Page 120 of The Backup Plan

“Talent isn’t enough, Valor,” I add. “You’ve got to look like you care more than you do. Coaches don’t bet on ability. They bet on reliability.”

He grunts but the silence stretches. The cab of my truck smells like a bender gone wrong.

I look around the parking lot. Why did you bring him here, Lucas? Probably because I have no fucking clue where he lives. “Shit,” I mutter and then sigh.

It takes me a few seconds to get him out of the truck and into my apartment. We must sound like a herd of elephants walking down the hall to the other residents. Every time I shush him, he tries to shush louder in a battle I willingly lose after the third or fourth time.

I get the door open and push him inside. “Wow. Why do you live in this shithole?” he asks, the alcohol only emboldening his candor. “Did you lose all your money or something? Father Time is broke.”

“No. It’s just temporary until I know if I’m staying or going.”

He’s too drunk to catch the meaning. To understand that he can pull a stunt like this and keep his place on the team while I’m fighting to prove that my most recent injury won’t deny me being an asset.

“Look, dude. If you want to get shitfaced during the season, go right ahead. At your house. At a friend’s house. Not somewhere where what you say or do could risk the good of the team.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves a hand and flops down on my couch. “You think you’re better than me.”

“No,” I say. “I think I’ve been you.”

By the way his head snaps up, I’m pretty sure that lands. For the moment, at least, because who knows how much—if any—he’ll remember in the morning?

“I’m not here as a threat. I’m here to help you. To teach you how to survive this. So that fifteen years from now, you can be sitting where I am, pulling some kid out of a bar before he ruins his shot.”

Cole exhales, long and shaky. Our eyes meet and for the first time, I think he really sees me. I think he actually hears me—drunk or not. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Then don’t. Let someone help.”

“That’s nice. You said nice things to me.”

“Yep. Good thing you won’t remember them in the morning.”

I don’t know if he heard that last part because when I come in from the kitchen with some water and the trash can, just in case, he’s passed out cold. I grab a blanket, drape it over him and stand there a moment.

What I’d give to be able to do it all over again. The things I’d change. The things I wouldn’t.

A bittersweet smile is on my lips as the memories flash by when a knock sounds at my door.

Definitely management coming to issue a warning about the elephant stampede that someone must have called in.

I open the door, prepared for that and am met with Emery. Her hair is down with a pair of mismatched pjs on, and I can see the curiosity in her eyes. But her question about the noise doesn’t come out when she glances over my shoulder and sees Cole on the couch.

She looks back to me and nods. Understanding flickers across her face. Something else too—respect, maybe?

“Night,” she whispers and steps back without a word.

I close the door softly.

And for the first time since I arrived in Austin, I think I’m doing this right.

Emery

Denver is all sharp-edged mountains and rolling sky. The air is thinner here, crisper, and the sky feels bluer although it clearly isn’t.

I thought traveling here for the last preseason game would show me how much I miss living here, but I soon realized that the only things I do miss are the much cooler summers and this—talking to Trish face-to-face.

She’s seated beside me in a pair of sweats on the fifty-yard line. Her reddish hair is pulled back in a loose braid, and a pair of sunglasses sits on her freckled nose. We’re both cradling cups of coffee from my favorite café as we watch the team practice unfold below us.

The field is empty except for the team and coaching staff. There are no fans, in fact, there is no one seated anywhere on this side of the stadium, save for us. The only noise besides us talking is the echo of whistles and the rhythmic thud of cleats against the turf.