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Our defense takes to the field, so I pull off my helmet and sit on the bench, watching the plays on the tablet.
What Coach McGoy said was exactly what my college coach said to me. And he was right, just like McGoy is right.
I haven’t come this far to let another woman distract me from my game—from my future. I can’t let it happen again. I’ve got to get her out of my mind, before I lose everything.
Tossing the tablet to Joel, our equipment assistant, I throw my helmet back on as I run onto the field at the start of the second quarter.
Once in the huddle, I block everything else out—the crowd, the shitty first quarter I just played, and especially those little nagging doubts that I let creep in every once in a while.
The doubts that say I shouldn’t be here, that I’m not good enough to be a first-string QB in the NFL. I know those thoughts aren’t real.
I’ve proven myself time and again to myself, and every other fucking person, who dared to doubt me.
When they said I wasn’t focused enough, that I wasn’t disciplined enough, to make it at the college level, I proved them wrong by winning the Heisman.
Then, there were the assholes who said I wouldn’t be able to transfer my talent to the pro league, even though I posted top numbers at the Combine, and became a sought-after first-round draft pick.
For the rest of the game, I prove why I’m the best in the league, easily connecting with my running backs for a few touchdowns to even the score by the beginning of the fourth quarter.
I look over at the sidelines and think how much Liam would love to be here watching the game. Maybe I’ll have tickets for him at our next home game.
Thanks to Sean’s fifty-yard dash right at the end, we finish the game twenty to nineteen.
Not my best performance. Not by a longshot.
After I finish the post-game press interview where all they want to talk about is that scoreless first quarter, I run into Willis in the hall outside the locker room.
“Are you heading back to San Antonio now or with the team?” I ask.
“Now, why?”
“Think I can hitch a ride with you? Don’t think I can handle another noisy night on the team hall.”
“Sure, but Brady,” Willis says, coming up to put what feels like is supposed to be a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “This is your team. You’re going to have to start leading them at some point.”
Returning back home, all I can think about is enjoying some quiet and solitude before tomorrow’s team meeting. I know everyone will have a lot to say about my less-than-stellar performance in the first quarter when we review the game tape in the morning, and I don’t blame them.
But no one’s a bigger critic of me, than me.
Ever since I can remember, my football skills were my ticket out. Out of my childhood home, out of my hometown, out of obscurity. Playing a pick-up game with Liam, or helping Izzie make one of her skinless chicken dinners sounds like the answer to this shitty day.
Fuck anyone who says that a win is a win.
I flip on my bedroom light as I walk into the room. I’m just about to pop the game DVD into the player, when I notice golden light streaming in from the bathroom. And that’s when I hear the sound of glass breaking.
I walk into the bathroom, pushing open the almost-closed door to be greeted with a massive amount of steam.
Either someone broke into my house just to hotbox in my bathroom, or...yep, it’s a very naked team nutritionist and current house guest, lounging in my tub.
Well, not lounging really. More like startled, deer-in-headlights scared shitless.
But still smoking hot.
Not the homecoming I was expecting when I hopped on the early plane, but hey, it looks like this night is definitely looking up.
“Hi, Brady,” Izzie says with the cutest quiver in her voice.
Izzie warns me about the broken glass as I scan the room, taking it all in: enough candles to stock a Yankee Candle store, a half-empty wine bottle sitting precariously on the edge of the tub, and Izzie’s robe way on the other side of the room.
