Page 3 of Shattered Dreams

I sigh in defeat. “Fine. As long as it doesn’t add an extra day.”

Paul starts the car up as I glance out the window at the idyllic street. It’s a far cry from back home. But I guess this is still home, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

“Rylee didn’t take it well?” he asks carefully.

My chest aches again. “No,” I rasp out.

Paul’s hand rests on my arm, and I glance over at him.

“She’ll be okay. And everything will be even better when you get your contract renewed.”

“And if I don’t? What if they don’t—?” I ask.

Paul smiles. “They will. They’d be stupid not to, considering all the work you put into those guys.”

I sigh, nodding, because the way he says it is like he’s so sure that things will just work out. Even though everything feels like it’s going in the opposite direction.

He pulls up to a red light, turning to look at me with a wide grin that is almost contagious.

“Now, turn that frown upside down, and let’s get this long ass ride out of the way.”

I huff a laugh and rest my head back.

“You want me to drive yet?” I ask as I hand Paul a tall can of Arnold Palmer. I’ve never been much of a fan of iced tea or lemonade, but Paul insists it's the greatest thing since beer was invented. I beg to differ.

“Nope. I’m still good.”

I pop the top on my energy drink, the one I’d kill any of my players for drinking, and guzzle half of it as I lean against the pillar and watch the numbers on the gas meter go up and up and up.

“Gas is way too expensive,” I comment, taking another sip.

“If only we could go back to college and only worry about our grades.”

“No shit.”

The pump turns off when the car is full. Paul hangs up the nozzle, and we get back into the car to finish our journey to New York.

“You see the group chat?” I ask.

“I skimmed it.. Mack’s going off about something.”

“Yeah, he’s there already. Doing all kinds of sightseeing like a lame tourist.”

Paul laughs as he starts the car, then puts on his seatbelt.

“Not everyone gets to travel around the country, like you, Andre.”

“I was working,” I say defensively.

“Uh-huh, sure. Don’t act like you never enjoyed the places you went after the game was over.” He winks at me just before veering onto the highway, moving into the middle lane and stepping on the gas to merge with traffic.

“Of course I did, but I had to set an example. If I said my guys can’t be out there drinking, then neither could I.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“What? What’s so funny about that?” I ask defensively.

“Andre, we played football together for two fucking seasons,” he says.