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“I don’t know. I’ve never seen that look before.”
“Tell me straight, Ranger. Am I getting too old for this sport?”
“We’re all too old by twenty-eight. We’re dinosaurs by thirty. At least, it feels that way. It seems the players we idolized growing up lasted longer. But the game is different, man. You know that. The D lines are corn-fed beasts who can move. When we watched them as kids, they were big, but they lumbered. They weren’t off the line in less than a second waiting to thrash anyone who moved near them.”
“It’s harder than it used to be.” His voice is almost a whisper.
“Are you thinking about retirement?”
“I’malwaysthinking about retirement. I’m one hit away from having pudding for brains or a permanent limp.”
“Our line is solid. They’ll protect you. And they’re only getting stronger.”
He nods. “Just having a day, I guess.”
I slap him on the back. “I get it. Let’s get out of here and go for a run.”
“Are you trying to make me feel oldandslow?”
“I didn’t say race. I’m not cruel.”
“Fucker.”
“Come on. Beach or track?”
He glances at his watch. “Beach. But can we meet farther south so I can avoid traffic?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll meet you in thirty at the pier near the Arabel Lighthouse.”
“I’ll be there.”
He leaves, and I reach into my bag for my keys, still wondering if Livy and her yoga could make me faster.
* * *
I stand on the pier, stretching my quads. I’m decent at this. It isn’t the deep stretch the athletic trainers provide, but I won’t be doing what they usually prep me for or what they follow up on.
Reed steps out of a sleek black sports car that oozes money and meets me on the pier.
“New Lambo?”
“Yeah. It’s ridiculously fast.”
“Do you ever get to open it up?”
“Rarely. Traffic means I recreate the opening scene inOffice Spacemost days on the way to work.”
I laugh at that. Classic movie. “Sorry. A gorgeous machine like that should be free to run.” In fact, it reminds me of our horses on the ranch. They were made for it and are best when they are free to.
I chin check the Lamborghini after eyeing my two-year-old Raptor. “What was it about that one you couldn’t resist?”
“Charlie says I need to look like a winner. Fucker. As if I’m not or that the Maz made me look like a loser. I don’t know. This is the kind of shit that wears on me.”
Charlie is Charlie Schmidt, his agent, and a principal at Tingle, Schmidt, and Associates. They’ve been calling me since my junior year at Oklahoma and were unhappy with my decision to go with George. They’ve made their unhappiness apparent just as they’ve continued trying to find a way to represent me.
I stare off at the waves. I get it. He’s the face and the brand of the team.
