Page 73 of The Backup Plan

“Goddamn veterans think they know everything,” he jokes.

“True,” I say, but look up and watch Lucas as he walks out.

I thought you came here to live.

No accusation. Just truth.

And somehow, Lucas confronting a problem instead of running away from it, unsettles me more than avoidance ever has.

Lucas

Fuck.

Talk about a practice. My legs are rubbery, my shoulder has had heat and ice rotating on it for the past thirty minutes, and my lungs feel like they’re going to implode.

Nobody likes conditioning days.

Nobody except for the freaks who really love to run and, while I do it as an occupational chore, it has nothing on the conditioning we were put through today.

It’s no wonder I cut through the side entrance of the facility to have a shorter distance to go toward my truck.

“Holy shit—Hale?”

I turn and am shocked to see Derrick Allen standing there.

Wide receiver. Slot guy. Ring-chaser. Super Bowl winner with me and the Cougars.

“Motherfucker,” he says, grin wide and distinct laugh floating through the air. He looks . . . good. A little thicker around the middle, his dreads are a little longer, and his face is far more relaxed.

“Allen,” I say, grinning before I can stop myself. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He steps in and crushes me in a hug like seven years hasn’t passed at all. “Consulting gig. Plus my sister moved out to Dallas a few years ago, so I’ll head over and see her next.”

“Look at you.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Still traveling on someone else’s dime.”

“Damn right.” He looks me up and down. “You still on that no beer before the season bullshit?”

“Trying to make the team,” I say.

“Lucas Hale not making the team? Dude, you’re a lock.”

“Tell that to my shoulder,” I say and chuckle.

He studies me for a beat, then waves a hand. “Come on. This is a special occasion. One beer. You at least owe me that.”

I give him a dubious expression but within ten minutes we’re sitting in a bar a few blocks away from the stadium. The air-conditioning is cold, the noise is low, and the patrons don’t give a fuck that two football players are sitting near the window.

When I told Emery that some teams and teammates just become a part of you, Derrick Allen and our Super Bowl-winning team was the main one I was talking about. They are my family just as much as Brendan is. We talk when time permits, but it always feels like no time has ever passed. Seeing him here, in this place where despite what it may look like, I’m still finding my footing, is just what I needed.

“So, cheers are in order,” he says tapping his bottle against mine.

“Cheers,” I say. “For?”

“Kristen and I are having our first in eight weeks. I’m going to be a dad.”

I blink. “You’re kidding.”

“Nah, man. For years I said no way in hell am I having a kid, but Christ, Hale, it’s . . . I’m so excited.” He barks out a laugh. “Terrified too. Probably more than the excited part but I’ll figure my shit out.”