𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘: 𝐓𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐝

Chapter 1: Wentworth Miller

UNTIL A WEEK AGO I'D SAY I was the luckiest guy in the state.

Good family? Check.

Good looks? Check.

Good-No! phenomenal reputation in football? Check.

I was the sicest player this entire region on the college field. With sic stats, thousands of fans and the respect of my fellow players. The old team Captain had been drafted for the professional field and after his departure. I had recently become the Captain of my University's football team. Unfortunately, the first thing I did to my reign was to become the Captain that collided and bit the dirt on the ground during our last big game.

The collision had knocked the ball right out of my gloved hands and landed me flat on my back with a fractured clavicle. Instantly losing my team the championship, our chance to finally win the game in over twenty years. Now, instead of taking them all to glory, I was at home, in bed. When the sun was blinding and high up in the sky.

Even after a week I still couldn't get that moment out of my head. When everything went silent, thousands of fans holding their breaths as I broke into a sprint for victory, determined to make that final hit. Determined to hit it for the fans, my coaches, my team, the Championship, the league ...until I tripped.

Until I tripped!

Until I fucking tripped on my own feet like some damn amateur and watched the ball in slo-mo as it slid from my usually skilled hands. A collective noise filled the stadium either for the ball dropping or for my injury. Either way that sound of doom hurt to hear, and I swear, it was a thousand times worse than the pain cutting through my collarbone.

"Then he stroked my dick and stuck it in his mouth under the table..."

Hmm? Naturally, I blinked back to reality at the word dick, because when talk turns to a guy's favourite body part. Crap memories bite the dust, at least temporarily "Wait, what?" I asked, adjusting myself to sit up in bed a little straighter.

"Nice of you to rejoin the conversation." My older brother, Joel joked, he had stopped by the house for his lunch break. To cheer me up with bad coffee and tales of his latest sexcapades.

I rotated my right shoulder, trying to stretch my upper back. The sling on my left arm was a royal pain in the ass. Several more weeks of going through this were going to kill me. "Were there any witnesses?" I asked as if I didn't believe his story because I didn't believe his story. "...because I know you're lying."

"Ah, hear that snark...you must be feeling better bro."

When I didn't answer right away, he gave me a big brother eyebrow raise, silently chastising me to fess up. "If you're thinking about lying to me. Don't, Miller men don't lie to Miller men."

I didn't want to lie to him but neither did I want to worry him. The pain had a habit of shooting up needles every time, but the doctor had told me clavicle fractures healed themselves after weeks or just a couple of months at max. He had even put my arm in a sling to immobilize it. The college had also hired a physiotherapist to visit regularly so to help me practice a passive range of motion exercises all meant to accelerate the healing. All of it hurt but it had to be either that or surgery in an OR.

Wince.

"Wentworth?" Joel probed, and rose a single thick brow so high it hid beneath his perfectly styled dark fringe, "...talk to me?"

"Pain's still kicking me shitless," I replied honestly, fighting a grimace. "Nothing a Miller man can't handle. Right?" I finished with a joke.

Joel's forehead creased even more with worry but thankfully he plastered on a plastic smile, nervously fixed the lapels of his Tom Ford blazer and agreed. "Ye, It's only been a week, let's give it time and see."