Page 162 of The Sweetest Return

“You looking over my people’s shoulders again?”

“They were my people first.”

“Good afternoon to you too.”

“That crew on Fifth needs moved.”

“Already done.”

Silence.

I smiled. “You sound disappointed.”

“I wanted to catch you slipping.”

“Find a hobby.”

“I have one. Minding your business before you mess it up.”

That got my first real laugh all day.

Five minutes later, my office went quiet again and Imani walked right back into my head.

I knew why she'd left.

At least I thought I did.

Pictures. Comments. Other people reaching into something we barely understood ourselves.

Understanding why didn't make waking alone feel better.

I had already made enough mistakes in my twenties by translating silence for both of us. I wasn't doing it again.

The phone rang, and everything in me reached for Imani. Marcus Hale appeared on the screen instead.

I considered letting my agent join voicemail, then answered.

“Marcus.”

“Tell me you're in a good mood.”

“I'm not.”

“Well, damn. I was hoping for neutral.”

“What you need?”

“Apex wants an answer.”

I leaned back.

National studio. Pregame desk. Postgame analysis. Travel, lights, producers in my ear, my face back in living rooms every Sunday talking about what other men should have done with their bodies.

A lot of people thought I should want it because it kept me near football without asking anything from my knee.

Marcus had wanted it for me too.

“You're not taking it,” he said.