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“Thank you, Candy.”
I slumped in my chair, knowing I was drowning. Nothing made sense and I had no idea how to swim in water this deep.
5
Dylan
There weren’t many people in this world who could relate to my life. To know what it meant to be a football god. To understand the pressure. The physical stamina it took to perform at the highest level every day my cleats crossed onto the damn field. The moment the chalky lines coated my shoes.
But there was one. One man who got it. Who knew what I knew about the toll the game took on my body. Who knew how the sweat was more than physical exertion.
He didn’t give a shit about the trouble I got in off the field. He didn’t care about how many women I fucked, or how many nights I didn’t go home. He didn’t give me shit about anything. The man was my best friend for a reason. He let me live my life the way I wanted—wide open.
I knew Isaac planned on meeting with the new ownership today. That was just like him. He always had to have the first say.
I shook my head. The locker room was full of bullshit talk. Guys had been worked up for two weeks. Some wanted to leave the team. They didn't want to give ownership a chance to screw them over again. They couldn’t see any other path other than to quit.
I wasn’t wired like that. Quitting wasn’t in my vocabulary. Never had been. I liked winning at all costs.
I knew what I wanted to do. Whether or not, I could pull it off was another story.
I liked being a Warrior. I’ll rephrase that. I fucking loved being a Warrior. It was the only team I had ever played for. It was the only jersey I had ever wanted to wear. Growing up in College Station, it felt as if the Warriors were the home team. They were less than two hours away. Sure, some kids loved the Wranglers, but we weren’t one of those families. San Antonio was almost too far for a game-day drive. We were Warriors fans and that was the one place I had to play.
On game day, my dad hung the team flag in the yard. It didn’t matter that it was tattered and the colors started to run together from being left out in the rain. He put it up, no matter the weather.
They knew the colors. They knew the chants. They knew the leading scorers and retired jerseys, but what did my parents know about contracts? How did a ten-year-old boy know he had fallen in love with a broken program, a team that had never been on track? I didn’t know shit until the day I walked in the locker room.
I was drafted from college. As far as anyone knew, I was living the Texas football dream. My parents couldn’t be prouder that a boy from College Station could play for the Austin Warriors. The family team. Texas’s team.
I was a dick about a lot of things, but I wasn’t going to crush my mom’s pride with the truth. I kept them in the dark about the organization. I wasn’t going to kill the dream with honesty.
My phone buzzed. I looked down at the text from Isaac.
Meeting went well, fill you in later.
That's all it said. He was usually short on words, but what the hell? He met with ownership and couldn’t tell me what happened?
It was time I took fate by the balls. There was a small window of opportunity to get what I wanted. I threw my helmet in the locker. It landed on the floor with a thud.
“Where are you going, James?”
I wasn’t in the mood to explain myself. Everyone was on edge since McCade died. There was too much uncertainty circling us.
“Headed out for a while.”
“You’re going to see her, aren’t you?”
I whipped around to face Jackson Steele. The tight end was barely taller than me.
“None of your damn business.”
He laughed. “It’s a waste of time.”
“Why do you say that?” I questioned. “Have you gone up there?”
He shrugged. “No, but everyone says she doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing up there in corporate. My bet is we’ll be sold before the season is out. Pointless trying to talk to her. You’re going nowhere with that one.”
I hung my head. “Shit.” Isaac hadn’t made it so sound hopeless.
