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“Maybe it means something different now. Maybe I’m wrong.” Vic continued babbling. “Please let me be wrong. He could be trying a new thing. What do I know, anyway?”
A lump formed in Jill’s throat. “What is it, Vic? Just say it.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. So sorry.” Vic lowered her voice. “Bryan used to send red roses to women he dated when he was breaking things off.”
Chapter Eleven
Late Friday afternoon, Bryan paced up the hallway outside of his agent’s office. He’d been waiting for half an hour to speak to Hank, but the guy was on some urgent teleconference and couldn’t be interrupted.
It had been six days since he’d left Haven. Last night had been Vic’s rehearsal dinner, and like the coward he was, he’d sent his friend Cade to stand in for him as a groomsman. True, wedding rehearsal stand-ins weren’t the usual practice, and none of his friends and family actually knew Cade, but he’d done it to show that he cared about his sister and didn’t want to disrupt the flow of the ceremony. Cade had been surprisingly sketchy on the details of the night, but he’d agreed to stick around through Saturday just in case Bryan couldn’t get back in time.
He wasn’t supposed to get back in time. Hank had flat-out told him “forget it” when he’d suggested spending the weekend in Pennsylvania. It was necessary he be around as needed to demonstrate his commitment to the Mariners. They would be taking a chance on him at a high rate of investment, after all. In their eyes, he was still a boozing, womanizing, injured quarterback.
AKA yesterday’s player du jour.
This arrangement was looking worse and worse. His sister needed him, and instead of being there for her, he was stuck in Maryland. And he had no plan to get back.
He’d had meetings with Bannion and the rest of his assistants and various suits all week long, along with more conditioning workouts than he could count. Every time he had to perform like a trained monkey for his agent and the Mariners brass, he wondered what the hell he was doing. He didn’t need this bullshit. He was only a few years away from thirty. Yes, he had plenty of good playing time left in him, but the clock was ticking. Even if he got re-signed this time, the next time his contract came up for renewal, he might not be so lucky.
“Townsend, get in here.”
Bryan headed into Hank’s glass and chrome office and slumped in the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “About time. I was about to go get a burger, onion rings, and a milkshake.” He’d had no intention of doing any such thing, but he drew unholy amusement from rankling his agent.
“You can’t afford to let up on your conditioning. You’re making the grade right now, but if you do anything to upset the balance—”
“Fuck the balance, Hank. What kind of money are we talking?”
Hank frowned. “We haven’t completed talks yet. Just know that things are progressing, and all indications are good you’ll be compensated handsomely. Assuming you don’t slip up.”
Slip up. Like he was a child about to stick his thumb in the peanut-butter jar. “I want to go to my sister’s wedding.” He’d talked to Vic twice this week, including last night before the rehearsal, and she hadn’t bitched him out at all. She’d barely even raised her voice. She felt guilty for what she saw as her role in driving him away and was trying to tread gently.
He didn’t want her to tread gently. This entire week in Maryland had proved he was trying to slide back into a life that didn’t fit him anymore. He’d always justified everything by his love of the game. But the hoops they were making him jump through were showing him exactly how much else he had to put up with—and how small of a reward playing had become.
Pretending he was in great shape didn’t help. He was in fucking pain. His knee was supposed to be fully healed by now, but it wasn’t. A little self-masochism was fine. Going home every night to ice the shit out of his knee—and then writhing through half the night—was taking it too far.
He needed his fucking nurse. Needed her soft kisses, needed to see her trusting blue eyes trained on his, needed her sweet laughter. Most of all, he desperately needed her to tell him he hadn’t irrevocably damaged the best thing in his life by walking away when he should’ve stood and fought.
Hank sighed. “I already told you that isn’t possible.” He steepled his hands and flashed his shark-like smile. “Besides, you know how it is with weddings nowadays. You miss one, give it a year or two and they’ll probably get divorced and hitched to someone new.”
Bryan leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk. “Just because you’re used to dealing with Hollywood types doesn’t mean you know one thing about my sister.”
“Okay, okay. Have it your way.” Hank leaned back, palms up. “I’m just saying you shouldn’t make it into a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. I should be there. She only has one brother.” And I have to prove to her—and myself—that I’m the kind
of man who can be trusted.
Most importantly, he had to prove that to Jill.
This week without her had been hell. He hadn’t slept, and he’d barely eaten. A big part of that had to do with his grueling rehab and workout schedule, but just as much of it had to do with Jill. He hated how they’d left things. She deserved so much more than flowers and a card. She deserved the world. Maybe he wasn’t the man to give it to her, but he damn well intended to try. He wasn’t a fucking quitter, not when it mattered this much.
A week ago, he’d have seen leaving football as quitting. But she’d taught him he was more than that. Now he saw leaving football as knowing the time had come to pack up his outfit—erm, uniform—and get the hell out of Dodge while he could still walk and could still tolerate watching ESPN.
Okay, so he wouldn’t get crazy. ESPN had never done him wrong.
“I understand that,” Hank said. “Believe me, I do. I’m a family man myself, and I think it’s admirable that you are so close to your little sister. But fact is, a man has to pick and choose his priorities.” Settling into his lecture, he edged forward on his chair. “When you look back at the end of your life, what would you rather remember, Bry? A wedding that was over in two hours or a chance to help get your team back to the Super Bowl?”
Bryan clenched his jaw at the usage of the nickname Bry. Only Jill called him that. “I’ve been asking myself the same question all week. I’ve been wondering what kind of man has an argument with his sister and then deserts his woman before his sister’s wedding, thereby proving every bad thing anyone’s ever thought about him. The money I stand to lose isn’t enough motivation, so I made a choice to come back for the game I love. Only problem is, there’s someone I love more.” He rose and slid his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “So consider this me bowing out of consideration for another contract. I’m done. Finito.”
