Page 42 of The Backup Plan

He chuckles sympathetically. “Just like it always does. You good?”

“Yeah,” I say and mostly mean it. “Still getting the chance to play so I can’t complain.”

“Well, you could. I mean, it’s me. I know you better than anyone. And right now, I know your shoulder is probably aching like a bitch, and you’re questioning why you didn’t just slip quietly into retirement.”

I fall silent, my little brother’s truths hitting a little too close to home.

“Your silence says everything,” he murmurs.

Tears sting my eyes. I fucking hate them and blink them away, but the burn in the back of my throat still remains. “This is all I’ve ever known, Bren. All I’ve ever loved. It’s not that easy.” My voice breaks and my free hand fists.

“I know,” he says quietly. Compassionately. “But you’re so much more than football. There’s so much more to life than football.”

I scrunch my nose and run a hand through my hair. It’s not the first time I’ve heard those words, but they’re so much easier to hear, to say, than to believe when this is all I’ve ever known. To think of a life of anything else is absolutely terrifying.

Garrett Manring ghosts through my mind, but I push the thoughts away. The reminder of what I fear not welcome.

“I know there is,” I say. “I’m well aware of it, but . . .”

“But if you think about it, plan for it, you’re willing it to happen.”

“Something like that. Being part of a team is all I’ve ever been. I don’t know . . .” I sigh. “I know I’m burying my head in the sand and the time will come, but I don’t want to think about it yet. I’ll make the roster. I’ll play the season out and then finally sit down and figure out what’s next.”

Brendan doesn’t respond right away. No doubt he’s surprised by an actual acknowledgment of a life after football when normally I blow it off.

“I’m proud of you,” he finally says. “And you know that I’d be proud of you if you never touched the field again.”

“I know and appreciate that more than you know.” I adjust the ice on my shoulder. “How’s the fam? Jenny good? Zack growing like a weed?”

“Yep. All good on this front. Work is crazy. Jenny’s job is busier than shit. Zack . . . he’s getting to such a fun age.”

“Looks like it by the pictures you sent the other day.” I smile at the thought of them. “You’ll have to come out to a game sometime.”

“Plan to.” He pauses and I already know what’s next. “Talk to Mom or Dad?”

I shake my head before I say the words. “No. And that’s fine.”

He hums. “Yeah. It probably is.”

We talk about nothing and everything—logistics, football, old stories that make us laugh. His voice in my ear reminds me that I’m not alone in this, even when it feels like it.

Starting with a new team is always rough and lonely for a bit. As a returning player, you know who shares your values, who you can joke with or confide in, and who’s just down for a good time. With a new team, you have to double-think everything because there aren’t any relationships formed yet.

Serious first world problems, I know.

And while Bren might give me shit if I voiced how lonely it feels, he keeps the conversation going as if he somehow already knows, and I’m grateful for that. For him.

We hang up and the apartment feels quieter. Empty. The loneliness hits hard and fast and for a split second, I think of picking up my phone and texting Claire.

A quick bout of sex isn’t going to fix shit, but hell, it sure would fill the fucking void for the night.

With my phone in my hand and the ice pack now in the sink, I clean up, kill the lights, and as I pass by the front door, I hesitate.

Just for a second.

I lean forward and glance through the peephole. The hall is empty. The door across the hall is closed.

I snort. Don’t even think about it, Hale.