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“Hey, I seem to remember a certain someone going through a power trip at the age of twenty-two.”
I throw my head back laughing. “Could you blame me? I became a starting quarterback in the NFL. Shit, I was on top of the fucking world. It felt like nothing could bring me down.”
Those were the good times, before two players with a vendetta knocked me on my ass and ruined my life in the process. I swear, if I ever get a minute alone with one of them, there’s no telling what I’ll do, but I know it won’t be pretty.
Trent and I use the rest of the day to catch up and watch recordings of our high school football games. It’s bittersweet, but doesn’t sting nearly as much as I thought it would. I might even consider it fun, taking that trip down memory lane. One things for sure, this is definitely where I need to be right now.
THE NEXT COUPLE WEEKS are spent doing everything and nothing all at the same time, and I’ve never felt more relaxed. Between lounging around the pool and eating all the things I was never allowed before without consequences, it’s the closest I’m getting to happiness. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.
An incessant knocking on the door forces me to open it, being as Trent’s in the shower. However, the second I do, I wish I hadn’t. Standing on the other side is Blaire—my publicist—and if looks could kill, I’d be dead on the floor.
“Asher,” she says with a glare.
I roll my eye
s and open the door further to let her inside. “Blaire. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
“Cut the shit, Hawthorne. Flattery will get you nowhere.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I smirk. “A lot of women would beg to differ.”
Her expression suggests she’s anything but amused by my antics. “You’re a difficult man to find these days.”
“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” I quickly come up with a lie. “I turned my phone off when I got here. I just needed some time away.”
“Oh, really?” She raises one brow, taking out her phone and pressing a button before putting it to her ear.
I drop my head and let out a breathy laugh as mine starts to ring in my pocket. “All right, you caught me. Why don’t we cut the shit and you just tell me what you’re doing here so you can fuck back off to whatever hell you came from?”
It may be rude but Blaire is nothing but a thorn in my side. She was hired by my ex while we were still together, and I was too busy to have any say in the matter. Everything was happening so fast, and all we knew was that I needed one. The only reason I haven’t fired her ass is because she’s damn good at her job.
“Your disappearance has caused an uproar,” she snaps. “What did you think, that you can just vanish at a monumental point in your life and no one will care? Your fans need to hear from you. They need to know you’re okay.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Why? They’re just going to move on to the next guy with a good arm and even better aim.”
She rolls her eyes. “Wow, Colby wasn’t kidding. You really are throwing the world’s biggest pity party.”
“Screw you.”
The corner of her lip raises in a scowl. “No thanks. I don’t get in bed with guys who have slept with more woman than their IQ.”
She thinks she’s hit me where it hurts, but I only smile. “Now who’s lying? You think Colby didn’t tell me about the two of you at that party a few months back?”
Her cheeks pink, and she instantly becomes flustered. “Can we get back to the point, please?”
“By all means.”
“You need to be doing something that your fans can admire. Something that gives them the opportunity to see what you’re up to and that you’re giving back. Otherwise, if you ever get the chance to go back to playing professional football, they really will be too focused on the next guy with a good arm and better aim. They won’t even give you a second look.”
I groan, sitting on the arm of the couch. “And what is it you suppose I do?”
The smug look on her face makes me fear the next words to come out of her mouth. “You’re going to coach the team at your friend’s little school, Haven Grace Prep.”
3
ASHER
I glare at the brick building in front of me like it’s personally played a major part in ruining my life. If it weren’t for Blaire on one side and Trent on the other, I’d run so fast in the opposite direction. I don’t like kids, let alone want to teach a bunch of we-know-it-all brats the right way to play football. All the money in their parents’ bank accounts can’t buy them the skills they need. It takes practice, dedication, and effort—and something tells me these kids have never worked for anything in their spoiled little lives.
