Page 118 of The Backup Plan

She snorts. “My grandma’s fragile.”

Touché.

My phone buzzes in my pocket just as I’m lining up another pass. I ignore it. Then it buzzes again.

And again.

I make the pass, let the play run out by pretending I’m sacked, and while all the kids are celebrating having taken me down, I step to the side to look at my phone.

Unknown number.

Then a text.

It’s Lamar. You need to come get Cole. Now.

Lamar. A teammate saying something’s up and it’s bad if they’re asking?

I don’t hesitate.

“There’s an emergency,” I tell the kids, already grabbing my keys.

“Quitting already?” someone yells.

“Never,” I call over my shoulder. “Just need to handle something. Dante’s a great quarterback. He’s going to step in for me,” I say of one of our running backs who looks at me with confusion etched in the lines of his face.

But he steps onto the field without asking.

The minute I’m in the parking lot, heading to my truck, I call Lamar.

“Where is he?” I ask when he picks up.

“Sixth Street. Making an ass of himself. Picking fights. People are filming with their phones and shit. It’s not going to look good. He won’t do shit for us, and short of us hauling him out of here over our shoulders and causing even more of a scene, we decided to call you. You’re the only one who seems to be able to put him in his place.”

Fuck. “Which bar?”

A pause. “All of them. The fucker’s a one-man wrecking crew right now.”

“I’m on my way. Just stay until I get there.” I hang up, hating to leave the kids behind but knowing that something like this could fuck up Cole’s career before it even starts.

This is the last fucking thing we need going into our last preseason game before the season starts.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out what bar they’re in. There’s a crowd outside with phones up, and I can hear him shouting through the bar’s open windows.

Bad combination.

That motherfucker is loud.

That’s my first thought when I spot him—shirt half untucked, hair damp with sweat, and a grin a little too wide as he argues with a bouncer who looks ready to lose his patience.

A small part of me wants to let him. The other part knows just how bad that would look for the team.

I step into the open space between the crowd and Cole. There are a few whispers of my name.

“He’s with me,” I say calmly to the bouncer. “I’ll get him out of your hair.”

Cole turns to look at me, wobbles, and then squints. “You’re not my dad.”

“True. But you’re done here,” I say, as I stuff a twenty-dollar bill in the bouncer’s hand for his troubles.