Page 18 of Hard to Score

I nod as he continues through his analysis of the man who starts in front of me. An analysis that can be so critical and cutting it can be debilitating.

I happen to know from experience.

But when such critiques come from one of the best in the game of his time, you shut your mouth and listen.

The upside? That man is my father.

The downside? The same.

“Should I type up notes and send them to him?” I ask as my mom takes a seat beside Dad. “Or better yet, I’ll give them to his agent so he can shop for a better team for him.”

His eyes flash up to mine and he points a tremoring finger at me. “The last thing you need to be doing is talking to any agent.”

His tempered words are an ever-constant reminder of what happened.

Of why Brexton Kincade is another element of my life that needs to stay firmly in the past.

CHAPTER EIGHT

DREW

9 years earlier

“BUT I DON’T UNDERSTAND.” I sit on the couch in the middle of the living room staring at my father. He’s a hulking figure in the space, all six foot five inches of him, as he stares at Maggs and then me with a look I know I’ll never forget. Sadness, fear, confusion, and the one I’ll never understand, resignation. “What does it mean you’re no longer playing football? That’s who you are. What you do.”

“It’s not for you to understand, Drew. It’s for you to simply accept.” He glances over and meets my mom’s eyes, and she swallows nervously.

What the fuck is going on?

I mean, I know what’s going on—he’s explained it to me no less than twenty times and we’ve been living with its fallout since—but this makes no sense.

He didn’t do it.

He told me he didn’t.

“Mom?” I ask for clarification from her but she just looks at my dad and waits for him to continue.

“Earlier today I tendered my resignation to the Patriots and the NFL Players Association,” he says somberly.

“Dad?” Maggie’s voice vibrates with the same uncertainty I feel.

Our life has been turned upside down for the past few weeks—press on our lawn, rumors going crazy, my dad suspended—and now he’s telling us that’s it?

Just like that?

“You’re just going to walk away?” I shove up out of my seat, fury suddenly in my veins, and disbelief owning me. “You said you didn’t do anything wrong. If you didn’t do anything wrong, then why aren’t you fighting it? Why aren’t you—” I run a hand through my hair and pace from one side of the room to the other.

Not only is football his identity, but it’s also been mine for as long as I can remember. He’s Gary Bowman, the star quarterback, and I’m Gary Bowman’s son. The one who’s going to follow in his footsteps.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.

It’s all I’ve ever planned for despite my parents telling me I have to go to college first.

“This can’t be real,” I mutter, but when I turn back around and look at the people in the room—my mom, my dad, my sister—I feel like I’m at a funeral. Everyone looks so glum.

He meets my eyes and nods like a scolded puppy and there’s something about the sight that eats at me. “Sometimes in life, Drew, what’s best and what’s right aren’t always the same thing.”

I stare at him, then my mom sitting idly by, and I shake my head, hands fisted. “But you told us to always fight for what’s right. And you didn’t do this!” I shout, confused when the past few weeks have been confusing enough. “Why are you walking away? You’re breaking records and will be in the Hall of Fame and I don’t understand . . . Why aren’t you fighting?” My voice breaks as I step toward him, needing to look into his eyes, wanting to understand.