Hammer’s eyes bulge as if he only heard one word among the chatter. “Unfair? Poor Elyse cannot wipe the sight of four pasty rear ends from her mind—neither can the rest of the country.” Hammer points at the newspaper, which features the photo, blurred in select areas.
Several people stood in the doorway, but it must’ve been Brandon who snapped the shot with his phone. Starky’s fingers are too fat to operate a keypad, Elyse is a reporter and would’ve owned the story, and the officials do not want this kind of press. Later, I’ll remind Brandon about the no phones in the lounge rule and make sure he doesn’t do something this stupid again.
“Hey, my rear end is not pasty. It’s muscular and tan,” Declan says.
“For an Irishman,” I mutter.
“Listen, my hands are tied. It’s this or walk, boys.” Hammer shuffles folders around on his desk, signaling he’s done with us.
But I’m not. “This team is my life,” I say softly.
“All of our lives,” Declan echoes.
Hammer tosses his hands in the air. “Consider this probation.”
“Walkas in leave the team?” Chase asks, catching up with Coach’s previous comment. “Considering the only thing I know how to do is play football, I’ll do it. I’ll go to the finishing school or whatever.”
“Can’t you have your father talk to the commissioner?” Wolf asks Chase.
“You know the answer to that.” I sigh because the animosity between Rhett Collins and football—yes, the game as a whole—is legendary.
“Which is—?” Wolf asks.
“If he did, whatever the deal, would be worse, much worse.” With a shake of my head, I grunt. It’s a non-starter.
Declan gazes toward the ceiling as though asking for help.
“You’ll each be assigned a personal etiquette coach. And if you, uh, screw up, you’re off the team.” Hammer cocks an eyebrow.
We experience a group case of whiplash.
“All of you,” Hammer says as though dropping a gavel.
“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 cleaned 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 are known for being players—off the field as well as on. I don’t have that title anymore—hung up my hat when I thought I had a family. That didn’t work out as expected.
“You mean we can settle down, as in get married?” Chase asks.
“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 parent who’s been worn down by idiotic questions and comments.
Wolf shrugs. “What? You didn’t specify which aisle.”
“Boys, the Boston Bruisers used to be more family-oriented.”
I stiffen, thinking about my increasingly complicated situation.
“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 was taughtthat 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 as if he, too, has a secret he’s never revealed.
The coach nails Wolf with a hard look. “A real man isn’t afraid to love, Connor.” He turns his gaze 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.”
