Page 41 of The Backup Plan

As I lock my door and lean back against it, a quiet thought settles in. I feel a little safer knowing he’s there.

Lucas

I close the door and let the quiet settle.

It’s the good kind. The kind that wraps around you after a long day and asks for nothing in return. I drop my keys on the counter, toe off my shoes, and exhale like I’ve been holding my breath since I stepped onto the field this morning.

There wasn’t much for me to move in other than clothes and personal effects, so at least I don’t have to worry about unpacking my apartment. I left most of my things in storage in California just in case this doesn’t pan out.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

Unknown number. But I sure as hell don’t need a name to know who it is.

“Heard you’re back in town. You know the invitation is always open if you need to relieve a little stress.”

Claire.

A flash of blond hair. Easy laughter. A woman who knows exactly how to make an evening disappear . . . and how to fill it too. Without pressure. Without expectations. Just heat and familiarity and shared understanding that nothing lasts longer than it’s meant to.

For a split second, my memory tempts me.

And then, completely uninvited, another woman flickers through my mind. Brown eyes. A spine held together by sheer will. Gratitude swimming in her eyes but pride strong enough to make her not gush over it.

Then reality hits me with a cold blast.

I’m thirty-four with a shoulder held together by stubbornness and surgical miracles. I’m here on a contract that’s built on conditions and contingencies. I’m here to prove something to myself—more than anyone else.

I stick to my self-imposed, preseason rules.

No distractions.

No detours.

No flings that could cause either of those.

I lock my phone and set it face-down on the counter.

Not tonight, Claire.

I grab the playbook from my bag and spread it open on the small dining table. The pages are already dog-eared and have my notes scribbled in the margins from earlier.

I’ve spent almost every waking moment since signing the contract memorizing the Rebels offense. New system. New language. Same game.

I read until the words blur, then close it and reach for the resistance bands to do my evening rehab exercise routine. Slow. Controlled. Intentional.

Will Emery change the routine? More like she’ll adjust it. Refine it. Push me so that when I kick ass on the field she can hang her reputation on my success and prove herself to be right.

I hook the band around my foot for resistance and work through the movements I could do in my sleep. My teeth clench as the familiar burn hits. Not pain but more of a reminder of where I’ve come from, how hard I worked to get here, and how I’m not giving up while I still have a few good years left in me.

When I’m finished with the quick routine, I grab an ice pack from the freezer, fasten it over my shoulder, and sink onto the couch with a groan. The first days of camp always hit hard. It doesn’t matter how much work I put in during the offseason, my body always feels it.

My phone buzzes again. I almost ignore it. I’m comfortable and would rather not move. But I get up and welcome the call.

“Hey,” I answer on the fourth ring.

“Look at you,” my brother Brendan says. “In Texas. Is it true what they say? Is everything bigger there?”

“Don’t care.” I grunt. “Day one almost took me out.”