Love's Ineligible Receiver (Connecticut Kings Book 5)

by Love Belvin

  Fuck. That.

  Powerless in telling her to kiss my ass, I ate the laps.

  One down…

  Two down…

  Three…

  I trained my thoughts when I ran, letting my mind run, too. I could conceive ideas and dream up next level goals. Around lap five is when I thought to do a block party for my boutique opening in my hometown, Trenton, NJ. Yup. Make it a city celebration. I would hit my business partner, Jeremy, up tonight with details.

  Yeah…

  I was on my fourteenth lap when my thighs felt like weights getting off the ground. Then something played back in my mind from my conversation with Divine the other day after we talked about my meeting with Melanie Ruiz.

  “And don’t try to fuck her—or your new coach.”

  I was so fucking heated about him implying I’d try to fuck Ruiz that I missed the new coach mention.

  Ain’t this some shit…

  I met with Ruiz and had no wish in the damn world to lay a finger on her.

  And ain’t no way I’d even look twice at this Sloane bitch either…

  “May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be especially pleasing in your sight, our sovereign Lord, my faithful Rock, and holy Redeemer,” he rasped with passion. “And let the tabernacle proclaim…”

  “Amen,” I murmured alongside the entire congregation of Redeeming Souls for Abundant Living in Christ, creating a strong shout across the two-story sanctuary.

  The soft keys from the organ created a peaceful backdrop to close the service.

  “It is well with my soul,” were the last words he spoke before lowering his outspread arms and leaving the podium.

  The church was still on fire. As with any other service, Pastor Carmichael left the room wanting more. The man could orate like no one else. His message this morning was of “The Race.”

  “Guuuuuuuuurl,” a rumbling caused me to shift in stance and look to my left. Jade was packing up her baby’s bag. “That Pastor is anointed! Did you hear how he compared trials in life to a runner’s race? And when you think about it, it’s true. You get so tired of going through the same thing.”

  “It becomes exhausting,” I sighed.

  Man, did I have loads of experience with fatigue and weariness: literally and figuratively.

  “It does! And especially like he said, when you don’t know when your break is coming. I’ve been there.” She stopped, facing me.

  A smile lifted on her face and those hazel eyes glittered my way expectantly. When she glanced down, I realized what she was asking for. Her baby girl.

  “Oh!” I grumbled, handing over the seven-month-old, sleeping infant.

  Jade laughed. “Thank God you were here to rock her. The only person she behaves with in church is her father.”

  I smiled. “Nothing wrong with a daddy’s girl.”

  Jade returned a wry smile. “You’re right. I’m grateful for their already bond.”

  Those words packed more than the sum of their quantity, Jade and I both knew. Other than our meager heights and similar frames, Mrs. Bailey and I had a thing or two in common. One being the absence of our fathers. Another common experience was having never known them.

  I met Jade about a year ago in the front office. Her name had been getting around as Trent’s one-man—or woman—management team. The weird thing about it was Trent Bailey had an agent, attorneys, and a full staff, but Jade was very much involved in the administration of his business. I was working in payroll one day when she came in to drop off paperwork for him. We sparked a conversation and that led to exchanging telephone numbers.

  We didn’t hang out much, but she told me about her challenges in Trent’s world and how even the football wives’ club didn’t really accept her. That was crazy considering Trent Bailey was the Kings’ star quarterback and therefore franchise player. In one of our conversations she mentioned the church she recently joined, the one Trent had been a member of for years. One Sunday she invited me, and I was so moved by the aesthetics, atmosphere, and speaker I came again. I’d been coming for months now, driving all the way down from Connecticut to Harlem, New York…just for church. The inspired condition of my spirit each Sunday after leaving justified the nearly hour and a half commute.

  “Are you cooking today?” I grabbed my things as the second-floor balcony cleared out.

  “Girl, yes.” She strapped little Ava Nese in her car seat. “April’s making a few desserts and I already marinated my turkey wings.” She laughed to herself. “You’re about to head up to Connecticut, and Trent and Ky’ll be headed down.”

  “Oh, they’re up there today?”

  “Yeah, Trent took some things up there for the season. He’s moving into a three-bedroom condo at Kings Court. You know he had a two bedroom but now with Kyree and Ava Nese he says he needs the space for when we come up.” She shrugged.

  “I’m surprised you guys haven’t bought a house like the other players who commute.”

  Shaking her head, Jade rolled her eyes while grinning. “The man’s cheap, Parker. People find that hard to believe because of his age and lifestyle, but it’s true. Not for nothing, I can understand why, but I try to inject my two cents when I feel he’s going overboard. Maybe I can do a little more pushing when we come up on Saturday.” She winked.

  “On Saturday?” My brows met. “For what?”

  Jade froze hunched over Ava Nese’s car seat. “Eli’s annual season kickoff party.” When I was sure my eyes appeared gazed over, she added, “The one at his mansion?”

  I shook my head and stretched my lips. “No. Didn’t know about it this year.”

  “Have you ever been?”

  “No.”

  “Are you serious, Parker?” She stood straight to face me. “You have to come.”

  “I wasn’t invited,” was the excuse I settled on. I had no interest in going.

  “It’s a Kings family event. It happens every year!” Her eyes almost popped out of her head. “Oh, my god! You have to come, Parker!”

  “Nah. I’m lucky enough to get help with Jimmy on Sundays to come here, but I doubt I would outside of that.”

  “You doubt it? Ask his daughter. When was the last time she’s been to see him…to help?”

  Although an argumentative question, my eyes rolled off to the side as I considered that.

  I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t know the first thing to do if something goes wrong.”

  Rebutting, Jade shook her long and straight hair that was natural from side to side. She said she had been weave-free for quite some time now once. “You’re coming.”

  I snorted. “Jade.” My head shook, overwhelmed already with trying to convince her I wouldn’t be going. “I can’t—”

  “Parker, you’re twenty-eight.” Her eyes narrowed into angry slits. “Twenty-eight and you don’t party, socialize, date or let your hair down outside of coming here on Sundays. Your only other outlet is making homemade cosmetics. You’re aging yourself prematurely.” That made me swallow hard. Jade stepped closer to me for privacy though the balcony was mostly empty at this point. “You’ve given Jimmy more time than he gave you before all of this. Don’t feel guilty about getting out and being around lively people. It’s not that far from the house. Make it happen.”

  I stood there, eyes shifting away from her. A million and two thoughts shot across my brain. I knew she was right but the decision didn’t feel that way. I was never the one to be pushed into a corner or have my hand forced.

  I sucked my teeth and my eyes squeezed closed. “I forgot…” I bent over the pew to search my bag then I pulled out the small paper shopping bag I managed in there this morning. “I forgot I packed this for you.” I handed it over to her.

  Jade and Ava Nese arrived a few minutes late this morning, causing me to forget I had it. Since Jade introduced me to Redeeming Souls, I’d been allowed to sit in the balcony I eventually learned was reserved for celebrity members. There weren’t a gan
g of them but enough to cause a disruption of the service if members got out of hand with pictures or wanting autographs. Luckily, the ushers assigned to this section recognized my face and would let me in if I arrived before the Baileys. This was what a chance meeting in the front office had evolved into. Social advantages and unsolicited yet interesting truths of my life.

  Jade sniffed the bag, eyes rolling to the back of her head to express her delight.

  Then they narrowed again. “Don’t try to distract me with smell goodies, Parker!”

  I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I stepped off. “Come on, Jade. I’ll walk you two to your car.”

  I walked the carpeted hallway, looking at the nametags on all the office doors.

  Tamika Barrington.

  Nope.

  Dontay Lewis.

  Uhn-uhn.

  Nicole Richardson.

  Wrong Richardson.

  Nathan Rich—

  I stopped and cut a right into the small cove where his receptionist, a dude, was at his desk.

  “Mr. Amare, I’m Elliot, Mr. Richardson’s assistant.” He smiled too fucking bright and his lineup was fucked up. Dude needed to fire his barber. “Mr. Richardson is available. Go right in.”

  Without unneeded words, I helped myself to the door and pushed it open. My eyes scanned around and found Nate, my Director of Players’ Success, looking up from his computer. I went straight to one of the two chairs in front of his desk and plopped down.

  “This shit ain’t working.”

  Slowly, he shifted from his desktop and sat back in his seat. “What happened?”

  Like he ain’t know. Today was the last day of rookie minicamp and it didn’t end much differently from the first when I met that bitch, Sloane. They all probably called him while I was on my third lap around the practice field. They all talked to each other. My DPS here, therapists, coaches—every-fucking-body. Divine made that clear. None of them believed in me, but I felt different about Nate.

  Right after draft night, I was told my mandatory therapy had to begin right away, so I packed my shit up and moved to Connecticut. The first person who reached out was Nate, telling me he was my assigned DPS. He scooped me up, took me out to dinner, then we hit up Arch & Point. That’s when I knew his role was more than a dog and pony act for the organization. From our conversation that night, it was clear Nate took time and researched me. He knew my numbers and focused on my success as part of his orientation. He asked me questions and waited for answers. Applauded my side business and knew my public relations team’s plan to develop me as a brand.

  This cat knew his shit. Nate understood the business. He didn’t come off as a pompous ass, who wanted to judge me on the bullshit of my college years. To keep it a buck, he won my respect before we watched tits and ass in art form. So when that Sloane bitch tried my gangsta on the field and Underwood or Henderson didn’t step in, I knew where to come.

  “Man, that bit—broad is always on my ass about little shit that don’t matter. ‘You’re putting your arms out too early.’ ‘Why you jumping for the ball?’ ‘Quit the false steps.’ ‘Don’t catch the ball against your chest,’” I did my best to sound like a bitchy female. “I’m here to play football, not have her micromanaging every little thing I fuckin’ do.”

  Nate shrugged. “Those all sound like solid tips for a pro-level wide receiver. You’re coming to this team out of college; there’s going to be a transition.”

  “I ain’t stupid, I understand that. What I don’t understand is why this…female, who don’t get me or what we’re even doing out there gets to nag me about dumb shit.”

  Nate scratched his chin then sat forward, propping my elbows on his desk. “You didn’t read the welcome packet, did you?”

  Huhn?

  “Welcome packet? I ‘on’t know what you talking about, man.”

  “Last week, when we met, I personally put a welcome packet into your hands: a front office roster, a coaching staff roster…among other things. Important things.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” I remembered. “You said there wasn’t anything in there I needed to sign.”

  Why the fuck would I look through a bunch of papers? I got lawyers for that…

  He scratched his forehead, trying not to laugh. “That doesn’t mean you weren’t supposed to read it. If you had, you would’ve known that the team had a new position coach. Your position; wide receiver.”

  I looked away, annoyed as fuck by the news, all the revelations coming in too late. “Man, Divine threw that lil’ mention in there when I met up with him last week. But, shit, I ain’t catch it until she jumped in my face the first day of minicamp. I ain’t wanna believe the Kings were on that feminist bullshit, too.”

  “She wasn’t hired because of an agenda. She was hired because she had the qualifications.”

  Shiiiiit… “A fat ass and nice lips?”

  Nate’s eyes rolled to the corner of the room somewhere. I knew that was fucked up, but I ain’t give a shit. The bitch had to go.

  “A winning record at BSU, a reputation for building excellent wide receivers, and experience on the field – with phenomenal personal stats.”

  I snickered. “Experience on the field? On what field?”

  “The football field. She played semi-pro, played in college, played in high school. She’s been dominating in this game since before you were born.”

  What?

  I leaned back in my chair. “I see you’re on the same exaggerated facts she’s on. Before I was born? Really, nigga?”

  Nate smiled and frowned at the same damn time like the joke was on me. “She’s forty-three years old. So yes, before you were born. And there’s no need for exaggeration here. The facts are what they are. Let me give you another one. Coach Brooks is proven. Her place around here is secure, unlike yours.”

  I sat up in the chair, looking at this cat like he’d lost his damn mind. My stats secured my place on this roster. “The fuck does that mean?”

  “It means that your position on this team is still probationary—contract or not. When we start training camp in a couple of months, there’s going to be more than eighty men vying for a position on a fifty-two man roster. Most of our vets are already guaranteed. We have, maybe, six positions to fill between rookies, free agents, and those who simply didn’t perform up to par last season. Coach Brooks isn’t going anywhere. But if at the end of training camp she declares you unfit for this team, you will not be wearing a Kings jersey come September.”

  He had to be fucking kidding me. No way was I going to get cut before the season. I earned my spot in the league.

  “You can’t be serious, man. I thought you were supposed to be like my advocate or something?”

  “Director of Players’ Success,” he made clear. “And that’s exactly what I’m trying to ensure here, but it requires your participation. The Kings already have two game-winning wide receivers: Jordan Johnson and Terrance Grant. The reality is that you’re disposable. It’s up to you to change that perception.”

  “So I’m supposed to go out there and kiss her ass? Bring flowers to the fuckin’ field for her?”

  Nate shook his head. “Nobody is asking you to do that. Go out there and give Coach Brooks the same respect you’d give her if she was a man. Listen to her because she knows what she’s talking about. And fucking perform. That’s it. Your shitty ideas about women and their place and whatever else? Leave that shit in your car when you come onto Kings property and any time you’re representing this team. You’re here to play football. Conduct yourself accordingly.” He took a deep breath. “You’ve been seeing the therapist. Use that as a—”

  “Don’t!”

  I stared at him, not believing he’d bring that bullshit up. I was a fucking black man, the original man. Of course, I was misunderstood by most. My plight in America was different. My start in life was fucking impossible. So what, I had a few bad moves coming up? I’d more than established myself as a righteous man. I made good decisions. I made it
to the fucking league with an absent father and a mother, who fought her own demons to survive. It would’ve been nice to have that shit acknowledged once in a while instead of being misunderstood all the goddamn time.

  Nate made his stance clear. I stood to leave, not having shit else to say.

  “Here you go, Ms. P.” He stopped right in front of me, bent his knees to meet my reach, and handed me a glass of wine.

  Bodies moved casually around the packed and cosmic-sized, palatial home of the Richardsons.

  “Thanks, Trent.” I took a sip right away, peering over the rim, not quite understanding the root of my nervousness.

  “No problem.” He lay a clear tumbler down on the coffee table in front of us. “I see you’re nothing like my lil’ one. She only does the heavy stuff.” He referred to the double shot of whatever he’d brought to her from the bar outside.

  I smiled as he sat down and noticed Trent scratching his dusted chin. The music was nice and mellow, mostly old school records my mom would jam to. Frankie Beverly and Maze, Koffee Brown, The Roots, Mary J. Blige, and a gang of other tunes I was proud to be familiar with. But that didn’t ease my anxiety as I people watched.

  “Yeah,” Trent brought me back into conversation. “That lil’ lady turns her nose up at wine. She calls it ‘cute.’”

  I began to crack up as Jade walked toward us, strutting in high heels. Trent smiled and his eyes narrowed more when she grew closer as he slowed his humor with me.

  “What’s so funny?” Jade asked as she fussed with the waist of her fitted pants.

  Trent went to scratch his lower face again. That made me curious and something dawned on me.

  “Why did you cut your beard?”

  Trent’s eyes shot over to Jade, and I could tell the direction of his humor had changed. Jade rolled her eyes and sat between us in a huff. Trent kneed her then playfully buried his face into the crook of her neck and nuzzled.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Jade tried fighting her appeal to his affection. “This man went and cut his beard without consulting me, Parker.” She reached for the drink her husband brought her.