The last one too, I wanted to add, but I didn’t want to freak her out, and we still had two hours left of this flight.
Delia snapped her mouth shut around whatever she’d been about to say next and, apparently intent on ignoring me, withdrew a small, rectangular device from her purse. I watched as she clicked it on and, almost immediately, her eyes began darting across the screen.
“What’re you doing?”
She spared me the briefest of glances. “Reading.”
Okay then.
Though I knew Delia had been to the city before, I couldn’t resist pointing out all my favorite places as the hired car drove us to our hotel. I’d taken the liberty of booking us at the Ritz-Carlton Central Park, though it physically pained me to book us separate rooms. Not because of the price tag, but because I desperately wanted Delia to give into this pull between us, to stop fighting me. I was hoping the trip would finally do the trick.
Delia said little as we checked in and headed to our rooms to freshen up before we had to leave again, first to the Park forthe commercial shoot, and then to meet one of my buddies for dinner.
“You know, you don’t have to come with me,” I said as the elevator deposited us on our floor. “You can stay here, or go shopping or something.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I want to see you at work.”
“And you don’t mind going to dinner with my buddy after?”
“Not necessarily,” she says, her previous quietness suddenly yielding to perkiness and a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But I have a better idea.”
My eyes narrow. “And what exactly is that?”
“You’ll see,” she sing-songed as she moved down the hall toward her room. “I have to make some calls first, but maybe cancel with your buddy.”
“Done.”
Delia laughed. “Send my regards, but I promise this will be more fun.”
“Okay…” I said slowly, not entirely trusting her to keep us out of trouble. That expression—if I was a betting man, I’d say it was the physical manifestation of her inner chaos demon. “Meet back here in an hour?”
“You got it, QB.” With a mock salute, she disappeared into her room.
That woman was going to be the death of me.
An hour later, we were striding through Central Park in the direction of a group gathered in the middle of a flat expanse of lawn. A perimeter was staked out by numerous cameras and other various videography equipment. The day was slightly overcast, a chill in the air. I couldn’t wait to get moving, to let adrenalinewarm my limbs.
As we approached, a tall Black man broke free from the group, his loud whistle cutting across the distance between us.
“Well, well, well!” he shouted, a wide grin displaying his straight, pearly white smile. “The Zero has returned.”
I groaned, though I couldn’t help mirror his smile. “You do know it’s just ‘Zero’ right?”
“You sure?”
“I think my stats speak for themselves,” I shot back, lightly slugging him on the shoulder before wrapping that arm around his neck and hauling him in for a hug.
“It’s good to see you, old man,” he said when we pulled apart.
“You too, kid. Saw that Hail Mary you threw last weekend. Your form isalmostthere.”
Jalen threw back his head and let out a deep laugh. “That pass was fucking perfect, and you know it.”
I did know it, but this was how our relationship worked. If we weren’t giving each other shit, something was seriously wrong.
That final season before I’d retired, the Mustangs had drafted Jalen Jackson. It wasn’t because they’d expected me to be on my way out before the next season started, but because we’d gone through a string of god awful backups. Guys picked up from other teams in an attempt to find someone who could fit into our offensive scheme well enough to pick up the slack if I went down with an injury.
Not that my shoes were particularly easy to fill. With a football in my hand, I felt more at home than anywhere else, save the ranch house in Dusk Valley with my chaotic family around me. Becoming an NFL quarterback was really an inevitability givenmy talent, though I still worked my ass off for every iota of success I achieved. I’d broken a long standing passing record in my first season, and threw for an astonishing thirty-five touchdowns in my rookie year. I was awarded the Rookie of the Year. By the time I turned twenty-five, having been in the league for four full seasons, I had broken several more records, and all of my stats pointed to me continuing to get better with age. When I tore my rotator cuff, I’d been at my peak, and I easily could’ve played another ten years.
