by K. Bromberg
“I love him.” Saying those words out loud has chills chasing over my skin.
“Oh. My. God,” Chase says dramatically as she plops into the seat in front of me. “I’ve never seen you this sure of being in love before. Are you sure, sure?” she asks as if I’d just told her I was abducted by aliens.
“She’s definitely sure,” Dekker says.
“And how would you know?” Chase asks her.
Dekker turns to me with tears welling in her eyes and awe in her voice.
“Because when you know, you know . . . and Brexton here, knows.”
DREW
I SCRAMBLE.
It’s all I can do as the offensive line crumbles for the third time in as many plays. The 49ers have our goddamn number today and it shows.
I’m able to throw the ball and see that it isn’t going to be caught—by either team—milliseconds before I’m tackled to the ground. I hit with a thud and a grunt and then a wince as another guy adds to the pile.
I’ve been given five more minutes. Five precious minutes to show off what else I can do after Hobbs took hit after fucking hit.
But I’m not going to be able to do shit.
Not with our offense folding with every single goddamn play.
And when the clock runs out and the game is over, I’ve accomplished little to fucking nothing other than putting zero points on the board to counter the seven our defense and their shitty coverage all but handed to them.
I glance toward the stands as we walk off the field, the kid in me still looking, still hoping for my dad to be sitting there, proud of me.
I’m an idiot for thinking it. For hoping for it. For even thinking it after the events of the past week.
And yet just once, I want him to be proud of me. Just once I want him to not put himself and what people think of him first, and think about what it would mean for me to see him there—whether I’m sitting the bench or the off chance of me taking the field.
“It was a fucking slaughterhouse out there wasn’t it, man? Goddamn team sucked ass today.”
I glance over to Hobbs and nod. He’s right. Fucking dead-on right, but that’s not shit you say to a team that just got their asses handed to them and are sore and pissed off. That’s not how you lead them.
“It happens. Now we’re going to go into the locker room and after Coach speaks, you’re going to take the floor. You’re going to tell them they fought hard and we came up short, but that’s okay because we have six days to fix our mistakes before the next game.”
“But they didn’t fight hard. They—”
“You’re their leader. Go lead them with positivity.”
Hobbs falters in step momentarily as our eyes meet long enough for me to catch that he understands what I’m saying.
The question is, will he step up to the plate, or is he going to strike out?
“Hey, Bowman.”
I stop at the sound of my name as we enter the tunnel and look up to a couple of guys dressed in Raptors gear with beers in their hands, hanging over the railing.
“You had five fucking minutes and you couldn’t perform. No wonder you’ve been second string your whole career.”
“If he can call it a career,” the other sneers.
“Yeah, loser. Walk away like I read your old man did.”
“Walk the fuck away.”
I keep walking into the tunnel without giving them the time of day.
But their words stick.
They eat at me.
Through our team meeting and the press junket afterward.
When I text Brex and tell her I’m not going to be able to make it to her place tonight.
The entire drive home.
Even when I pull into my driveway to find Brexton’s car parked in the driveway and her sitting on my porch with her legs stretched out and ankles crossed over the other.
I get out of my truck, not sure if I’m pissed or happy to see her. “What are you doing here?” I ask as I cross the short distance from the driveway to the porch.
She holds up a six-pack of beer and a bag of takeout food. “You need to eat, right?” Her smile is soft as she pushes herself up and angles her head to the side to stare at me.
“I’m afraid I’m not much company tonight. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Hey,” she says. “We celebrate losses as much as we celebrate wins.”
“Are you crazy?” I laugh.
“For you, yes.” She gives me another smile before stepping onto her tiptoes and kissing me.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “And maybe it’s just what the doctor ordered.”
I stare at her standing under the porchlight and smile, despite feeling sorry for myself.
How did I ever deserve this? Deserve her?
“Are you going to let me in?” she asks and bats her lashes.
I chuckle and shake my head as I take the pizza box and bag of other items from her and unlock the front door.
“You really are something,” I say, walking toward the kitchen as she shuts the door behind us.
“Hey Drew, will this help take your mind off the game?” she asks, prompting me to turn around.
And when I do, the game and thoughts of it disappear completely. Brexton is standing in my foyer with her dress pooled around her ankles and nothing on but a black negligée.
I drop the pizza without seeing where it lands and cross the room to her. “I think that might be a very good start.”
“If that’s what I get when we lose . . .” I blow out a whistle as her finger traces absent lines on my chest.
“Funny.” She presses a kiss to the underside of my jaw, and I close my eyes and let it soak in.
Her being here.
Me wanting her here.
Because as much as I wanted to be left alone tonight, as much as I wanted to wallow in my thoughts over what those assholes said, Brexton showing up only served to show me I was wrong.
Her lips pressed to mine is what I wanted. Knowing she is here for me, win or lose, is what I needed. That she knew what I needed . . . knew how to love me . . . blows my mind.
She validates me.
Believes in me.
As it seems she always has.
The lingerie and incredible sex were just the cherry on the top of it.
“You want to tell me why you were so upset about a game that you had no hand in losing?” she asks. “The 49ers are a good team and they had your numbers tonight. Fair and square. Sometimes that just happens.”
I don’t respond.
“You’re not telling me something.”
“There were just some assholes after the game. Same shit, different day.”
“What do you mean same shit, different day?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbow so she can look at me. I’d much rather look at her gloriously naked body instead of having this discussion.
“What I said. There’s always one asshole in the crowd, always a comment linking me to my dad somehow or some shit like that.”
“Fuck them,” she states so matter-of-factly.
“I wish it were that easy.”
“Why is it not? You can handle all the other criticism with a grain of salt, treat it the same.”
“I used to be able to, but this time around with everything that’s going on, I think it hit a little closer to home.”
Is that why it did? Because I’ve spent years thinking my dad was wronged by the NFL and for once I think he is the one who did the wrong?
“At some point you’re going to have to put this to bed with your father for your own well-being. You have a right to know the truth because it affects you daily. And when you do, then you can figure out the next step after that.”
She’s right.
I know she is.
But it’s so much easier to put my hand on the back of her neck and pull her closer so I can taste her lips again.
So I can lose myself in her.
BREXTON
“CONGRATULATIONS.” I SHAKE MARK WHITTIER’S hand. “You are now a Los Angeles Charger.”
“No shit?” His grin spreads from ear to ear.
“No shit.” I pat him on the back.
“Coach told me I had to come up to the small meeting rooms and I was freaking out a little. I thought they were going to cut me like that after everything . . .” He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “Los Angeles? Really?”
“The contract was sent over about twenty minutes ago. I figured I’d swing by and tell you in person.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Shonda is going to freak,” he says about his wife, who has been trying to get back to her home state for years.
“Then let’s make sure you finish the season healthy and strong, that way there’ll be nothing that stops you when you start there come spring.”
He nods, his expression priceless as he takes it all in. “Thank you. Truly. Thank you, Brexton.”
I smile, feeling more than content knowing I just made him and his family very happy. And days like these, appreciative athletes, make this job so worthwhile.
“I’ll review everything just to make sure it’s what they said it was going to be and then get it over to you to sign electronically.”
“Sounds good.” He takes a few steps toward the door before turning back to face me. “Thank you, again.”
I smile and watch him walk away before I turn back to my laptop to send a few things.
“So you could get him a deal with the Chargers but not me?”
Of course.
Hobbs.
It’s Justin’s voice at my back. I should have assumed that Mark would tell everyone, but not this fast.
“I overheard,” he says as he enters the small closet-like space.
My sigh is heavy as I lean my ass against the desk and turn to face him. “We’ve been through this, Justin. I told you I couldn’t promise anything, especially when I have absolutely no authority to negotiate for you.”
“So then you were just bullshitting me?”
“Not at all. I included you in my discussions with them. I made suggestions on how to make their offense stronger. I told them they needed you.”
“My guess is that you weren’t convincing enough.” He squares his shoulders as he takes another step closer.
“And my guess is that you haven’t exactly been shining on the field lately to help your own case.”
“Oh, so that’s what this is? Bash me so you and your boyfriend can ride off into the New York sunset together?”
“My boyfriend?” I laugh.
“You think I don’t know Bowman has a thing for you?” he sneers, and I hope I don’t look as taken aback as I feel.
But I recover quickly. The last thing I want is Drew coming into this conversation when he has no place there.
“If that were the case, Hobbs—if I were screwing you over as you’re implying for Drew’s sake—then I’d want you the hell out of here so he could be starting QB.” I take a step toward him, using my finger to point at him. “I’d have done everything in my power to get you there, but I don’t play like that.”
“Sure you do,” he says, his voice lowering as he steps into my personal space. He emanates such unexpected anger. “And since you didn’t play like that for me, I think you owe me.”
“Owe you?” I scoff, but when he takes another step closer, I don’t like the position he’s put us in—he towers over me. Especially noticeable when he’s this close.
Alarm bells sound off in my head when I can usually keep them at bay.
Crap.
“I don’t owe you shit, but I’ll tell you the same thing I told you back then. Talk to Finn. Tell him you want California. Make him work for you, because I’m beginning to think this was all an exercise in futility. Even if I made it work, you had no intention of signing with KSM. You just need that big ego of yours fed. You need to feel like everybody is running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to please you.”
“I know a way you could please me,” he murmurs, and I swear to God, if he reaches that hand out to touch me, my knee is going straight into his crotch.
No hesitation.
“Watch your step, Hobbs,” I warn.
“What’s little ol’ you going to do about it? Huh? Because I can think of about ten things right now that would make things so much fucking better.”
“Like you taking about ten steps the fuck away from Brexton.”
My head whips over to the voice in the doorway. I’m shocked as hell to see Finn standing there, arms crossed, and fury in his expression.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, when Finn glares at Justin until he does as Finn asks.
“Finn.” I gulp in a breath of air.
“Go get changed,” Finn orders Justin. “And don’t you dare fucking leave. You and I are going to have words.”
Justin stands there and looks from Finn to me and then back to his agent. “It’s not what it looked like.”
“I heard enough to know exactly what it was.” Finn raises his eyebrows and motions toward the door.
With an annoyed sigh, Justin strides out of the room without another word.
And when he’s gone, both Finn and I take a second to consider what happened.
“I never thought I’d be happy to say this, but it’s good to see you, Finn.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “You couldn’t give me more than that?”
“Nope,” I tease, but then my expression falls as realization hits me. I’ve dealt with men my whole career, and I’m proud to say that’s the first time anything like that has ever happened. I’d like to keep it that way. “Well, I always thought he was a harmless prick but now I know he’s an entitled asshole too.”
“That he is.” He purses his lips and nods. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”
“Your client was trying to pit us against each other to get a trade to LA.”
“And you took the bait?” he asks.
“Of course I did. If there’s a chance that I can steal someone from you and add one more pea between that stack of mattresses you sleep on in your tower, of course I’ll take it.”
“Fucking unbelievable.” But he chuckles.
I shrug unapologetically. “But I told him from the get-go that it was a long shot. That he needed to talk to his agent, because there was really nothing I could do.”
“And what exactly did you do?”
“I dropped some hints to the Chargers’ GM. I let them know Hobbs was interested in playing there, but there wasn’t much else I could do. Do you see that?” I ask as I hold my hand out to him.
“What’s that?”
“I’m passing the baton to you. He’s your client. After that little show, his allure has faded for me.”
“No shit.”
“I lied,” I say with a sigh.
“Uh-oh.”
“I do feel a little bad trying to steal him from you. I mean you did just kind of save me.”
“Nah. You Kincades don’t ever need saving. I saw that your knee was primed, ready to connect with his dick. You would have done just fine.”
I chuckle and look over at him. “Thanks, Finn.”
He nods. “If it’s any consolation, I was coming to tell him that the Las Vegas Raiders are interested in him. It’s not California, but it’s the next state over.”
I lift my eyebrows in surprise, upset the self-righteous prick will be getting what he wanted—a trade toward the West Coast—but I’m glad it’s not California.
I’ll take the victory no matter how small it is.
“The Raiders? That’s a good fit for him.”
“It is.”
I stare at Finn for a beat and shake my head. He’s not supposed to be the good guy. He’s the one I want to hate. My little sister’s ex-boyfriend who hurt her and a rival agent I like to think of as our enemy.
He’s not supposed to be a guy I’m smil
ing at right now and thankful that he’s here.
“Hey? When you negotiate Hobbs’s terms with the Raiders, do you think you could give him a pay cut in the process? I’m thinking he doesn’t deserve to be rewarded for being an asshole and trying to screw you over by going to a rival agent.”
Finn gives me a half-cocked grin. “You mean you?”
“You win some. You lose some. And this time I’m glad I’m losing to you. He’s all your problem.”
He laughs with me. “I’ll do my best on the pay cut part. No guarantees though. If it’s any consolation, I’ll draw negotiations out as long as possible to make him sweat.”
With my bag on my shoulder, I stop in front of him. “You know what? You’re not so bad, after all.”
“Shh.” He winks. “Don’t let the secret get out.”
BREXTON
Drew: Where are you?
Me: In Philly. Why?
Drew: I’m starting today.
Me: Are you serious? OMG!
Drew: Lonnie just told me.
Me: How? When? Why? I’m so excited for you. What happened to Hobbs?
Drew: Karma.
I shake my head, my smile widening at the comment that I can all but hear him say in that sarcastic tone of his. I can still picture the look on his face when I told him the stunt that Justin pulled and that Finn helped me out of. To say he was pissed is an understatement, but I made him promise me that he wouldn’t act on it. That he wouldn’t jeopardize all of the hard work he’d put in with a bullshit act—like getting into a fistfight with a teammate—when he’s finally making headway and getting playing time.
He’d relented.
Eventually.
Only after I told him it didn’t make him any less of a man for not sticking up for me, but more of a man because he trusted that I could handle myself.
And now, look what happened.
Thank God, he listened and didn’t jeopardize this opportunity.
I stare at the text and then look up at the stadium I’m about to walk into. The one where I have six clients about to play and know without a second thought that I won’t be seeing them take the field.
Not even for a single down of the game. My heart leaps at the sight of his words. At yet another chance for him to prove himself to the Raptors—and the world—who he is and what he’s capable of.
