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Everything else would be messy.
Decision made.
I drop my hands and take a step back. “Will you let me know if she hates me now?”
Ashlyn smiles and opens the front door. “Good luck tomorrow, Brandon.”
BRANDON
“Fuck, we’re getting too old for this shit. It’s only mid-October, and I feel like I’ve played an entire season already,” I groan to my quarterback, Declan Sinclair, as we grab our shit from our lockers. Declan joined the Kings the year after I did, and we’ve been dubbed the Dream Team ever since. It doesn’t hurt that the Kings have won five Super Bowls in that time either. Or that we’re the only QB/center combination to have ever started every single game together for fifteen years. Neither of us has ever missed a game. Pretty sure we’re just begging the football gods to smack us the fuck down these days.
“Speak for yourself, Dix. You’re getting old. I’m aging like a fine fucking wine,” Declan laughs as he closes his locker. “Come on, brother. Let’s go grab lunch.”
I shut mine too, following him out of the locker room and into the parking lot. “I don’t know, man. Used to be, we’d have a Sunday night game and I’d feel fine by Tuesday. Hell, when we first started, I was good to go on Monday. Now it’s Wednesday, we’re playing again tomorrow, and my knuckles are still raw from three days ago. You might be a fine wine, but I feel more like the box shit the girls drank in college. It’s gettin’ harder.”
“Shut the fuck up, asshole.” We both toss our stuff in the back of Declan’s SUV and head to lunch, like we always do after a walk-through. We might be the Dream Team, but we still don’t take any chances, and we’re never dumb enough to mess with superstitions. “I keep telling you to start working with my guy. He’s the best. Worth every penny. I feel better than half the rookies on the team.”
“Speaking of...” I trail off for a minute, wishing I was lost in thought but it’s more like lost in the past. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Sure, man. What’s up?”
We pull on to Main Street in Kroydon Hills and park across from Declan’s wife’s dance studio. Dec turns the car off and waits for me... then waits some more. “Come on, Dix. The suspense is killing me,” he jokes.
“I have a meeting with Coach and Scarlet Kingston next week.”
Declan’s face pinches because he knows what I’m saying without me having to say it. Nonverbal communication has always been one of our strengths. After a moment, he composes himself, but there’s a new hitch in his voice. “Damn.” He blows out a long breath. “You sure?”
“Yeah, man. It’s time. I’m the oldest center the league’s ever had. Hell, my assistant line coach is almost ten fucking years younger than me. I’m tired, man. I’m fucking tired of hurting every day.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I get out of the SUV and lean on the door, waiting for him to follow. “This is our year. I can feel it in my bones. We’re going back to the big game this year, and I want to go out while we’re on top. I’ve been working with the rookie, and you’re going to be fine next year with him. We’ve got him where he needs to be. This is my last year.”
“Fuck,” Dec hisses as he walks into The Busy Bee and takes our usual booth at the back of the place. “Dude. We’re only halfway through the season.”
“Yeah, man. I know, but I’ve been thinking about it since week one. If I’m honest, I’ve been thinking about it since the playoffs last year.”
Junie, our normal waitress, drops off our drinks and confirms our orders before she walks away, humming something way off-key.
“You already made your mind up?”
I nod. “I’m not going to announce anything until the season’s done. But I needed you to know before Coach and Scarlet. I’ll keep working with the rookie, but I want you to go harder on him. He’s got to get there by February.”
Because if it’s the last damn thing I do, I’m going out with one more big win to my name.
One more February game to bring it all home.
* * *
Ashlyn
“Mom...” Lindy calls from the front yard as I zip up my boot. “Hurry up. I told Evie and Gracie I’d meet them on the sidelines for pregame.”
I grab my purse and my coat and lock the door behind me. “Who’s fault is that? Mine or yours?” I ask as we walk to the car.
“Mom.” My daughter stops and points at my windshield. “It’s another flower. I thought that stopped.”
“Shit.” I hiss and yank it out from under my wiper blade, then suck in a breath and pull my thumb back. A perfect little bright red bloom pops up on the pad of my thumb where the thorn pierced my skin. But just like all the other times, there’s no card. No note. Nothing to tell me who it’s from or why.
Guess it’s time to get those cameras installed around the property.
