“I have a strict schedule during the season, and we have a game to win.”
He runs a hand over his shaven jaw. “I appreciate that. How are things working with your . . . ” He glances down the hall before continuing. “Your protection agent.”
I don’t care for the condescension in his tone. “Fine.”
His head falls to the side slightly. “I want to be sure she’s handling things…properly.”
I have no doubt he saw us dancing, and I want to know exactly what he’s trying to get at.
Is this about the game or Ryder and me? Given thatIsigned the contract with Ward & Associates, I’d like to tell him it’s none of his damn business.
I stare at my general manager, all of my irritation reigniting. “I can assure you, Ryder knows what she’s doing. She’s not taking any chances. She’s looking at this from all angles.”
He nods. “Well, be on your A-game this weekend. We don’t need another loss, and you don’t need any further complications.”
Complications?
My shoulders burn as they contract tight, my head on the verge of exploding.Is he for real?
I choose my words carefully. “I understand how important the game is. It’d be nice to have a little help from the group that’s supposed to defend our position. I’ll give it everything I’ve got as I always have. No disrespect, but I can’t carry this entire team on my back.”
His stance eases, and I see I’ve made my point clear. His hand runs over his jaw again, and I can’t tell if I’ve pissed him off, but today, I find I don’t give a shit.
“You don’t need to worry about me, sir. Everything is being handledproperly.” I use his words, turning for the locker room.
It’s the truth. One way or another, I’ll be on my game, and Ryder is all over this. By the way she threw herself in front of me and the person waiting for us in the parking garage, maybe even more than I want her to be.
______
I shower, letting the steaming hot water run over my head. Ryder picked me up from the practice facility and relayed what she gathered on this new attack, but that was it. I didn’t have much to contribute, so we rode home in silence.
I rest my forehead against the cool tile, needing the peacefulness that used to exist when it was only football and me. But I think that’s just it, the thing sitting at the bottom of this pool of absolute frustration. Football shouldn’t be all I have. And it. . . might not be the only thing I want anymore.
A vision of my mom and dad slow-dancing in the kitchen while Maggie and I ate our dinner flashes through my mind. They took their time as if they were the only two in the entire world. It’s one of the few clear memories I have of them.
I witnessed my dad’s greatest achievements, but he never failed to remind me that his best moments were those with my mom, holding Maggie on his lap as he studied, and watching me learn to navigate the game he loved.
Those are the moments I live for.
It’s what he’d tell me after a disappointing loss or when I screwed up and fell short.
It’s the moments I’ve avoided collecting, unwilling to let myself have. Never letting anyone close enough to create them because, in the blink of an eye, they could be gone. Then, all you’re left with is fuzzy memories, a whisper of words, and a longing for something that will never be again.
But now, I’ve had a moment like that. One that, for the past twenty-four hours, I’ve wanted to relive over and over again, and I don’t ever want to forget. A moment that, despite my achievements, made me long for something more, and it scared me. A whole lot.
I turn off the shower and dry off, knowing I’m here, and I can’t go back. When I was young and afraid of the monsters in my closet, my mom would swing the door open, telling me the only way to squash the fear was to face what was hiding inside. I guess the theory holds true. In this case, I may have to inch it open carefully.
I throw on a T-shirt and shorts, determined to eliminate the strained awkwardness that’s lingered between Ryder and me from last night.
I stop at the end of the hallway. Ryder is standing in front of the freezer with the door open. I lean up against the wall, watching her. I know what she’s doing. I’ve known for a while, but the little thief has been caught red-handed.
Gotcha.
“Umm, what are you doing?”
She spins, the evidence fisted in her hand. “Nothing. I was just. . .looking for a snack.”
“A snack, huh?” I cross my arms, leaning against the island.
