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“Let’s make something perfectly fucking clear, Jax. I don’t give a rat’s ass where you stick your dick as long as you don’t shit where you eat. Understood?”
“How many times do I have to tell you that I have no interest in fucking any coach’s daughter?”
“As many times as it takes for it to stick in your thick skull.”
I scoffed out another snide breath. “I haven’t done it yet, and trust me, the opportunity has definitely presented itself on more than one occasion. Besides, I make no promises to the women I casually hook up with, and it’s bullshit you’re even comparing the two. The women are petty scandals. If the press wants to talk about my bed-hopping ways to sell magazines, then so be it. This”—I lifted the Sports Illustrated cover in between us—“is attacking my character. I didn’t trade for the money, Caleb! I don’t give a shit about the money, and that’s the narrative on every single cover story.”
“They’re going to write what makes them sales, Jax. At the end of the day, drama makes money. I know that, and so do you. I’ll fix it, okay? Don’t I always?”
I nodded because he did. In whatever way, shape, or form, Caleb always came through with the best contracts, the best contacts, the best everything and anything. He fought for me and with me, being my biggest ally and best friend since he’d become my agent at the start of my NFL career.
We met in college through our fraternity. He was a few years older than me. A senior when I became his little brother my freshman year. This had always been our dynamic. We fought like brothers.
It was what happened when you put two alphas together in one cage.
No matter the situation, I knew he always had my best interest at heart. Just like he knew I’d always be there for him at the drop of a dime if needed. We were family, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to wring his fucking neck for allowing this to happen under our noses.
The press didn’t mind their own damn business on a normal day, let alone on an occasion like today where all eyes were on me. For the past year, rumors of my trade ran rampant in the media. It was the question of the hour—everywhere I went the press hounded me about my future with Miami.
Trust me, the decision to leave wasn’t one I ever took lightly. I’d been considering it for years, and when the opportunity presented itself to finally take over a team that I could not only lead but coach, it wasn’t something I was willing to overlook or pass up.
Miami wasn’t listening to my demands, and after almost thirteen years, it was time for us to part ways. I wasn’t just a quarterback—I was the best quarterback in the league and had been since the beginning of my career. I knew my worth, and this wasn’t me being cocky—this was me being honest.
Reporters were already talking shit and running their mouths, saying I traded for the money, but it couldn’t have been further from the truth. I had more money than I knew what to do with. This had nothing to do with my salary, and everything to do with the thrill of it all. The challenge and victory of taking something from nothing and making it the best it could be.
Football wasn’t just my job—it was my life. I’d been playing since I was five-years-old, and Miami wasn’t allowing me the liberties I felt owed, so I found a team that would. Now having it be my hometown was just a bonus to sign on the dotted line.
Caleb brought my attention back to him, adding, “So how about instead of jumping down my throat, you say hello to the woman who’s going to save our asses.”
Before I could ask him to elaborate, the familiar sound of a woman’s heels connecting on my hardwood floor shifted my eyes over to my office door. As soon as I saw her bright red hair walking into my space, I couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow.
“Autumn,” I announced, surprised with the turn of events. “What are you doing here?”
She smiled, nodding at me. “To put it bluntly, as your agent said, I’m here to save your asses.”
I grinned. “Is that right?”
Autumn was known as the best publicist in the industry. She’d been one for over ten years. The last time I saw her was when I was visiting my best friend Kinley in our hometown of Fort Worth, Texas. Kinley still lived there with her husband, Christian, who was Autumn’s older brother. Autumn was married to Julian, best known as Alpha CEO with his businesses, and he just happened to be Christian’s best friend.
We all grew up together, although Autumn was younger than us by a few years. Her brother and I weren’t exactly what you’d call friends.
However, over the years, we hated each other less and less. When we were in high school and college, he hated the fact that Kinley and I used to have sleepovers, often fighting over his then girlfriend’s attention.
After they got married, when we graduated from college, we still didn’t really care for one another. A year ago, they were getting a divorce, but life had other plans in store for them.
I made a mental note to have my assistant book a flight out to meet their newborn son soon. Kinley was the only woman in my life I never fucked or fucked over. She was like my sister, and I, her brother. We looked out for each other, both of us coming from broken homes.
She was in and out of foster homes, and I didn’t feel like I ever had a home. My father was never around, constantly traveling for work, and cheating on my mother was what he did best.
In fact, the night before I was moving to Miami to start football camp for the new season, my whole world was turned upside down.
Due to his high-paying career, my mother was a pro at looking the other way when it came to his indiscretions. As a result, we lived in a huge house in a wealthy neighborhood where we never wanted for anything. Buying our affection helped ease his guilt of being a shitty father and husband.
A lot of the time it was just my mom, me, and the staff who helped with the daily management of our house. My mother drowned her sorrows with wine and her friends from the country club while I was being raised by the housekeeper and my football coaches. I was the only child, and I saw our housekeeper, Miss Carlisee, more than I saw my parents since she started working for us when I was nine-years-old.
Anytime I thought about that house, though, I couldn’t help but remember her daughter Sophie, and how she wasn’t the first or last woman I’d fucked over. Years later, she still managed to cross my mind, and I tried not to think about how she could have been the one who got away.
Whatever the hell that meant.
