I can’t believe it. Six weeks ago, I would have rather died than play on a practice squad, especially for this perennial loser of a team. But I’m a different person now. A deeply humbled one. And this version of me is supremely grateful to get one more chance to snatch victory out of the gaping jaws of defeat.
“I didn’t tell you about the practice squad when you first sat down?”
“No, sir. You most certainly didn’t.”
“Huh. I thought I did. Guess it slipped my mind.”
Coach’s wicked smirk tells me he withheld that rather large detail from me until the last second on purpose. Almostcertainly to maximize my pain and anguish. Or hell, for all I know, he wasn’t completely certain what to do with me till the very last second, till he became convinced I was genuinely contrite and capable of change. Suddenly, he reminds me so much of Chelsea, I want to hurtle myself across the man’s large desk and bear-hug him.
I refrain, of course. But only because I’m determined to get better at impulse control.
Coach waggles his finger up at me. “Now don’t make me look like a fool for giving you this last chance, Luca, or I swear to God, I’ll personally wring your neck with my bare hands.”
“You won’t regret this, Coach. I promise.”
“There’s a certain person in operations who lobbied hard for me to cut your ass last night,” he says. “Please, Luca, prove him wrong for both of us, son, because I don’t want to be the one eating crow between the two of us.”
Walker Bellamy.
That’s the identity of my would-be assassin, no doubt about it. And it only makes me hate the blowhard asshole even more. I already hated him for dangling an operations job in Chelsea’s face that was wholly dependent on something she couldn’t control. But now, I have reason to hate him even more.
“I won’t let you down,” I grit out. “You can count on me, Coach.”
Coach looks deeply skeptical. “Sit back down, Luca.”
I do as I’m told.
“You need to get your demons under control, son. To do that, you’re going to make a month’s worth of appointments with the team psychologist. That’s not a suggestion. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re also going to study film and the playbook like your life depends on it, every fucking day, and you’re going to bust your ass in every practice and scrimmage like never before,without getting sidetracked by Moriarty or anyone or anything else.”
“Yes, sir. I promise, Coach.”
“Focus, focus, focus, Luca!Prove yourself a changed man for as long as it takes. And maybe, just maybe, if something happens and we need someone with your skill set during the season, your name will be the one that gets called.”
My chest expands sharply. “Thank you for the chance.”
“It’s your very last one, Luca.”
“Yes, sir.”
Coach stands and extends his hand to me across the large desk, so I rise and shake it, feeling a mixture of relief and resolve. Gratitude and embarrassment. But mostly, determination.
As I turn toward the door, my thoughts immediately turn to Chelsea. Obviously, the plan I’d concocted weeks ago to confess my love to her on Roster Day is dead in the water now. If she couldn’t openly date a guy on the bubble during training camp and preseason, she sure as shit can’t date a practice squad player.
If you love someone, set them free.
The thought pops into my head, unbidden.
It’s something my mother says now and again. And right now, her words are hitting me like a ton of bricks.
Shit.
As much as it’s going to destroy me to set Chelsea Parker free, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. The poor girl bet on the wrong horse, unfortunately, and she’s paid dearly for it. So now, I’m going to make sure she ditches my ass and flies free, like she should have done a very long time ago if only, through no fault of her own, her wagon hadn’t gotten hitched to a loser like me.
CHAPTER 30
