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“Thatwasthe second opinion,” Dad reminds me gently. “Drew, switching career tracks when you’re twenty-one isn’t the end of the world.”
“What am I going to do?” I demand. “You and I both know that I was never expected to perform well academically. I’m a jock, the star of the team, and I’m expected to win games. No one gives a shit about my grades. I’ll have a degree inbusiness, but I couldn’t even tell you how to fill out a spreadsheet. It’s a joke.”
“You can coach.”
I scoff at that and turn my face to the window so he doesn’t see the tears in my eyes.
“I can’t coach quarterbacks. Not when I want to be doing what they are. When I know that I’m better than they are.”
“Well, your ego is healthy.” Dad reaches out and pats my leg. “You get that from me. Look, sometimes the right choice isn’t the one we think we want to make. Leaving the SEALs fucking sucked for me. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t know anything else, and Ilikedmy job. Sure, it was hard, but I was good at it.”
“Then why did you?”
I look over in time to see him swallow hard.
“You never told me why you left the SEALs.”
“Injuries.” He shrugs. “And I was getting older. I’d seen a lot of shit, and it messed me up in the head some. Coming home was the right thing, and then I met your mom and your sisters, and I knew that it was the way my life was supposed to go.”
“Coaching doesn’t pay what being a pro athlete makes.”
“Not much pays like that, son.” Dad laughs. “But you never played ball for the money.”
“No, but it’s a damn nice perk.”
He laughs again and pulls into the driveway. “You have a point. Coaches don’t do too badly, though. You can talk to your uncle Will about that. And you don’t have to decide today. You need to rest and heal up before you start thinking about which track you want to hop over to.”
“Dad.” My voice stops him before he opens the door to get out of the cab.
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared.”
He blows out a breath and nods, then leans over to kiss my hair the way he’s always done since I was a kid.
“I know, buddy. Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”
Chapter1
Drew
“Idon’t know how to say this without sounding disrespectful.” I push my thumbs into my eyeballs and wish that I were anywhere but here, in my own damn office. When I move my hands, London Ambrose is still standing on the other side of my desk, waiting expectantly.
“What?” She raises a perfect eyebrow. Jesus, the woman is gorgeous. And she’s the new co-owner of the professional football team that I coach for.
Which makes her and her brother, Rome, the youngest owners of a professional team, in any sport,ever.
She’s a billionaire in her early thirties and is absolutely stunning, but she drives me fucking crazy.
“I don’t care about the uniforms,” I reply simply. “I don’tcarethat they’re changing. And I don’t understand why you’d want my opinion on them.”
Her face, all smooth porcelain with lips the color of ripe raspberries and eyes as blue as the sky on a clear summer day, doesn’t change in the least. She doesn’t seem to be offended or affected in any way at all.
“You’re going to have to look at them,” she points out. “Every single weekend. More than that, actually.”
“Did you run it by Will?” My uncle, Will Montgomery, is the general manager of the team, as well as the president of operations. I was originally offered the defensive line coaching position, but when the spot for a quarterback coach came available, he hired me for that position a few months ago, and despite the raised eyebrows of the press and fans, I happily accepted. This is my dream job. “He’s the GM. He should be the one you talk to.”
“He suggested I come talk to you.” The side of her lips tips up into a small smile, showing just the hint of a dimple on her left cheek. “It seems the Montgomery men are putting me off.”
