Page 74 of The Backup Plan

“Congrats, brother.” And I so mean it.

“Yeah, well, putting together a crib has nothing on memorizing a playbook. Do you know how many pieces are in those damn things?”

“My brother said the same thing.” I take another sip and savor the taste. A hard practice, a hot day, and a cold beer. Why do I not drink during preseason? “You still going to do this team consulting, traveling gig when the baby comes?”

“Yeah. Have to. I’ll figure it out.”

“Can’t stay away from the game, huh?”

He toggles his head from side to side, eyes slowly meeting mine. “It’s a calculated choice. There’s an addiction to this football life, man. The roar of the crowd and the need to perform under the lights. Like, we might not all admit it, but we lived so long with it feeding our egos that when it’s not there, you don’t quite know how to live without it.”

I know exactly what he means. Way too fucking much.

I struggle to swallow my beer over the lump in my throat and the fear lodged there. The fear that says his words resonate.

“I’m sure you’re right,” I finally manage to say after a few seconds, but the way his eyes hold mine says he might be trying to send a message I’m not ready to listen to.

“C’mon, man. You’ve got to be thinking about it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, did Brendan send you here?” I ask.

“Your brother?” His brow furrows as he barks out a laugh. “Why would he—”

“Never mind.” I wave a hand at him. “Forget about it.”

“Uh-huh,” he says in a way that tells me my comment has only served to pique his interest.

“You’re thinking about Manring, aren’t you?”

Manring.

The name hits harder than a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound lineman.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “How can I not?”

Manring. Our star running back who broke record after record. He was invincible. A man who had every goddamn thing in the palm of his hand—a gorgeous family, an incredible career, endorsement deals that any of us would have died for—but when a failing body ended his career, he fucking lost it all.

And not because his wife and kids or his endorsements demanded he be that star, but because he needed it. In his mind, it’s what defined him as a man.

He lost all purpose. He became an angry, directionless man who lashed out at everyone who tried to help him. At those of us—his brothers—who tried to intervene. He lost everything that could have given him purpose for the decades going forward. Wife, kids . . . friendships. Health.

It’s why I’m terrified. I fear that. And I don’t even have a fucking family.

“It scares you, doesn’t it?” When I don’t answer he responds for me. “It did me too, man, but you can be fulfilled off the field. I mean, Kristen had to help me with that at first, but maybe it’s time to think about what comes next for you too?”

I go to argue but know it’ll fall flat. He’s been there. He understands. “If I think about after, isn’t it jinxing me? Like, I want at least one more year. I want . . . fuck if I know what I want anymore.” I scrub a hand through my hair and stare out the window at the people daring the heat outside.

“I get it. I do. And thinking about it ain’t jinxing shit.”

“I saw him a few months back. It was rough,” I say. Manring was a man who was on top of the world but he’s now . . . hollow.

“Just promise me you’ll think about it,” he says. “It doesn’t hurt to have a plan.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“I am too. You have my word.”