Hate the game, not the player... Only the good die young, but did it really have to be my brother--the only person in my family who understood me? Growing up in a house that's built entirely on Super Bowl wins, I refuse to love the game and the men who play it. Football has a way of destroying lives. And here I am frustrated, angry, and empty--sick of everything that has any connection to the sport. But then Brice comes along... He's everything I want, and everything I hate. Now that he's a part of my world, I can't give him my heart. It's too shattered and fragile for someone like him. But I keep wondering, can he mend the broken pieces, or will he toss it away like just another one of his touchdown passes?