Page 30 of Forever Offsides

I push up the bridge of my glasses and head outside through the west parking lot toward the indoor practice field, which is in the back of the Rebels compound. Tomorrow we’re outside, and fans along with the press will be there, but our first official team practice is just us, and I want that time to address the players’ fitness and fundamentals. It’s shells for this entire week—meaning only helmets and jerseys without pads—but each skill coach is going to push their players regardless.

The indoor arena is quiet and cool if not a little overly bright with the blasting LEDs overhead. I will say this team puts money into its facilities, and I’m already a little awed by what I have to work with. The players are in this building today since this arena houses lockers, a gym, and a state-of-the-art training center.

The turf crunches beneath my sneakers as I walk over to one of the sidelines, pick up a tablet from where it’s plugged in, and take a seat on a bench.

I hold it in my hand only to set it immediately back down when what I actually want to do is slam it. “Fuck!” A bitter, incredulous laugh belts past my lips. Of all the gin joints, she had to walk into mine, right? The Rolling Stones’ “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” is mockingly playing in my head. “Goddammit!”

She was the best part of my day for four months.

“Does it really have to end this way?”

I’m not sure. To be honest, I’m not sure.

It’d be a challenge. Tough. But impossible? I don’t know.

For now, I do my best to shake it off—shake her off—and get to work, running over last season’s stats and combine reports. We also have three undrafted free agents. I get lost in the task and lose track of time until movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention.

Asher Reyes is heading my way.

It doesn’t sit well with me that I not only fucked my boss’s daughter but more or less had what I considered a relationship of sorts with her, but there’s not a whole lot I can do about that now.

He greets me with a warm smile, his reddish-brown hair sprinkled with strands of gray. His sons, Mason and Crew, look so much like him. Quinn too for that matter, but her hair is redder than her brothers’.

“I figured I’d find you out here.”

I set the tablet down beside me on the bench, trying to keep the I’m a sleazeball acid from churning up the back of my throat. “Early bird and all that.”

He nods, claps me on the shoulder, and takes a seat. “I get it. You’re also going to have to tell me when to fuck off if I start to meddle since I’m used to coaching and playing and not sitting behind a desk.”

I chuckle. “Should I ask why you’re out here then?”

He tosses his arms on top of the bench. Then he nods toward the locker room entrance to the field. Mason Reyes, the star quarterback, is coming this way, but he’s not alone. Quinn and Crew are beside him, their hands and fingers moving quickly, and it takes me a second to realize they’re signing with each other.

Mason has a hearing impairment, though it doesn’t seem to impact his game, which I find fascinating since so much of being a quarterback is having not only eyes but ears in the back of your head. Crew is new to the team. He was drafted to LA and has been there since, but he was a free agent last year and didn’t re-sign a contract with them. His father brought him here early in the off-season.

He’s a talented tight end, and I love that. It’s the position I played.

Asher leans forward and drops his elbows to his thighs. “That’s my daughter, Quinn, with them. Crew’s twin.”

I know exactly who she is, I don’t say. Except twin hits me. How old is Crew? I was thinking Quinn was in her early thirties from how she was talking about her residency, but that doesn’t line up with what I know about Crew. Motherfucking fuck. I knew she was younger but…

I swallow down more acid. “Do I need to learn how to sign?”

“Honestly, sometimes it helps. At least a few things for some plays. But for them, it’s always been sort of their secret language with each other. Right now, they’re giving Quinn shit, and she’s giving it right back to them as always.”

I smile at that. I’d expect nothing less from my girl. Fuck, not my girl! Jesus, I’m going to have to figure this out and fast. Regardless, I like how they appear to be close. I always wanted a sibling for Russel, but that meant finding the right woman, which I never did. I’m not sure I looked all that hard either until I met Quinn. Life had a way of slipping by with that.

“What for?”

“Quinn is an orthopedic surgeon like her mother and will be working with the team this season. Like her mother, she doesn’t love football. It took me a while to win Wynter over, but so far Quinn hasn’t gotten there.” He pauses and twists his head to me. “You know, I got a call from the GM in Dallas.”

That raises my eyebrows and garners my full attention. “Really?”

“I didn’t know Russel Jones was your son.”

I rub my jaw and match Asher’s position. “Yes. He is.” My chin drops, and I stare down at the blades of fake grass. “When he was in college or even in high school, for that matter, he never wanted me to talk about it. He wanted to earn his own stripes and not trade on mine. I had him when I was a kid. A teenager. He and I were never as close as I wanted us to be.” I leave that hanging, not feeling the need to go into personal detail. Especially when I’m looking at his happy family.

He nods. “You know we drafted him.”