even though I preferred to live in the shadows.

I double checked the room for my escape route—only one door, but I sat on the wall to the side of the hinges where I wouldn’t be seen if anyone peeked in. I knew it was a risk to visit after hours, but the ID I’d made had a bogus name. Besides, when I walked through the hospital, I not only wore scrubs and posed as an orderly, I wore a ball cap and kept my head down so the security cameras couldn’t capture my face. My getup was perfect, and no one questioned me when I slipped inside Jason Allen’s room.

Of course, there wasn’t a soul who knew me here, especially the wide receiver who’d been in a coma for a week now. Machines beeped around him as he lay unmoving on a sterile-looking bed, wearing a cap covered with dozens of electrodes. Poor dude. If he ever wakes up, he’ll be psycho.

I would be.

Yeah, I’m invisible to the popular crowd, I continued. "To be honest, the girls are worse than the dudes. I’m not fond of the establishment either. The dumb asses are always trying to make me conform—to make me normal. First of all, nothing in my life has ever been normal. That’s why I hang with myself."

I shrugged and ran my hands over the chair’s vinyl armrests. My own company isn’t so bad. At least it’s safe.

I needed to shut my mouth. I didn’t come here to talk about myself. As a general rule, I hated talking about myself.

But right now, this dude wasn’t going to judge me. Thank God. So why am I here? You would ask that, wouldn’t you?

Regardless of if Jason could hear me or not, opening up wasn’t as easy as I’d thought it would be. First of all, the dude was enormous. Yeah, I’d seen him on the field. I’d played my snares as he ran through the tunnel with the rest of the team. They were all huge. But they all weren’t at the top of their game, and most of them weren’t heading for the pros like Jason had been.

Except now it seemed his life would be changed forever. One of Jason’s feet hung over the end of the bed, the side of his face bandaged, his right leg in plaster and suspended from a traction bar. The tragedy of the accident made my stomach squelch.

I tapped out a syncopated rhythm on the armrests. Well, if you must know, my therapist told me to make a friend. Just one, she said. And thus far in my life, she’s one of the people holding my marionette strings—at least until I graduate.

I kept tapping because the rhythm calmed my nerves. After reading the news reports, I thought you might need somebody like me about now. I could be a good friend, you know, if given a chance.

God, I sounded dumb. Sure, I’ve had lots of friends before, just no one who’d stuck. And after I’d migrated into independent living, I’d discovered it was so damned hard to trust anyone.

"I watched you every Saturday last fall. You never noticed me, but I was one of the five band members playing a snare every time the team ran out of the tunnel. Third from the end. Yeah, a pretty inconspicuous spot, but as I said, I don’t mind being invisible.

It’s nice to meet you, Jason. I’m Ellie Pierson. I know pretty much the whole team came by to see you, but now they’ve all returned to their shallow lives. Well, at least they’re not here after hours.

Footsteps clapped the tiled floor in the hallway. I pushed myself against the seat’s backrest and held my breath while a shadow darkened the narrow window in the door.

Is everything okay? asked a voice.

Yeah. Jason’s brain waves are active, said another.

Good sign. Maybe he’ll be waking up soon.

Let’s pray.

As the footsteps started away, I exhaled with a whoosh. It would ruin everything if I were caught on my first night. When I’d hacked into the system, the schedule said Jason was to be checked once every two hours. The nurse’s fly-by wasn’t planned—which might be why the two hadn’t come in.

I stood and leaned over Jason’s bed. Even with his head covered with that space-odyssey cap and the bandage over the side of his face, he looked like a god—tall, lean, and sculpted. His straight, Grecian nose was perfect for his face, his lips not too full and not too thin as if they’d been shaped by a master sculptor. Even Jason’s hands were a work of art, each finger long, graceful, and exceptionally skilled at plucking overthrown footballs out of the air.

It was so hard to believe that the wide receiver I had admired from a distance lay here fighting for his life. How easy it was to take things for granted. I know I did.

But now I wonder.

It could all be over in a heartbeat. One measly mistake was all it took for a person to vanish off the face of the earth.

I knew all too well.

When I slid his hand into my palm, the coolness of his fingers made a shiver course through me. But I didn’t snap my hand away like I normally did. Instead, I remained perfectly still and closed my eyes. This hand is too talented to waste. You were spared for a reason, dude. I know it.

As the words spilled from my lips, a tightness gripped my chest. My eyes stung, too. Yeah, I was no stranger to tragedy, even though Jason’s accident might stack up with anything I’ve experienced in my twenty-one years of hell.

Shaking off the unwanted emotion, I released my hold and slid back into my chair. Sorry about that. I just want you to know that I get what you’re going through—or will be going through when you wake up. I tapped the screen on my phone and opened the Kindle app. "I downloaded a book you might like—Memoirs of a Geisha. I’ve watched the movie at least a dozen times. The story hits home, you know?"

I slid my finger across to Chapter One. Well, you might say it’s a ‘chick flick’ type of book, but in my opinion it ought to be mandatory reading—or watching.

A memory flashed through my mind, one of someone reading to me when I was very young. Was she my mom, or someone else? I hesitated for a moment and tried to recall the face, but it was too dark.

Forget it.

I’ve never been helped by looking backward, and now I was starting something new—something to help a person besides me for a change. I held up my phone and read aloud, "Suppose that you and I. . ."

Chapter Three

Jason

THE LIGHT IS BLINDING. I keep trying to see through it but there is nothing but white. I’ve been trapped here for an eternity with no way out.

Hello?

Is anybody here?

Am I dead?

Ra-ta-ta-tat, ra-ta-tee-ta-tee-tat-tat.

I sigh as the murderous brightness is supplanted by bliss.

Thank God she was back. I knew by the rhythm she tapped. It wasn’t a simple beat, but one filled with syncopation and more emotion than I’ve heard in my life. . . or in the afterlife, if that’s where I was hanging out.

Hey, she said.

Hey, I wanted to reply, but I just couldn’t form the word right now.

The girl seemed to be cool with my silence because she just talked—a little at first, but the more she came, the more she said. I couldn’t remember it all, but I wanted to.

When she talks I could listen forever, even when she’s reading.

At least I thought she was reading.

Her voice was soft like a sultry summer day where you couldn’t move fast if your ass was on fire. Her tone was filled with sorrow and a maturity I wouldn’t expect from a woman of twenty-one. That I do remember. Sometime in the jumble of my memory she’d told me her age. Before that, she’d said she liked being invisible.

God, I hope she’s not.

Whenever she speaks, I want to bathe myself in her sound and rock to her rhythm.

Why does a woman with her skills like being invisible?

I think she ought to be on a stage. With a voice like hot caramel swirling in molten chocolate, I’ll bet she can sing.

I wish she’d sing for me now.

Whenever I hear her talk, I try to picture her. She can’t be blonde, can she? Anyone in possession of a voice like my angel had to be more exotic than the blondes I’ve met.

She’s a brunette.

Her hair is long.

And thick.

And I wanted it swathed across my chest. I wanted to bury my face in her mane and lose myself there.

Ra-ta-ta-tat, ra-ta-tee-ta-tee-tat-tat.

The rhythm went on as she read, adding variations and wicked syncopation. She must have unreal hand-eye coordination to read while tapping such an intricate beat.

That’s the end of Chapter Thirteen, she said. How do you like it so far?

I loved it. No, I couldn’t relay the story’s premise, but I loved everything about it, because she was reading to me.

I like it too, she said.

When her fingertips brushed my arm, my world turned into paradise—sunshine, a secluded beach with white sand, a stroll through warm, shallow water.

I hacked into the doctor’s notes, she whispered, her voice lulling me. He doesn’t know if you’ll have permanent damage or not. I hope you don’t. I hope you wake up and can run back onto the field...

If only I could tell her that I just want to open my eyes so I can see her face—ask her name.

She continued talking in a voice so sweet it called to my soul, but only Lord knew what she was saying.

Please keep brushing your fingers along my arm.

Don’t stop.

Don’t ever stop.

It’s late, she whispered. I guess I’d better go before I get caught.

No! You just got here, you can’t go now.

Warm lips pressed the back of my hand.

Bye, Jason.

No!

What’s your name?

Don’t...

Why am I so tired?

Damn, the wicked light is too bright.

Chapter Four

Ellie

IF ANYONE WALKED PAST my corner after three-thirty, they’d find me unless it was pouring rain. I started busking when I was thirteen and now my drumming is famous. I might be invisible when I’m just me, but everyone knows Bucket Babe