All the Glory Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title page

  Copyright

  Other Books by Elle Casey

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  About the Author

  Other Books by Elle Casey

  All The Glory

  Elle Casey

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  © 2014 Elle Casey, all rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without author permission. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook at the author authorized online outlet that serves your country.

  Elle Casey thanks you deeply for your understanding and support.

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  OTHER BOOKS BY ELLE CASEY

  NEW ADULT ROMANCE

  Shine Not Burn (2-book series)

  By Degrees

  Don’t Make Me Beautiful

  Rebel (3-book series)

  ADULT CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  Full Measure (written as Kat Lee)

  Just One Night (romantic serial)

  YA PARANORMAL ROMANCE

  Duality (2-book series)

  YA URBAN FANTASY

  War of the Fae (4-book series)

  Clash of the Otherworlds (3-book series, follows War of the Fae)

  My Vampire Summer

  Aces High

  YA DYSTOPIAN

  Apocalypsis (4-book series)

  YA ACTION ADVENTURE

  Wrecked (2-book series)

  DEDICATION

  For those betrayed.

  May you find peace, love, and the strength to forgive.

  Chapter One

  THIS IS THE STORY ABOUT how Jason Bradley went from hero to zero in ten seconds flat. It’s his story, not mine, but he insists I’m better at the telling part, so here I am. Hopefully I won’t suck at it because his story, his version of it, is important. Like, really important.

  You’re probably wondering who I am, how I got to be the special, chosen one telling this sordid tale. Well, let’s just say I’m the only one who really knows the whole thing from start to finish. Lucky me, right? Yeah, well, we’ll get to the details of me later, but first, let me tell you a little bit about who Jason used to be in all his glory, or so the whole world thought. Then you’ll be able to truly appreciate who he came to be in the end of things…

  Chapter Two

  “SET! … BLUE, TWENTY-THREE! … BLUE twenty-three! … Hut! Hut!”

  The ball got snapped and the quarterback grabbed it, running backwards a few steps so he could survey the field. The defense was all over Jason, or at least they were trying to be all over Jason, but as usual he was slicker than a greased farm animal that oinks.

  He managed to find a hole and get through it, breaking free of the pack and wide open, running so fast his legs were a blur. That’s how he got his nickname. The Blur. Totally original, right?

  Ugh. If I had been in charge of nicknames on the day he earned that one, I would have called him Mister Bighead. But no one ever asked me what I thought about Jason, least of all Jason himself. We were not friends. And yes, that’s an understatement.

  I’m not a big fan of football, but like eighty percent of the kids at our high school, I go to the games. The home games, anyway. Our school is very competitive and we make it to State almost every year. The atmosphere in the stadium is always really energized, the snack stand makes pretty decent nachos, and I got extra credit in phys ed class for going, so yeah … that explains my presence there pretty succinctly.

  Jason made it to the state championships as a sophomore playing first string wide receiver on the varsity team. It was his senior year that really came into focus for people, though.

  See, he was being courted by some colleges already, even though he still had all of senior year ahead of him, and they were coming out to see the games. Even for non-football people like me, it was pretty exciting news. We’d sit in the stands and try to figure out who the scouts were and where they might be from.

  Rumor had it that he was a shoo-in for one of the top five, Auburn, Florida, Michigan ... I found out later directly from him that one of those wasn’t actually on the list of interested parties, but it’s really not relevant to the story … mostly because he didn’t end up going to any of those places and because after he did what he did, no one cared about his YAC. Yes, that’s a real word for those of you who don’t give a flying crap about football like me — it’s yards after catch, which used to be a really big deal in Jason’s life. After The Incident, no one even wanted to admit they’d talked to him.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the game…

  Jason was running, his legs a blur, his gloved hands going up as the ball sailed over the field and all the heads of his competitors. It always amazed me how he seemed impossibly far away and then at the last second the ball would drop and his hands would just be there. I didn’t have to like the guy to admire his mad skills. I liked to call him mister grabbyhands in my head sometimes. I never said it out loud because my friend Bobby would for sure have thought I was talking about something else, which I wasn’t.

  Jason was really close to the end zone. The game was almost over and the score was tied. A giant bulldozer of a guy on the opposing team was headed his way, arms going out, ready to take a flying leap.

  My hands clenched in my lap and I let out a mighty scream. I had no idea where it came from. I didn’t even like Jason at that point in our lives, maybe even outright disliked
him. If he got nailed before he scored it was really no big deal to me. Part of me wished it would happen. His big old head could have used a little shrinkage at that point.

  But of course that didn’t happen. Jason was the golden boy and he did what all golden boys do; he leapt into the air, snatched the ball, and then took off like some superhero sans cape into the end zone.

  Guys dove behind him trying to take him out, but they all missed. They always came up empty, miscalculating and underestimating the speed at which his feet could eat up the ground.

  That game was the last one that Jason would ever play. I saw him after. His face was flushed with exertion and self-importance. Everyone was patting him on the back, and a couple people hit him on the butt too.

  For the record, I never understood that special social permission our football-fanatic society has … allowing men to touch each other in such an intimate way just because they’re on a football field. You’d never see a guy doing that at the mall or at school in the hallways. Or maybe you would and then you’d see him getting his ass beat down. You sure do see it in football, though. Fully grown men strut around wearing those tighty-whitey stretchy pants, spanking each other and saying Good job. It makes zero rational sense.

  Stupid football. Stupid football players.

  I saw Jason at a party after that game. Normally, I avoid big parties at strangers’ houses, but my friend Bobby convinced me to go. I drove my beater Toyota over there and paid my five bucks and pretended to have a beer but drank cream soda instead.

  It was at that party that I talked to Jason face-to-face for the first time in forever. Even though I’d known of him for years, both of us living in the same neighborhood and attending the same schools, I’d never really spoken to him after third grade. It wasn’t that I actively avoided him, but guys like Jason don’t talk to people like me unless they have to. I was invisible. Usually. But not this night.

  Chapter Three

  I WAS COMING OUT OF the bathroom and he was standing in the hallway for some reason. I’ve never been in a bathroom that had a door that opened outwards, but that night I was. And I was so busy making sure I didn’t have toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe, I wasn’t paying any attention to who might be on the other side of the door.

  It swung open and made contact with something hard. My eyes bugged out and my heart stopped for just a second. What the … That can’t be good.

  “Holy shit, watch it, would ya? Jesus.”

  I stuck my head around the door and saw Jason standing there, holding his forehead. We were the only ones around, which was really weird because the house was full of people, not only from our school but others.

  “Oh, crap. I’m sorry. Did I hit you in the head?” I look at the door, wondering how it was that I could have managed that. Seems like I should have hit his foot first.

  “Yes, you hit me in the head.” He was rubbing his eyebrow above his right eye, and it struck me that I could have ended his football career with one ill-timed bathroom door opening. A wide receiver missing vision in one eye probably isn’t as effective as a guy with two functioning eyeballs. It kind of put the whole thing into perspective for me. I felt really bad. Football was his life, after all.

  “I’m sorry, Jason. Really. I should have opened it more slowly but I was worried about the toilet paper.”

  Yeah. I said that.

  I wanted to bang my own head against the door, but that would have been even more embarrassing and I was already doing pretty well in that area.

  He slowly dropped his hand away and let it fall to his side. “The toilet paper?”

  My grin came out kind of crooked. My mom hates it when I do that. She says it makes me look like I’m mental, but it’s automatic; I can’t help it. When I’m feeling awkward, I look awkward. I can always be counted on to have the corresponding facial expression for each and every embarrassing event.

  I quickly decided a short explanation was in order. Everyone worries about toilet paper on shoes, right? He won’t think I’m weird. Maybe.

  “I always check before I leave the bathroom to make sure I don’t have any paper stuck to my shoe.”

  He stared at me for a couple seconds and then grinned. “I always check my zipper.”

  My awkward smile morphed into something more normal-looking. The fact that he didn’t hate me for almost knocking his eye out made me go all warm.

  I opened my mouth to tell him I thought that was probably a good idea, but we were interrupted by his girlfriend.

  Brittney Blake. Do I really need to describe her for you? I’ll just cut to the chase and say that she’s exactly the kind of girl you’d expect to see going out with the hottest football star our school had seen in twenty years. And she was wicked jealous of any girl who thought she was good enough to talk to her boyfriend.

  “Jason, what are you doing?” She had a red Solo cup in her hand and if her heavily-lidded eyes were any indication, she wasn’t fake-drinking the beer like I was.

  I dropped my gaze to the floor. I hated myself in that moment, that I felt the need to apologize for stepping outside of my social strata and being bold enough to engage in conversation with The Jason … Her Jason. But life is what it is and I often find it impossible to control my reactions to social pressure.

  “Ease up, Britt, we were just having a conversation about toilet paper.”

  She snorted. “Toilet paper. Wow. That’s sexy.” Then she laughed.

  My face was burning up. The only way I could stop myself from saying what probably should have been said and/or bitch-slapping her was to focus on something else. I stared down the hallway and thankfully caught sight of Bobby.

  Coming more fully out of the bathroom, I shut the door behind me and moved to walk around the happy couple who were now making out. “Okay, well, see ya.”

  Jason lifted his head and looked at me. “Check your zipper.”

  I froze, my gaze going down to my pants. The relief that washed through me at finding everything all copacetic down there was unbelievable. I had no idea why the idea of Jason Bradley catching me with my barn door open would have been such a tragedy. He’s just a guy.

  Breaking out in the cold sweat of relief, I gave him my mentally unbalanced smile once again. “Ha, ha. Thanks. I think I’m good.”

  He went back to his saliva swapping, and I fast-walked to the end of the hallway, grabbing Bobby by the arm and steering him into another room, grateful to be putting some distance between myself and The Blur.

  Chapter Four

  I WAS READY TO GO right then, but Bobby was busy making his move on this guy he’d had his eye on all the summer, and he wasn’t going to leave until either he had permission to text or had copped a feel.

  It was always a crap shoot for Bobby, looking for love. When you’re a guy looking for a girl, you can be reasonably sure you’re being rejected because you’re just not good looking enough. With Bobby, he was a guy looking for a guy, and he had to worry about not only not being good looking enough but getting his ass beat. His gaydar was pretty good, but it wasn’t perfect and he has a few scars to show for it.

  An hour or a few later, I kind of lost track with all the wandering around I was doing, he finally gave up. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, linking an arm through mine.

  I was relieved to be ditching that party. Nobody I cared about was around but him. I have a very small circle of friends; he was pretty much it most of the time. Can two people make a circle? It felt like it then, but later I realized friendship circles are pretty lopsided when there are only two points of reference.

  Bobby and I have been friends since kindergarten, and his preferred method of walking when he’s with me is with arms linked and hips connected. I think I’m part friend, part security blanket, part Siamese twin.

  “Thank the tiny baby Jesus,” I said, digging through my bag for my keys. They’re usually not hard to find; I have a ridiculous number of keychains connected to them. “This place was getting scary.
” Not two minutes ago I saw a girl barf into a houseplant. I seriously go bonkers if I see that stuff land on the floor, and by the looks of the people stumbling around, it was only a matter of time before I’d be forced to bear witness to that nightmare.

  I remembered where my keys were at precisely the same moment that some loud voices came to my ears from the front door area.

  “What are you doing?” Bobby asked, twisting his head around to see what all the commotion was about. “I thought you were ready to go.”

  “I am. I just remembered that my keys are in that bowl at the door.”

  “Come on,” he said, pulling me through the living room and over to the shouting match in the foyer.

  When we arrived, we saw Brittney throwing a tantrum, demanding her keys from the big guy at the door. I recognized him as one of the students who wears a football jersey in school on game days, but I didn’t know his name or what position he played. I would have guessed his job was to tackle people. He was about the size of one and a half Jasons or four Bobbys. Bobby’s very twiggy.

  The big guy’s voice was higher than I would have guessed it would be. “You’ve been drinking, so you don’t get your keys. That’s the deal. Now get out of my face, Brittney, or I’m going to punch your boyfriend.”

  I was wishing I had some popcorn, because this was getting interesting, but my ability to spectate got cancelled when Jason looked over at me and pointed.

  “She lives near me. She can drive us home.”

  Brittney followed the direction of his finger and then made one of those faces like she smelled something really stinky.

  “I’m not riding with … no.” She shook her head. “No way. I need my car tomorrow. I have cheer practice early in the morning.”

  The big door guy sat down and smiled. “Not my problem.” He looked over her shoulder. “Next!”