“That’s true,” I concede. “They still have some kinks to work out, but I like what I saw. These fans have every reason to feel optimistic about the new season.”
We spend several minutes analyzing today’s matchup between the two teams. After a commercial break, we’re joined by Lester Talbot. The former Renegades linebacker is a tall, husky black man with an outgoing personality and an infectious laugh.
He shares his predictions about the game and picks the Renegades to win, drawing an accusation of bias from Jack.
“Just to balance things out, I’m picking the Packers.” He smirks at me. “What about you? Or do I even have to ask?”
“C’mon, Jack,” I say with a chuckle. “If I didn’t think the Renegades had a chance, I’d pick Green Bay. But I like the way the Renegades are gelling, so that’s who I’m going with.”
As Lester whoops and gives me a high five, Jack smirks harder. “Smart answer, little lady. Wouldn’t want your husband getting offended and running off with a hot cheerleader.”
My smile freezes. What the actual fuck?
“Malone’s not going anywhere,” Lester laughingly interjects. “Have you not seen his wife? This woman is smart and beautiful, and she knows football inside out. She’s the total package and Malone knows it.”
I give him a grateful smile.
He smiles back sympathetically as if to say, Sorry you have to put up with this asshole.
As soon as we’re off the air and alone on the set, I sneer at Jack. “That was real classy, Rollins. A shining example of professionalism.”
“Whoa,” he protests, holding up his hands. “What’d I do?”
“Spare me your wide-eyed-innocent routine,” I hiss sharply. “You’ve been taking personal jabs at me all day, and I’m sick and tired of it. Fix your shit or I will.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes narrow. “Is that a threat?”
“Take it however the fuck you want. Just know I’m done with you and your bullshit.” I rise from my seat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go watch my husband’s game in peace.”
I march off the set, seething with fury as a security guard escorts me to the private entrance that provides access to the stadium’s upper level.
Normally I would be headed to the press box to watch the game with my peers. But I’m no longer the Gazette’s NFL beat writer. Lon reassigned me when I came back from my honeymoon. It wasn’t an easy decision for either of us. But now that I’m married to the Renegades’ starting quarterback, I know how important it is to avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest. At least I still get to talk football on Team Ticker—not sure for how much longer though.
Noticing my frown, the security guard asks, “You okay, Mrs. Malone?”
“Yup.” I force a smile. “Just having pregame jitters.”
He grins. “Your husband’s gonna be great. He was born for this.”
“Yes, he was,” I agree warmly. This is a big day for Reyes. I refuse to let Jack ruin it for me.
The guard accompanies me up the escalator to the top level where Greer’s luxury suite is located.
I reach the open door to find the pregame festivities in full swing. There are people everywhere laughing loudly and socializing. Noise blares from several televisions mounted around the suite, each one broadcasting a different game. On one side is a long bar lined with bar stools, and next to that is a grouping of tables and chairs. A buffet laden with a variety of food runs along the back of the suite.
I step through the door to a raucous chorus of cheers from Zoe, Greer, Liam, Teagan, Daisy and a bunch of Greer’s employees. There’s a trio of hot blondes wearing Reyes’s jersey as minidresses, their long legs teetering on platform heels.
Of course. No party of Greer’s would be complete without groupies.
I move through the crowd, exchanging hugs and greetings. Zoe pushes a drink into my hand and steers me toward the tiered bank of seats overlooking the stadium.
“This is so exciting,” she gushes as we settle down. “Greer says we’re welcome to join him in his suite for every home game. Wasn’t that nice of him?” She grins and hitches her chin toward Liam, who’s at the bar debating sports with Greer’s vice president of sales. “He’s been thanking his lucky stars that you’re my best friend. He says as long as you and Reyes are together, he’s never breaking up with me.”
I laugh, sipping my cocktail.
“You’re not going back on air, are you?”
“No. We’re finished for the day.”
“Good,” Zoe says, pointing to my drink, “because that’s some potent stuff. I was buzzed after three sips.”
I grin at my glass. “One of Greer’s concoctions?”
“You know it.” Zoe glances over her shoulder and snickers. “Look at those shameless hussies.”
I follow her gaze to where Teagan and Daisy are flirting with two of Greer’s pilots. They’re giggling and batting their lashes so hard that Zoe and I burst out laughing.
Greer brings me a plate piled with food. “Buon appetito, gorgeous.”
“Ah, grazie mille,” I coo appreciatively. “You’re so thoughtful, but there’s no way I can eat all this food by myself.”
“I got you,” Zoe says, already helping herself to a Kobe beef slider.
Greer and I both laugh.
A few minutes later, the Renegades come running out of the tunnel to deafening applause and cheers. I beam from ear to ear, my heart bursting with excitement and joy.
When the starting lineups are introduced and Reyes’s name is called, he receives a thunderous ovation that brings tears to my eyes. Greer gives me a big bear hug, looking just as pleased and proud.
My eyes stay glued to my husband as he warms up on the field, lofting passes to his receivers. The JumboTron projects his every move to the buzzing crowd. His jaw is set with determination, his eyes laser-focused on his targets.
His intensity makes me shiver. It doesn’t hurt that he looks amazing in his uniform, deliciously tall and strapping with those huge shoulders that could fill out his jersey without the shoulder pads.
“You’re drooling so bad right now,” Zoe laughs in my ear. “Want me to get you some napkins to mop yourself up?”
I can only laugh and shake my head.
Susanna shows up minutes before kickoff, looking slightly harried as she drops into the seat beside me and sweeps her long caramel hair off her face.
“Sorry I’m late. I had to do a family photo op for Daddy’s campaign.” She looks out over the field and scowls. “Dammit. I missed Reyes’s introduction.”
“That’s okay. At least you got here before the game starts.” I hesitate, eyeing her. “Are they here? Your family?”
She nods. “Their suite is on the third level. Grandmother tried to guilt me into sitting with them. I don’t even know why she bothered. She knows where I’d rather be.”
Apart from Susanna and Aunt Olympia, Reyes hasn’t seen or spoken to his father’s family since the day he nearly mauled Brigham to death, breaking his nose and cracking two ribs. Brigham’s injuries sidelined him from campaigning for three weeks. As he began his convalescence at home, he and his campaign manager concocted a story about him bravely fending off an armed robber one evening after work. The heroic fable garnered him widespread public sympathy, and within forty-eight hours, he regained his lead in the polls.
No one else in the family knows the real story, and the FBI agents who were present that day are staying mum. Every time I see Brigham’s nauseatingly smug face on TV, I want to puke.
Hearing high-pitched squeals of laughter, I look across the suite to see Greer leaning against a wall talking to the blond triplets. They’re draped all over him, cooing and simpering and competing for his attention. But he’s only half paying attention to them, his focus pulled in another direction.
I watch with interest as he traces the rim of his glass with his thumb while staring at Susanna almost broodingly. The broodi
ng is weird because he’s never been the brooding type. Like, ever.
As if feeling the weight of his stare, Susanna looks over and meets his gaze. When his lips curve into a smirk, she swallows hard and looks away, her cheeks pinkening before she mutters, “I need a drink.”
As she jumps up and heads for the bar, Zoe and I raise our eyebrows at each other. Zoe suspects something happened between Greer and Susanna at the farewell pool party back in Spain. I hope she’s wrong because Reyes is super protective of Susanna, and he wouldn’t take kindly to his womanizing best friend hooking up with her.
All such thoughts go out of my head when the Renegades win the coin toss and choose to receive. Greer hops into the empty seat beside me, slaps me a high five and growls, “Let’s do this,” signaling to everyone that social hour is over.
The Renegades go straight for the jugular on the first play when Reyes throws a 54-yard bomb to DeVante Spriggs, who shakes off a tackle and streaks into the end zone for a touchdown.
The stadium explodes in thunderous cheers and applause. Greer and I are on our feet hugging and screaming our heads off along with everyone else.
Several minutes later, Green Bay counters with their own touchdown drive, tying the score at 7-7.
A collective groan erupts from the crowd as many wonder nervously if the retooled Renegades can overcome the legendary Aaron Rodgers.
Their fears are allayed on the next possession when Reyes methodically leads the team downfield, shredding the Packers’ defense before ending the drive with a five-yard touchdown pass to DeVante—his new favorite weapon.
The crowd goes wild as Reyes and DeVante celebrate with vigorous chest bumps and helmet slaps. The extra point is good, putting us up 14-7.
Throughout much of the first half, the stadium’s cameras stay trained on me. Every time I appear on the JumboTron, the crowd cheers and waves. It’s sweet but kind of embarrassing.
Zoe loves every minute of it. “You’re like a super popular First Lady,” she crows, wrapping her arm around my shoulders and squeezing me tight. “Remember all those Saturdays we sat in our apartment watching Reyes’s Stanford games? And now you’re sitting here as his freaking wife. Talk about surreal!”
She’s right. It is surreal, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
Before halftime the Renegades score a rushing touchdown and a field goal, widening our lead to 24-7.
As the two teams jog off the field, Greer and I exchange a flurry of texts with Reyes’s father. He’s watching the game from a hotel bar in Wyoming, where he’s speaking at a cattlemen’s convention this week. Our group chat also includes Mireia, Alejandro, Uncle Miquel, Aunt Blanca and Uncle Joaquim, who are watching the game on the other side of the world. All of us are raving about Reyes’s insane first half stats and the team’s impressive performance.
Green Bay comes out swinging in the second half when Aaron Rodgers connects with his star receiver on a long pass that’s converted into a touchdown.
When we get the ball back, the crowd holds its collective breath as Reyes leads the offense onto the field. He looks so commanding. So cool and calm under pressure.
I watch as he takes his place at the line of scrimmage, surveying the defense and then glancing over his shoulder to make sure the backs are lined up correctly. Satisfied with the formation, he crouches behind the center and barks out signals to his teammates. He’s calling an audible to change the play.
When the ball is snapped, the defense blitzes as anticipated. Reyes sidesteps the rush, rolls out of the pocket and lofts a perfect spiral downfield to a wide-open Zach Kirwan. The tight end catches the ball in stride and secures it into his gut like a ripe melon. The crowd goes nuts as he charges toward the end zone before he’s stopped just two yards short.
On first and goal, Reyes fakes a handoff to a running back and then drops back to pass the ball. When his receiver gets tangled up with a cornerback, he makes a split-second decision to tuck the ball into his right arm and dive in for the touchdown.
The crowd roars and chants his name while we go crazy in the suite, whooping and screaming ourselves hoarse.
The Packers challenge the call, drawing boos and jeers from the crowd. While the referee reviews the play on a tablet, the players pace restlessly up and down the sidelines.
Reyes crouches on his haunches, his helmet dangling from his fingers as he calmly stares up at the scoreboard. He knows he scored. We all do.
Less than a minute later, the ref trots back onto the field to confirm that the ruling on the field stands. The crowd bursts into wild cheering while Reyes’s teammates and coaches pound him on the back and pump their fists in the air.
The extra kick sails between the uprights, making the score 31-14.
There’s a whole ’nother quarter left to play. But we can sense victory within our grasp, and it feels fucking fantastic.
As the game clock winds down to zero, the stadium explodes in celebration and music.
Ecstatic about their 41-17 win, Reyes and his teammates exchange victorious hugs and high fives as reporters and cameramen rush onto the field.
Grinning from ear to ear, I watch from the sidelines as Reyes shakes hands with Packers players. Aaron Rodgers congratulates him with a backslapping hug, their heads bent together as the veteran quarterback praises and encourages the younger superstar. The second they pull apart, Reyes is mobbed by reporters shoving microphones in his face.
He grins broadly, scraping his sweaty black hair off his face as he answers questions while looking around.
He’s looking for me.
With my heart leaping for joy and butterflies dancing in my stomach, I press through the throng, congratulating Renegades players along the way.
When Reyes sees me coming, he cuts his interview short and reaches out to grab me. I laugh as he pulls me against his sweaty chest, hugging me so hard my feet lift off the ground.
I hug him back just as tightly, exhilaration flooding every cell in my body.
When he releases me, I beam up at him. “Congratulations, baby. I’m so proud of you.”
He brushes my hair back with both hands, then leans down and kisses me as camera flashes explode around us. The local press and TV camera crews are capturing every single moment, and I don’t mind one damn bit.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
EMERSON
“We need to talk,” I say as I enter Casey’s office bright and early on Monday morning.
He’s just hanging up the phone. “Emerson—”
“No. Let me speak.” I close the door behind me. “I’ve got a lot to get off my chest, and you need to sit there and listen.”
Casey slumps back in his chair, frowning nervously as I begin pacing up and down in front of his desk.
“Let me start off by saying how much I enjoy working on Team Ticker. I love the talented staff you’ve put together. Everyone busts their asses to make our show a huge success, and I’m honored and grateful to work with them. But I’ve had enough of Jack’s toxic bullshit. I asked you months ago to intervene, but you didn’t. At that point I should have gone to HR to file a complaint. But I was afraid of the repercussions, which I’m ashamed to admit. I’ve always considered myself pretty fearless and outspoken. But I didn’t realize how untrue that was until my father came back into my life, and I finally stood up to him.
“See, he was my first bully,” I explain, my voice hardening with anger. “Other than a slap here and there, he didn’t make a habit of hitting me. He didn’t have to. Through intimidation and cruelty, he taught me to fear standing up to bullies. Oh, I can decimate creepy assholes on Twitter, and I can clap back against misogynists who don’t think women belong in sports reporting. But confronting the bullies in my personal life? That was a different story. I let my father belittle me and push me around because I was terrified of him. And for the past year, I’ve let Jack get away with sexually harassing me because I feared rocking the boat. But no more. I’m fucking done.” I slap my palms down on Casey�
��s desk and lean over. “Either you do something about Jack, or I walk out that door and take my talents to another network.”
Casey blanches beneath his summer tan. “That won’t be necessary. He’s been suspended.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “What?”
“That’s what I was going to say when you walked in. And he’s not just getting suspended. His contract is up at the end of the month. It won’t be renewed.”
I’m stunned speechless.
“He’s outta here,” Casey reiterates. “You’ve done your last show with him.”
“Well, then,” I murmur, sinking slowly into the visitor’s chair angled in front of the desk. “What precipitated this decision?”
Casey looks grim. “He’s been getting slammed on Twitter for the offensive comment he made to you yesterday. A lot of your fans have been calling for his head.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re getting rid of him? Because of social media backlash?”
“No. I mean, it certainly didn’t help his case. But the network execs have been discussing his . . . shortcomings for a while. He’s a veteran in this business, so he brings a lot of knowledge and experience to the table. While that’s normally a good thing, the bosses think he’s long past his prime, which was painfully obvious during your absence. He came off as a curmudgeon, a relic of a bygone era. That’s not the kind of energy we want on Team Ticker.” Casey gives me a rueful look. “I’m really sorry I didn’t have your back. I know that’s the reason Lon was invited to your wedding and I wasn’t.”
I don’t bother to deny it. “Your lack of support was disappointing.”
He winces guiltily. “I let you down, and there’s no excuse for that. For what it’s worth, I spoke to Jack when you came back from your honeymoon. He promised to get his act together, and he did for a while.”
“I guess he could only suppress his asshole tendencies for so long,” I grumble.
“Unfortunately.” Casey grimaces. “I’m truly sorry, Emerson. I won’t let anything like that happen again. You have my word.”
Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1) Page 37
