Page 78 of The Backup Plan

“No, but you fear it,” he fires back like only a brother can.

The quarterback on the field cocks his arm back and launches the ball pretty far for his size. The spiral is wobbly, but it has distance and lands squarely in the receiver’s arms. The sideline erupts like it’s the Super Bowl.

“Nice throw,” I murmur under my breath.

“Well, that’s a positive development. Does that mean things are going well?”

“For the most part. The guys are pretty cool. A few assholes but that’s with every team. They’re young and hungry, which could be a positive in a lot of ways. I’ve scouted the division and I think if we start on the right foot, it could be a good year.”

“With you on the sidelines,” he states.

“Landing the dagger on that one, huh?” I chuckle.

“Not intentional.” He pauses and I can hear my nephew in the background. “So what about you?”

“What about me?”

“We’ve talked for thirty minutes—which is close to being a record by the way—and you’ve avoided all talk about you.”

“Bullshit. I told you my shoulder was feeling stronger.”

“Which is a lie.”

“Fine. Better. It’s feeling better. This new doc has been putting me through the paces with her rehab routines, but honestly? I think it’s helping. The pinch that was there is gone. And it just feels . . . stronger.”

“That’s great news. Promising. But what about the rest of your life there? Do you like where you’re living? Have you explored the city? Like, tell me about your life outside of football.”

Emery flashes through my mind, and I twist my lips in response. “I’m living. Just nothing earth-shattering to tell.”

“Which definitely means there is something to tell.” He barks out a laugh.

“You think you know everything.”

“Because I usually do.” A pause. “So . . . what’s going on?”

On the field below I must have missed what happened because there’s a pile of kids on top of each other—both uniforms—and they’re all laughing, not caring who wins or loses. I watch them longer than necessary because it’s easier than confronting what’s bugging me and even worse, admitting it to my brother.

“There’s this . . . woman,” I finally say.

This has been lodged in my chest for the better part of a week. Hell, since last Saturday when we spent the day together.

Brendan’s laugh comes through the connection. “A woman. Wow. You really said that? Didn’t you mean a hookup?”

I don’t answer. The silence stretches.

“Oh shit,” he finally says. “It’s like that.”

“It’s not like anything,” I say too fast. “I mean—it can’t be.”

“Why can’t it? Because of your self-imposed rules during preseason? The no distractions one?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

The center snaps the ball on the field, and it flies over the quarterback’s head. Chaos ensues as all the little bodies in gear that’s way too heavy scramble after the loose ball.

“Rules always are.” He sighs. “So just break them. You never stick to your self-imposed rules for the whole season, so just break them early.” He chuckles.

“It’s not as easy as that.”