Morgan slapped my shoulder pads. “Get in here, Fin.”
When I turned, Vee was gone.
CHAPTER 18
Vee
When the elevator door opened on the sixth floor, I was face-to-face with my cousin Leigh and her husband, Hayden.
“Vee,” she said loudly as she wrapped her arms around me. “Oh my God. That game was crazy.”
“What do we know about Troy?” I asked.
Leigh sighed. “Pickard, the Titans’ linebacker, is out for three additional games. Uncle Reid has been talking with people from the NFL office.”
“It was a late hit. Targeted.” I looked toward the family suite. “Is my dad still here?”
“Yeah. He’s been on the phone a lot since Dennison went out.”
There were more questions I wanted to ask, but Dad would be the one who could give me the answers. We said our goodbyes as they went to the elevator, and I nodded to a familiar usher. He opened the door for me. Despite the game having been over for nearly half an hour, the suite was still filled with people.
I was caught short at the sight of Preston.
“Vee.”
“You came? I told you I wouldn’t be up here.”
Wrapping his arm around my waist, he led me away from the rest of the family. His hazel stare met mine. “I was hoping you’d come up during the game.”
“Drew Pratt invited me to the sidelines.” The earlier excitement returned. “It was amazing. I’d never really watched my ops teams in action, not from that close. And the energy in the air was palpable. It was as if there was electricity. And having an earpiece was so different than during practices. I’m getting better at the plays, but everything is faster during a game—like practice on steroids.”
Preston’s expression was filled with questions.
“Vee,” Dad said, coming up behind me. “Have you heard about Troy?”
My expression morphed. “No. How is he?”
“Has a concussion. They’re doing more scans. The doctors are also concerned with a sprained neck.”
“Injured reserve?” I asked.
Dad shook his head. “Not yet. We have to make a decision by tomorrow.”
If Dennison was placed on the IR, he would be out of at least four games. “Maybe we should think about calling Simpson back.”
“He’s on New Orleans’s practice team.”
“Vee,” Uncle Darin said, “we’ve talked about it. We know what we’re doing.”
“Simpson knows the calls,” I said. I turned to Dad. “You wanted me to learn more about football operations. I’ve spent the last two weeks with the offense.”
“And now,” Grant said, walking up to us, “she’s an expert.”
My attention was on my dad. “I’m not an expert. I’m practical. If Dennison goes on injured reserve, there’s no one to back Fin. We need a backup.”
“You were on the sidelines?” Grant asked, swirling what looked like whiskey in his tumbler. “You’re carrying this a little too far, don’t you think?”
“Drew asked if I wanted to be there. I said yes.”
