“I appreciate your concern, Uncle Theo. Grandmother isn’t going to be a problem. She’s not going to find out,” I say dryly.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You’re fucking up, Gil. There are some people who have been asking around about you. They want to know what happened between you and Hamilton. Where’s Hamilton, Gilbert?”
I work my jaw as I can’t answer that question even if I wanted to. The news never reported the discovery of his body. I’ve been waiting, yet nothing has come to light. I refuse to return to the scene of the crime.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I grumble.
“Yeah, sure. Listen, I don’t care if you receive your inheritance or not. My brother would have wanted you to, so I’m trying to look out for you here.
“I’m warning you, you’re about to fuck it all up. Fix your shit.” He hangs up without another word.
I drop the phone on the desk and glare at it. Hamilton said he didn’t mention me. Why the fuck are people looking for me and asking about him?
Better yet, where the fuck is Hamilton’s body? Why didn’t the housekeeper report finding him? I don’t have time for this bullshit.
“Maybe it’s time I get grandmother to take another trip,” I muse.
I’m not against her leaving Aaron a trust. My boy will be my ticket one way or another. This might work out in my favor after all.
“Now this I can work with,” I say and nod at my thoughts.
CHAPTER 39
For the Win
Bentley
A month later …
My hair is soakedunder my helmet and sweat’s dripping down the bridge of my nose. Adrenaline is pumping through me like crazy. My veins are buzzing with excitement and anticipation.
We’re so close. The score is 24–28. We need to get this touchdown. They’ve been on our asses all game. My team is playing hard, and the defense has really shown up, but so has theirs.
However, I’m playing for something. I’m going to win this game for Zah and Aaron. I want us to grow our family.
I’m not losing that bet. When I walk off this field, I’m leaving with something. Zahirah might as well start picking out baby names.
“Come on, Coswell. We’ve got this. We’re so close. There’s enough time on the clock to take this home,” Coach says.
It’s the fourth quarter. There’re still two minutes on the clock and we have both of our time-outs left. There’re eighty yards to go, but my best receiver has gone down.
However, I still have my tight end and our running back, Jenkins, can catch it out the backfield. We have a real shot at this.
Everyone pats me on the helmet and back as I head back out onto the field into the huddle. I have tunnel vision. We’ve come too far to let this slip through our fingers.
“Blue, eighty-two, set, hut, hut.”
I drop back as I see the blitz heading for me. The pocket is collapsing faster than I’d like. I roll out to the left and go with my legs. My guys block for me and I pick up the first down.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” I call out as I rush to the line of scrimmage.
We need to keep this thing moving. I keep my eye on the play clock as I read the defense. I notice their safety coming in toward the line of scrimmage, which tells me I can throw a seam pass to my tight end.
I call an audible for a go route. The ball is snapped, and I drop back once again. The safety goes for the blitz just as I thought.
I look over the middle, and my tight end is wide open. I throw a bullet pass and hit Miller right in the hands. He takes off and makes it to the other team’s thirty-yard line. We’re ten yards out from the red zone.
“Fuck yeah,” I fist pump the air.
