“Wait a second—Emma. Isn’t she the girl you were with for a little while, like a year ago? Wasn’t she knocked up?” Zeke squinted, as though he was trying hard to remember the details.
“She wasnotpregnant. That was just a crazy rumor some rag newspapers started. But yes, we were dating for a couple of months.” Looking back, it seemed that the scope of our relationship had been both fleeting and yet . . . not. I’d known Emma since the day she’d arrived in Florida as the brand-new naturopath at the hospital where my wife, Angela, was being treated for leukemia. We’d become fast friends, and after Angela’s death, Emma had been a lifeline I’d clung to, relieved to have someone with whom I could both remember and grieve. She’d mourned Angela, too, and she had also been nursing a broken heart after Deacon had abruptly fled the country.
When our friendship had morphed into something more, it had seemed the natural extension of our closeness. Looking back, I could see more clearly how I’d reached for something that had felt natural and easy, someone who could help me reestablish the sense of normalcy I’d lost when Ang had died. When Emma had ended the romantic portion of our relationship, she’d told me gently that we were each other’s safe choice, that we could live comfortable lives together . . . but that she wanted more than that for both of us.
At the time, I hadn’t agreed. But now, seeing how blissfully happy she was with Deacon, I had to grudgingly admit that she’d been right.
“Huh. But you’re still friends?” Zeke interrupted my brooding.
“Yup. Still best friends. Emma’s amazing. I’m lucky to have her in my life.” I peeled off my shirt. “And Deacon—her fiancé—he’s cool. He’s my friend, too. And he’s not at all threatened by the time that Em and I spend together, or by the fact that we love each other.” I rolled my shoulder. “He knows he doesn’t have to worry, because Emma doesn’t look at any guy the way she does him.”
“Yeah?” Zeke sounded skeptical. “I don’t know, man. I mean, I’m not saying that you’d ever do anything wrong or try to get between them, but if I were engaged to a woman, I’m not sure I could deal with her being best buds with a hot football player.”
I batted my eyes at my friend and began to pull off my pants. “Awww, Zeke boy, I’m flattered that you think I’m hot. If I were going to swing that way, I’d consider you pretty sexy, too.”
“Fuckface,” he muttered, shooting me the finger. “I’m just saying that all of us on this team are top-shelf physical specimens, and I wouldn’t want my woman spending all her free time around that level of attractiveness.”
“First of all, I can’t imagine you ever being engaged to a woman—or a man, for that matter. You’re a full-time player, boy. The number of women coming in and out of your life makes my poor head spin.” I grinned. “Second, you’ve got to know that Deacon’s no slouch in the physicality department, either. Dude might not play football, but he’s both a crazy smart docandhe works on his grandparents’ farm. I’ve seen him lifting hay, moving crap around, and I don’t think Emma needs to look at me to see a built guy. Plus, he’s not insecure about her love for him, and her commitment—and he doesn’t have to be. Emma only ever sees Deacon. He’s her one and only.”
If my voice held a wistful note as I talked to Zeke about my friends, what of it? Did it mean I was jealous? Damn right it did. Not of Deacon having Emma—yeah, I would’ve loved to have called her mine once upon a time, but I was glad for the two of them now. No, it was the idea that they’d found their soulmates, and they had a lifetime of happy endings still to come. I’d had that. I’d loved Angela with every fiber of my being, and like a fool, I’d thought we had decades together ahead of us.
Now, when I looked at the future, all I saw was emptiness. And football.
“Hey, Spencer.” Coach stood in the doorway of the locker room, calling to me. “You got a minute?”
I glanced down at my mostly undressed state. “Uh, sure, Coach. I was just gonna grab a shower, but I can wait if you need me now.”
He shot me a withering look that said the last thing he wanted was a man who smelled like me sitting in his office. “No, thanks. Get your shower, then come see me after you’re dressed. My office furniture is leather, and I don’t need to waste my time trying to figure out how to get the stink of sweaty football player off it.”
My teammates still hanging around hooted with laughter, and I joined them.
“You got it, Coach. See you in about fifteen minutes.”
* * *
I’d knownTampa’s head coach for about four years now. When I’d been traded here from Houston, I’d quickly realized that Dale Briars wasn’t the fatherly huggy bear that my previous team’s coach had been; no, Coach Briars was all business, brisk and no nonsense. But I’d also found out that he was inherently fair-minded. He gave every player the best shot possible, and even when we screwed up, as we were all wont to do, he might have yelled his fool head off at us, but he also made sure we got the help we needed—and a second chance.
I hadn’t told my team about Angela’s illness for quite a while. She’d been diagnosed early in my tenure with Tampa, and since we were just finding our footing in our new home with our new team family, she didn’t want me to be known as the new guy with the sick wife. No matter how much I protested, she had been adamant.
So for months, I struggled to keep a happy smile on my face. I didn’t break down at practice, and I did my damnedest to leave all of my worries about my wife off the field come game days. It was what Angela wanted, and I was in the business of making sure I gave her everything I possibly could.
When she’d finally told me that it was time to open up and share the grim fact that she had leukemia and wasn’t doing well, it had been scant days before her death. I’d been more focused on staying by her side than on anything else. Still, I’d taken a moment in the hospital to call Coach and bring him up to date on what was going on.
I’d been a little worried that he’d be furious that I’d kept something so important a secret from my team and from the coaching staff. But he hadn’t offered me anything except his full support and understanding.
And all of my teammates, as well as the owner of our team, the people who worked in the front offices, and every member of the coaching staff, had been there at Angela’s funeral. Every one of them had given me their steadfast, unwavering loyalty and love in the months since. It made me a little sad that Angela hadn’t been able to experience that with me.
I thought about all of that as I sat in the chair across from Coach, who was hunched over his desk, taking a phone call. He’d motioned me in a few minutes before, when I’d knocked at his door.
“Okay. Yeah. I understand. No, I agree with you. Good move. Yeah. Okay.” He hung up the phone and sat up straighter, frowning at me as he took a deep breath.
“Administrative crap,” he growled, pointing at the phone. “You know, all I wanted to do was play ball and then once I couldn’t do that anymore, I wanted to coach players. That’s all. But it turns out you can’t do that without having to handle the paperwork and talk and meetings . . . it’s bullshit. Most of it, anyway.” He shook his head. “Not why I asked you here, though.”
I sat up a little straighter. “Okay, Coach.”
“Spencer, I want you to know that even if it doesn’t seem like it, I keep my eye on what’s going on with my team. I know who’s mouthing off, who’s dipping his wick where he shouldn’t, who’s hitting the bottle a little too regular.” He shrugged. “This game, this life . . . for all that regular people think we got it made, I’m fully aware of the temptations and trials. I know it can be hard on family life. And I know all that shit that’s available to you guys, too. Drugs, booze, women who are only too happy to let you . . . well, I think you get my meaning.”
I frowned, wondering where he was going with this line of conversation. “Yes, sir. I do. But I’m not—”
