Pass Interference (Connecticut Kings Book 6)

by Christina C Jones

  “I don’t believe this whole thing has been a real shift for him,” Joan spoke up. “I think he was already in love with you. Or something close to it.”

  Zora’s eyes went big. “You’re probably right!”

  “Oh, come on guys, don’t do that,” I shook my head. “Yes, he had a crush, but in love with me? No. And he’s definitely slept with other women, and I’ve slept with other men.”

  “In the last year?” Zora challenged.

  I sighed. “No.”

  “Well then what’s your point?!”

  “You know I don’t have one!”

  Zora laughed. “Yeah, just making sure you knew it too!”

  “Okay so, we’ve established that you’re… let’s call it falling in love. Are you okay with it?”

  I thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “I… don’t have a solid reason to not be okay with it. As for whether I am okay with it… I’m coming around to it. Fears or not, Nate is…”

  “A walking, talking, life-saving wet dream?” Joan supplied, and I nodded.

  “Yeah, that’s a pretty accurate summary,” I laughed.

  “Right. And… Madison knows about him. And she approves?”

  I smiled. “And told her little friend, who, in a very giggly manner, told me she thinks Nate is “dreamy” and swore herself to secrecy.”

  “You know what question is coming next, don’t you?” Zora asked, exchanging a look with Joan.

  “Of course,” I agreed. “When am I going to tell Garrett?”

  Joan sucked in a slow breath between her teeth as she shook her head. “He is going to… blow a gasket. You know he still thinks he has a chance with you?”

  I groaned. “I really don’t know why. I mean… yes, we kissed, back in June, after the Johnson wedding. That was my bad, because I’m sure it gave him a little hope. But he has to understand, while I can be friendly with him – hell, be friends with him – and raise our daughter, I am not interested in going back to a lying, cheating man. Maybe he’s changed, and that is totally fine, but I… can’t go backward.”

  “Completely understandable. And if Mads is even team Nate, after campaigning for you and Garrett to get back together… Sorry G,” Joan said.

  “Mads was probably influenced by her breakup. Didn’t you say she caught that little boy with another girl?” Zora asked.

  I nodded. “Mmmhmm. She still loves her father, but I think experiencing it herself put a little depth to her understanding of why mommy isn’t trying to kick it with daddy like that again. And besides all that… she says Garrett has a new lady friend anyway.”

  “He does.” Joan rolled her eyes. “A twenty-two-year-old yoga instructor – I heard him and Miles talking about her, and I was dying to ask him, so… why exactly are you all up Sloane’s ass about getting back together if this is what you really want? But I didn’t, because I wasn’t supposed to have my ear to the office door, so…”

  Laughing, I shook my head. “I’ll tell you exactly why – Garrett is seeking comfort as he ages. He’s still fine enough, fly enough, to get those young ass girls, so he does, I guess to prove to himself that he’s still the man. But when the doors to the house close, and it’s not about his ego or his dick, he wants a full-bodied woman, who he can talk to, who makes him think. Somebody to make his house a home. He can’t seem to get it through his head though, that the woman who could give him what he needs, isn’t going to play those disrespectful ass games with him. All these men in this industry, their old asses see Eli and Mel Richardson, and think, “Yeah, that’s gonna be me.” Eli scooped Mel up when she was maybe twenty-five, and he was in his forties. Everybody wanted to congratulate him, and everybody wants to replicate it, but everybody isn’t treating their woman like he treats her.”

  Joan whistled. “Whew, cause that man loves him some Mel, and even with all the gossip and stuff, you never hear whispers of him straying. Treats that woman like a queen. Happily.”

  “And there’s the key word right there,” Zora sang. “It makes him happy to make her happy, and a lot of these men aren’t about that life. You want a trophy, you better be prepared to keep her polished.”

  “Baby Mel stays glistening, okay?” I laughed. “It’s easy to see why he loves her though, she’s so damn sunny. And that baby, oh my goodness. She’s like a doll.”

  Zora smirked. “Speaking of babies…”

  “Oh don’t you fucking do it.” I shook my head, vigorously. “Madison is almost off to college, and I already got my tits fixed, okay? Are you trying to induce another heart attack?”

  Both laughed, but they knew I was dead serious. None of us were interested in more kids, and in Zora’s case, she wasn’t interested in any. These baby factories were closed.

  “Hey,” I started, looking right at Zora. “Enough about me – let’s talk about you and Trei Norwood, since that’s a thing that happened. You’ve been riding that young dick since Valentine’s Day. What’s the scoop?”

  Having effectively shifted the attention off my life onto hers, I settled back in the chaise to keep sipping my virgin drink as Zora launched into her tale. The smile that crept across my face had little to do with what she was saying, and everything to do with the deep comfort and joy of having my friends around me.

  I’d needed it more than I knew.

  “Yoga? Brooks, you gotta be shitting me.”

  I grinned across the desk at Kyle Underwood before I stabbed another forkful of my salad. “Not at all – I’ve been researching this, and I think it would be great for my receivers.”

  He picked up his napkin, finishing a mouthful of his messy, onion-laden chili dog before he spoke again. “So come on. Explain it to me then. And I’m counting on you to make this good.”

  I laughed around my own mouthful of food and sat back, settling into the comfort of my chair. We were in my office having lunch – probably the last little bit of peace before the preparations for our next game, which we’d be traveling for.

  Honestly, the only reason I’d investigated the possibility of yoga as a team was because Dr. Sharpe was insisting on it for me, since that whole puppy thing had never happened. Kyle didn’t need to know that though.

  What mattered was that, in my quest to figure out how to work yoga into my schedule, I discovered that it could potentially help my players.

  Which meant I wasn’t really asking permission. More like, I was running it by him.

  “Strength. Flexibility. Increased rotation. I’m talking about making them better at catching balls, faster, more agile, and making them less prone to injury while I do it. Getting rid of that dreaded tightness in the hips that effects everything. They’re going to be able to stretch out longer for the ball. Their bodies are going to handle impact better. And – and – there are indisputable mental health benefits to yoga.”

  Underwood rolled his eyes. “Ah, come on Brooks. You almost had me, and then you had to go there with it!”

  “I’m serious!” I defended. “What do these guys get out there and do? They’re taunting, they’re talking shit, they’re trying to get into each other’s heads. But tell me this – Jordan Johnson, in… what was that, 2016? He gets in an on-field scuffle with Bobby Samuels, because Bobby said something slick about his baby sister. Remember that?”

  “Hell yes I remember that.”

  “Okay, so how does that situation look different if we have a Jordan Johnson who is centered, has been on his yoga shit, can take a deep breath and recognize that this is just to rile him up? He looks at Bobby and says, “Fuck you very much, you be blessed”, and walks away! Our receivers aren’t worried about yo-mama jokes on the field because they left the bullshit on the yoga mat, and they can focus!”

  He shook his head. “You really believe this bullshit, don’t you?”

  “I do,” I nodded. “And watch – you’re going to see a difference, I swear.”

  “I will believe it when I see it. That’s all I can say,” he chuckled, then frowned, putti
ng a hand to his chest.

  I stopped, fork halfway to my mouth, watching as he winced. “Hey… you good?” I asked, suddenly on high alert.

  He was slow to respond, holding up his other hand in a gesture for me to give him a second, but his lack of speech – and the look of deep discomfort on his face – made giving him a second an impossibility for me.

  As fast as I could, I was out of my seat, rounding my desk to grip his shoulder. “Kyle, are you okay? Tell me what’s wrong! Do I need to call 911?!”

  “What?!” he croaked, turning his frown up to me. “Brooks, relax – I just ate a big ass chili dog. I need an antacid tablet, that’s all.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Seriously? I could go upside your head for that right now.”

  He laughed as I stalked back to my seat, dropping into it with my arms crossed. “You telling me you’ve never seen heartburn before?”

  “I’m telling you it didn’t look like heartburn from here. And besides that, you’re too damn old to be eating this stuff.”

  “You sound like my wife,” he grumbled, gathering his empty dishes.

  “She’s right,” I countered. “We’re getting older, Kyle. We have to take care of ourselves.”

  “Isn’t the average age for a heart attack somewhere in the mid-sixties? I have a good ten to fifteen years.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

  He stopped what he was doing and frowned. “Wait a minute… what?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “It… happened to me. And it was scary as hell. I don’t want it to happen to you and Sheila.”

  Kyle shook his head. “Sloane, when the hell did you have a heart attack? Garrett never said anything about—”

  “That’s because Garrett doesn’t know,” I interrupted, before he could get too far with that. “Because… nobody knows.”

  “When the hell was this? When you were at BSU?”

  I sighed. “No. It was this past May.”

  There was complete silence as my words fully registered, and his expression shifted from confusion to… something else.

  “As in… a month after you got hired? As in two months before training camp?! Four months before this season started, and you’re just now saying something?!”

  “It had no bearing on my job, and it hasn’t affected my performance!”

  “Of course you don’t think so! What the hell Sloane?!”

  “Kyle, it is my private medical information! The only reason I said something to you about it just now is because we’ve known each other a long time – long enough to call you a friend. I’m trying to keep your ass alive – the heart attack isn’t the team’s business!”

  “And what if you keel over on the field? Is it their business then?!”

  “You already know the answer to that, and you know I damn well wouldn’t be the first or last. It’s practically the nature of this industry.”

  He shook his head. “Deflect all you want to, but you know you shouldn’t have kept this to yourself!”

  “Why the fuck not?” I asked, seriously. “I hope you don’t think I’m oblivious to the fact that not everybody wants me here. And those are the very people just waiting for me to fail, so they can say “I told you so. I told you a woman wasn’t cut out for this job.” What the hell do you think would’ve happened if I’d come and run my mouth to the team?”

  “I would’ve supported you, that’s what! So would Lou, so would Eli, so would the receivers. We would’ve been on your side.”

  I nodded. “I absolutely believe that, Kyle. I absolutely believe that you all would’ve supported me, and been very vocal about it in your interviews. That I watched. From home. Because you know goddamn well I would’ve been released. It would’ve been a nice little feel-good story, how the Kings attempted to buck the status quo by hiring a Black woman… too bad she wasn’t up to the task. And then everything would go right back to the same… except for me. I’d be branded as the woman who just couldn’t cut it, and fucked it up for every Black woman behind me. You look me in the face and tell me I’m lying.”

  His eyes came straight up to mine, blazing and defiant as he opened his mouth. But then, his shoulders deflated, and he let out a deep sigh.

  Because he knew I was right.

  “You could’ve come to me,” he finally spoke, quietly. “Everything you’re saying… I get it. But Sloane we go back. I still play golf with G!”

  “I didn’t want to burden you with this, Kyle. Asking you, before I’d proven myself at all, to keep this secret for me – before we’d even been through minicamp?” I shook my head. “Not saying anything has given me a chance that saying something wouldn’t have. These receivers are dropping fewer passes, getting more receptions, getting more yards per catch than this team has seen in years. I come to work, I do my job incredibly well, and if we want to keep it a buck, if we’re talking about the health of the coaches on this team – on any team – I can outmatch probably ninety percent of the men you put next to me.”

  Kyle grunted. “Do you really not see the problem here?”

  “Oh no, I definitely see what you think is a problem. I’m explaining to you why it’s not. If I wasn’t doing the work, if I was phoning it in, I would get it. But that’s just not the case. It has not slowed me down. It has not stopped me from doing my job. The Kings have not lost anything – only benefitted. So, you know what, no. I don’t see the problem. You tell me what the problem is.”

  Shaking his head, he chuckled. “You know… no one could ever accuse you of being stupid – or not being able to talk your way out of some shit. You really have me sitting here considering that you might have a point.”

  “Because I do,” I insisted. “You can’t fault me for not giving this team a chance to discriminate against me because of a medical condition I was born with, and couldn’t help. I have fulfilled every duty, haven’t missed a single practice, a single game –”

  “You don’t have to convince me anymore, Sloane,” he said, holding up his hands. “You are right. You’ve done your job. Exceeded the person who was in the position before you, and you’re even adding new ideas. Which is why – after you show me something from your doctor clearing you to be out of the bed, let alone in this facility – I’m going to let this slide.”

  I bit the inside of my lip to keep from popping off, reminding him that I’d done nothing wrong for him to “let slide”. I wasn’t about to talk myself out of a situation that was turning in my favor.

  “I’ll have Dr. Sharpe write something up. No problem,” I told him. “So… this stays between you and me?”

  He blew out a sigh. “Yes. If you’re performing the duties of your job, there’s no reason to report it to anyone. But Sloane… you know this can’t stay under wraps forever, right?”

  “Of course I do. Like I said, I only told you because I was trying to scare your ass out of those awful foods, but I didn’t forget who you were. You’re my superior on this team. But… still my friend too, I hope?”

  “Take more than defending your right to be here to get rid of me,” he said, grinning as he stood, taking his trash with him. “I want to see that note from your doctor before we get on this plane though.”

  I nodded. “Consider it done. But hey… while you’re not bringing this up to anyone else… make sure “anyone” includes Garrett. Please?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I don’t want or need him all over my back about this. And neither do you, or anyone else, because you already know how he’s going to get!”

  Kyle pushed out a sigh.

  Again, he knew I was right.

  “Fine. But you’re giving Sheila the recipe for your sweet potato pie.”

  My mouth dropped open. The last thing I wanted to do was put my mama’s pie recipe in the hands of his non-cooking ass wife. But if that’s what it took…

  “You have yourself a deal.”

  Once he was gone, I reclined my chair as
far back as I could, putting my hand to my own chest. The last few weeks had been full of reveals, and they didn’t seem to be getting any less stressful. Keeping secrets was hard, anxiety-ridden work.

  But as it turned out… telling them was no walk in the park either.

  Thirteen

  “You’re preparing to do what?”

  The tension in my father’s voice cut through the pleasant vibe we’d carried all through dinner, bringing the conversation to a halt. Everyone – Cole, Jordan, and Mel – looked to my father, obviously stricken by his tone. Everyone except for my baby sister, Emma, who was in my lap, happily eating off my plate since she’d already finished hers.

  Clearing my throat, I looked my father right in his eyes, mostly unfazed by the deep scowl on his face. In my peripheral, I could see Mel shifting in her seat, uncomfortable and probably feeling a little guilty, since she was the one who’d asked the question to which I’d given an – apparently – offensive answer.

  What do you think you’ll do once you move on from the DPS role?

  Moving on from the position was no secret – between Cole and me, it had been talked about a lot. We’d grown up in this organization, both had law degrees and minors in sports management. Any internships we’d had were in the Kings building, and our first “real” jobs had been the lite version of where we were now. As far as the organization went, they were low on the totem pole, with much room for growth.

  It was expected that we’d do just that.

  Though it wasn’t a conversation to be had over dinner, it was my own fault that we’d come to this. It was a big deal around here that the Kings were in transition – revamping coaching staff and recruiting risky players this year, new chefs, new diet plans, etc. It was rumored, but not confirmed, that front office shake-ups were coming next.

  A rumor I found relieving.

  “I said that I was preparing for my licensure to become a sports agent,” I repeated, taking care that there wasn’t even a hint of wavering in my tone. I loved my father, and he was typically a fair man, but when it came to his children, - me, more than Cole – he had these ideas about how our lives would go. And somewhere along the way, I’d given him the mistaken impression that I had even the slightest intentions of adhering to them.