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Sidelined with the Boss
Beth Pugh
Chapter One
Booker
“Let me get this straight, Ma.” Booker Watson pushed the gear shift into park and killed the ignition to his truck. He sat still in the driver’s seat and continued his phone conversation, ignoring a series of text notifications lighting up the screen. “You’re asking me to fly from Miami, Florida to Jasper, Alabama for three hours and then fly back to Miami?”
“Yes. Can you?”
Booker white-knuckled the steering wheel. Could he? Yes. Would he? Weighing family obligations against his professional ones, he considered it. His parents only had one golden anniversary.
Much like he only had one pro-football career, a career they had missed the entirety of while making sure to be at Brittney’s beck and call. His younger sister had played basketball during college and his parents never missed a game.
Booker released the steering wheel, balled his left hand into a fist, and punched his thigh. Hard. Pain radiated from the spot, making him momentarily forget about his busted knuckles.
“Can you come home or not?”
As his mother repeated the question, Booker opened his hand and laid his palm flush against his jersey shorts. He drew in a deep breath. Holding it, he recounted the promise he’d made to never beat himself up over his family again. Broke your word on that one.
Frustration filled him as he mulled over the situation. He could still make it to the party, or fly home for a few hours, at least. No harm, no foul, except doing so would obliterate the boundaries he’d worked so hard to keep in place when it came to his family.
Booker opened the truck door and slid out of the driver’s seat. His steps ate up the sidewalk quickly, and he matched his reply with the pace so as not to give his mother time to talk over him. “No, Ma. I can’t.”
His presence was required, not requested at the morning meeting to “restore team chemistry.” If Booker didn’t show, he’d be sidelined indefinitely. Coach had promised as much, and the man never lied.
Another text notification hit the screen. This time, the sender’s name caught his attention and he switched into his get-it-done mentality. “Tell Dad I love him and send him my apology. We’ll catch up after the party. It ends at ten, right?”
“Yes, but, Booker, he’ll be heartbr—”
“Ten it is. Talk to you then.” Booker hit the red circle on the screen before she could interrupt and told his phone to read the last text. He listened as he unlocked the door.
COACH TOLD US THE NEWS. IT SUCKS, BOOK. SUNDAY WON’T BE THE SAME WITHOUT YOU. HOW LONG YOU OUT?
Booker knew Martin Sanchez, his quarterback and closest friend on the team, was being polite by texting. The man was a talker not a texter, and was probably hoping for a call back instead of a text reply, but Booker was too spent to rehash the fight verbally. He texted back: ONE GAME FOR NOW. SMALL PRICE TO PAY FOR THE LOOK ON PERRY’S FACE.
Three dots blinked once and then dropped off the screen. Booker waited for more until his sweet husky-mix, Abbie, ran in and jumped on him. A short burst of welcome-back barks filled the room.
Laying the phone on the counter, he bent down for a pet. “I missed you, too.”
Abbie answered him by licking his cheek. Booker cupped her furry face in his hands and scratched behind both ears. “We’re gonna have all kinds of time together for the next few days, girl.”
Abbie looked up at him with those big brown eyes of hers and the aggravation of the day began to dull. That dog could charm anyone. She circled his legs twice, barked again, and sprinted toward the pantry where the treats were kept.
“Subtle, Abbie. Real subtle,” Booker said, strolling over to her. He’d square her food bowl away and then attempt to smooth over things over with the team. And the media. The second part would be a cinch with the magic his assistant could pull off. Thankfully, the two of them would be having a sit down with one of his sponsors, Touchdown Taffy, later in the evening. Maybe she could snap a few feel-good pictures to start the healing his battered image desperately needed.
Satisfied to have a plan, Booker turned his attention to Abbie and started toward the pantry again. Halfway across the room, another text notification sounded. He kept walking, instructing the text to be read.
MR. WATSON, I AM SO SORRY TO DO THIS, BUT I WON’T BE ABLE TO ATTEND THE PROMO MEETING IN PERSON TODAY. I’VE SPRAINED MY ANKLE AND HAVE TO STAY OFF IT.
“Great. So much for image cleanup today.” Booker dropped a dog biscuit to the floor. “Missing the game this weekend, family hates me, the news is slaughtering my name for all its worth, and my assistant is laid up. What else could go wrong?”
Tilting her head momentarily, Abbie licked her lips as if waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, she went back to the treats. Her crunching nearly drowned out the ding from his phone. Nearly.
“Might as well make the bad day worse,” Booker murmured to himself before asking for his phone to recite the message.
I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE MISSING OUR PARTY. HOW CAN YOU BE SO SELFISH? THANK GOD FOR YOUR SISTER. WE HAVE ONE CHILD WE CAN DEPEND ON!
