If this were a comedy movie about a ragtag group of football upstarts who have to amend their ways and come together for a big win,or else, I’d jerk my head in a goofy way as the coach’s words catch up with me. “Did you meanwalkas in leave the team? Considering the only thing I know how to do is play football, I’ll go to the finishing school or whatever.”
Hammer nods solemnly.
“Can’t you have your father talk to the commissioner?” Wolf asks me.
“You know the answer to that.” Grey sighs before I have a chance to utter the wordno.
“Which is—?” Wolf asks.
“If he did, whatever the deal, would be worse, much worse.” Declan gazes toward the ceiling as though asking for help.
I could use some right now. No way can I talk to my father. The only talking will be him, reading me the riot act for being dumb and getting on the front page of the paper. Though I do have to admit, my butt looks good.
“You’ll each be assigned a personal etiquette coach. And if you, uh, screw up, you’re off the team.” Hammer cocks an eyebrow.
All four of us experience a group case of whiplash as Hammer reiterates the conditions.
“All of you,” he adds as though it’s final.
“What do you mean? If one of us screws up, we’ll all be let go?”
“Starky’s rules. He wants to see you all clean up and revamp your reputations. You can settle down and make honest men of yourselves, but no fooling around, if you catch my meaning.” He clears his throat.
Most of the guys on the team have a reputation for being players—off the field as well as on. I’m an exception and sometimes they tease me, saying I missed my calling as a monk. Maybe, but I have my reasons and they’re between God and me.
Turning to the coach, I ask, “You mean we can settle down, as in get married?”
“If you’re not planning to meet her at the end of the aisle, don’t bother.” Putting on his eyeglasses, once again signaling he’s done with us, Coach reviews a document on the desk.
“The grocery aisle?” Wolf chuckles.
Coach looks up over the wire rims like a defeated parent who doesn’t know what to do with the likes of us.
Wolf shrugs. “What? You didn’t specify which aisle.”
“Boys, the Boston Bruisers used to be more family-oriented.”
Grey stiffens.
“I’m not telling you that you have to get married, but Marsha was the best thing that ever happened to me. She taught me what matters in life. And look at one of our own—Rylen learned that lesson, too. There’s something powerful about finding that special someone instead of playing the field. There’s security, comfort, fun, love...”
“Ah, look. Hammer is getting all mushy on us.” Bitterness laces Wolf’s voice. I don’t know the details of his story, but he’s not the type to ask a woman out on a second date.
The coach nails him with a hard look. “A real man isn’t afraid to love, Connor.” Taking off his eyeglasses, he pinches the bridge of his nose before turning to the rest of us. “During this monthlong period, there aren’t going to be any pranks, bad press, and not one of you, as you call it, will be players—with women. Do you understand? Bonus points if you can settle down. Now, get out of here. I have work to do.” He turns back to the doc, at last, dismissing us.
Various sounds of disgruntled affirmation come from the four of us as we exit. Getting etiquette lessons sounds like a waste of time, but we’re a bunch of bruisers. Likely, we could all use a little refinement.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Coach calls. “At the end of the month, there will be a ball.”
“A what?” Grey asks.
“A football?—?”
Hammer chuckles. “Something like that.” Then he closes the door.
We convene in the hallway for a team huddle amidst a lot of complaining.
Grey levels us with his gaze. “Listen, you know what this team means to me. We’re going to follow orders.”
