Taking a chance, I jump in the middle. “We got thirty minutes to shut out the Falcons completely from the Super Bowl. Thirty minutes to show the world that we deserve to host it. That every single one of you has played your heart out in every game, no matter how hard you were hit, how much you hurt, or how far behind we were on the scoreboard.”
A few of the players start to nod along with me.
Dallas has his game face on.
“No more sacks.”
“No more sacks,” someone echoes from the back.
“No more fumbles.”
“No more fumbles.”
“We will protect you,” Hernandez shouts.
“One team,” I shout, jumping up and down on the balls of my feet. My pulse races, and I can feel the adrenaline start to pump. “One team.”
“One team.”
“We’re not going home until we win.” I put my fist into the air. “Hands up, Renegades.”
Everyone shoves their hands in around me, screaming and jumping.
“Everything or nothing,” I scream. “Everything or nothing.”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Everything or nothing.” I shout each word with every beat of my heart. It’s not just about football right now. It’s my life. It’s how I want to be remembered. “Everything or nothing. I’m staying until we win.”
“Let’s go.”
With a roar, we run to the tunnel and end up on the sideline, in front of seventy thousand fans screaming our names. If they’re rooting for the Falcons, I don’t hear it.
I don’t give a damn.
I’m here to win.
“Ready?” I ask Dallas.
“With a speech like that, I’d follow you anywhere.” We strap on our chin guards and run onto the field.
I’M SO STIFF AND SORE that I can barely walk in the bar, but there’s no way I’m missing our victory party at The Hibernian. A cheer goes up as the guys spot me.
“First round’s on me,” I announce.
“Figures since we’re already on round three,” Dallas says, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me into the inner circle. Someone hands me a beer. He lifts his mug. “A toast to our quarterback.”
“Here, here.” Sam raises his drink. “May he always be as inspiring as he was tonight.”
“May he always go long.”
“May he always find the sweet spot.”
I raise my bottle. “May those who wish us well, find their wishes granted, and may those who wish us to hell, find their dicks shriveled.”
The guys burst out laughing.
“That’s some next-level shit,” Fred, a brickhouse of a linesman, says to me. “You’re all right, fam.”
Music starts playing. For the first time since I started playing professionally, I feel like I belong.
Chapter 15
Layton
THE WORST THING ABOUT going back home to a small town after your husband leaves you is that everyone knows your business. From the ladies at the bank to the guy who owns the funeral home/mechanic shop.
And people aren’t exactly nice about it either.
It’s like they fall into one of two camps.
One is sympathetic, but isn’t sure what side to be on since Joe’s family owns a car dealership and a grocery store while my mine owns a bank and law office.
The second camp neither cares, nor do they bother to hide their unmitigated glee that two families like ours are having difficulties like ordinary people. As if us having money is an excuse or implicit permission to treat someone poorly.
“Do we have to go Lula’s?” I ask my momma as we take her purchases from Nadine’s Botanicals to the car.
“I’m in charge of the club’s Super Bowl party, sugar. People are expecting a cake.”
“Fine, but can I stay in the car while you order it?”
“Do you enjoy playing the victim?” she asks, and my mouth drops open.
“Playing?” I shove the church altar centerpiece inside the trunk of the Volvo and slam it closed. “I can assure you that I’d rather be a happily married woman than a victim of Joe’s perfidy.”
Momma’s eyes turn sympathetic. “I’m being too hard on you. It’s just... I thought you were stronger than that, and you would want to show the gossiping biddies around here that you are without a care in the world.”
“Running errands with you is supposed to prove all that?”
“Better than hiding out,” she points out, and we get in the car. “It’s been almost two months, sugar. Don’t you think it’s time to consider dating?”
“I’m still legally married.” I blow out a breath. “What can I possibly offer anyone at this point?”
“It’s not about what they need; it’s about what you need. And you need to feel special and pretty. You need a man to treat you right.” She grabs my hand and squeezes before letting go to ease into traffic. “Was there ever anyone else you would have considered had it not been for Joe?”
Aiden’s image pops up in my head, but I ignore it. I’ve never thought about him like that until recently. “There wasn’t ever a chance,” I answer honestly. “When I wasn’t focusing on my goals, I focused on my relationship with Joe.”
“That doesn’t seem to leave a lot of time for enjoying yourself.” She frowns. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed for y’all to start dating at such a young age.”
“You’ve seen the binder, Momma. I had it planned out before you did.” My eleven-year-old self had my entire future planned out. I sigh. “I’m sorry for not coming home sooner.”
“Don’t apologize for taking time for yourself.”
“I missed Christmas.”
“Now that you should apologize for. My table had an uneven number of place settings and you know how I feel about odd numbers, sugar.”
I laugh, then sober. “Once I get everything sorted out with Joe and...” I turn to her. “Honestly, I’m not ready to move back home yet.”
“Oh gosh, Layton. If that’s what you’re worried about, then set your mind at ease. Your daddy will hold that job for you down at the club for at least four more months.”
I wait for relief to hit me, but all that shows up in more panic and anxiety. “Four more months?”
“You don’t think six months is long enough?” Her lips pucker. “Renee is doing a wonderful job for us, but it’s not fair for her to devote so much time and energy to a job that’s going to end up in your lap.”
End up in my lap? I’m more than qualified to be the event planner for Bluebelle Hills Country Club. I even interviewed for it. Gave up my job at the library for it.
Frustration building, I focus on the town as we cruise down Main Street, but the buildings seems to crowd in on me.
“I need to go back to Wake Forest on Monday,” I blurt, unable to take more than a weekend in Bluebelle Hills. “Paige needs help planning her wedding, and I promised to take care of every detail.”
“Of course, sugar. You let Paige know the country club can accommodate her and that NFL star of hers, too. We can move people around, if need be.”
My momma means well, but moving people around who’ve already paid good money for their day... that’s not going to fly.
I don’t want to work for a place that would do that.
I don’t want to turn into a person who’d be okay with working for a place like that either.
Momma parks the car in front of Lula’s and heads inside. I take advantage of the precious privacy by calling Paige, wondering why in the heck I hadn’t bothered doing this before.
As soon as she answers, I get right down to it. “I want my old job back.”
“I want you to have your old job back, too,” she says with a smile in her voice.
“I’m serious, Paige.”
“Then tell Nolan.”
“Haven’t y’all hired someone?”
“Yes, but she quit last week, on account that no one could stand her.”
“Oh, thank God. I mean, that s
ucks, but I need a reason not to come home for the next six months.”
“Only six?”
I lean my forehead against the cool window. “I don’t know... all I do know is that I need to find the old me, or the new me who wants to go back to the job that I not only had before, but also earned on my own.”
“Call Nolan, but as your friend and not a colleague, I wouldn’t mention the six-month time limit.”
“What would you say as my colleague?”
“That you’re putting him back into a position he hates to be in. You know how Nolan reacts to change.”
“He hates it.” I close my eyes. “Maybe I should forget it—”
“Oh my God, Layton. Where’s your backbone? Where’s the woman who made me go after my man because you said I deserved a happily ever after? The woman who refused to let VIPs tell her how to run several very successful charity events because she knew what she was doing, and then proved them so wrong that they hired her for more events?”
“She’s still here.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“Don’t make me say it.” I nibble on the tip of my finger.
“You shouldn’t have sounded so unsure of yourself.”
“Fine.” I check to make sure my momma’s still inside. “I’m worthy of respect and love, especially from myself.”
“You sound like you’re on your way to a funeral.”
“I’m in my momma’s Volvo while she’s ordering a cake from Lula’s and have been subjected to judgmental, pitying looks all morning while I ran errands with her,” I snap.
“Oh, dear Lord. Why didn’t you say so? Hang on a minute.” There’s some shuffling and a few muffled words before I can hear clearly again.
“Layton wants her old job back.”
“I don’t know,” Nolan begins. “Cynthia did a fabulous job with insect day.”
The only thing Nolan hates more than change and little kids messing with displays is insects. “Put me on speakerphone.”
“Done.”
“Nolan, I swear on my favorite monogrammed scarf that you will never have to put up with insect day again, not on my watch.”
“You’re hired, but no vacation days until—”
“Same vacation days as Paige and same pay as when I left,” I insist. “To make it less painful for you, I’ll throw in dinner with Dallas at Pan Asian.”
“Layton, oh my gosh,” Paige gasps.
“I’ll see you on Monday. Nice to have you back,” Nolan says.
My momma opens the car door.
“Gotta go. Love you. Bye. Work twinsies again!”
“Whoo-hoo,” is all Paige can get out before I hang up.
“Get your cake all ordered?” I ask, all innocence.
“I did, but I swear Lula’s raised her prices for the third time in two years. If she wasn’t the best bakery in town, I’d drive to Jessamine.”
I don’t point out that Lula’s is the only bakery in town. “Maybe someone will come along and start a new bakery. Give Lula some competition.”
My momma gets a horrified look on her face. “And take business away from Lula? The locals won’t have it, Layton. The planning board won’t approve it. Lula’s is an institution.”
“I completely understand,” I say, stopping her from going on a full tirade about why outsiders and upstarts are bad for business... even though the Prices were considered both not that long ago.
They say the only way small towns grow is either from the board members dying off or a slew of new people moving in... I don’t have time to wait for either of those things to happen.
Chapter 16
Aiden
THE ONLY PRESENT MY old man ever gave me was a baseball bat.
When he’d get bored at the hotel, he’d take me down to Fenway Park and sweet talk, aka bribe, his way onto the grass. He’d toss the ball and I’d hit it back to him, as hard as I could. For as little and scrawny as I was at the time, it went pretty far, at least halfway to the pitcher’s mound, but I was a leftie and my old man swore it was a handicap, so I’d always hit and throw with my right.
Other times, after he conducted business, we’d sit in the bleachers, in the cheap seats because he swore those were the best ones, taking in a game and eating dogs. That’s when Cillian McHugh became my dad.
Growing up, I was always in awe of The Green Monster, and I loved listening to my dad tell stories of the greats—Dom DiMaggio, Cy Young and of course, the greatest of all time, Babe Ruth.
It was during those stories that I felt the closest to him. I felt like I was more than just a box being checked off because my mom felt it was her duty to make sure we got to know one another.
All that changed the summer I turned thirteen. That summer, I shot up six inches, filled out in places that had the ladies taking notice... and I used my left hand to swing at a fastball, hitting it so hard that it actually collided with The Green Monster.
Any other dad would have been proud.
Any other dad would have bragged to his friends that his kid could one day play for the historically left-handed favoring Red Sox’s team.
But not my old man.
Instead, he grabbed me by the collar with one hand and snatched the bat away from me with the other, accusing me of being on steroids or weighting the bat.
For lying to him about my abilities so I could pull one over on him, make him look like a loser in front of his friends who were there because he had business to attend to once he was done showing off his kid.
Not one fucking thing he said made sense to me.
When I argued back, he decided to teach me a lesson by beating the shit out of me with said bat, breaking my left arm in the process.
I never picked up another baseball after that.
Never went back to Fenway either.
If it hadn’t been for my ma, I would have ended up just like my old man—gang banging until some wise guy noticed me and used the hotel he allowed me to own as a front while they laundered money... Or like my pals, in jail, knocking up girls with kids they can’t support, or worse, dead because I chose to play the knockout game with someone who brought a gun to a fistfight.
Still have the scars, the faded tattoos on my knuckles that I thought was hot shit to get inked with, and when it rains, my left arms aches like a motherfucker.
It wasn’t until years later that I learned he tried to swing for The Green Monster during a once-in-a-lifetime invitation to try out for the Red Sox, something the owners had come up with to generate some press.
Cillian failed.
Not only did he fail, but he also cursed out the pitcher, the catcher, and one of the coaches for rigging the tryout.
Eventually, they had to kick his sorry ass out of Fenway.
“Aiden,” my ma sings out, bring me back to the present where we’re talking over Skype. She looks good, happier than I’ve seen her, and proud as fuck over her baby boy going to the Super Bowl. “Have you listened to anything I’ve been saying?”
I shrug. “Not really.”
She rolls her eyes. “Father Sheehan will be flying down with Dom and me. He’s so proud, Aiden.”
“Is it safe for him to travel? He has to be pushing—what, eighty now?”
My ma narrows her eyes. “God gives Father Sheehan strength to not only put up with little shit-talkers such as yourself, but to hold back aging like the rest of us.” She makes the sign of the cross and looks heavenward, like I’ve just committed blasphemy for wondering about the health and age of my old football coach.
“I’ll make sure to hit the packie up before you guys get here.” Father Sheehan is particular about his whiskey.
“Dunkees, too.” She leans forward, looking around a little. “Although, I like those Krispy Kremes better. Swear to God, I’ll beat your ass if you tell anyone.”
“Who would I tell?”
“A girlfriend. Fiancée.” She side-eyes me. “The grandchildren I don’t have.”
“Jesus,
Ma,” I groan, scrubbing my face with my hand. “Stop pressuring me.”
“No pressure.” She shrugs. “I’m only getting older and who knows if I’ll be alive or in a fucking grave by the time you decide to gift your mother with grandchildren she can bounce on her knee.”
“You’re fifty-one, Ma, not on your fucking deathbed,” I remind her.
With a grin, she lights a cigarette and blows out a steady stream of smoke. “I gotta go. Dominic wants to take me antiquing. Whatever the fuck that means.”
“I’m sure you’ll have fun.”
She narrows her eyes. “I think you need to move back home. You’re starting to sound a little weird.”
“Whatever.” I pull up my bank’s website. “I’ll make a deposit into your account in case you see something special.”
“Aiden, you don’t have to do that.”
“Humor me.” I transfer money into her account. “There. Shop to your heart’s content.”
“Such a good boy.”
“It’s ‘cause you’re the best. My forever and always.” I mean what I say. It’s always been the two of us, and she took it hard when I moved to Raleigh.
“You know what would make me really happy?”
I know what’s coming, but I won’t stop her from saying it. “What’s that?”
“For you to find someone else to be your forever and always.” She blows me a kiss. “Talk to you later, babe.”
After we end our call, I rub the heel of my hand over my chest. “Me, too, Ma. Me, too.”
Too fucking bad that the woman I want for my forever and always only wants right now.
THE NEXT MORNING, I meet Gideon at Chick-fil-A for breakfast because no one will bother us here. It’s a real family place, with about a thousand kids eating fried chicken and biscuits while drinking sweet tea. The chicken biscuits, I’ll eat, but no way in hell will I sweeten my tea.
“We’re all set for your Breakfast with Dad,” I tell him. “Moved some things around. I even made an appointment for the Porsche to get detailed the day before.”
He nods. “That’s good.”
I sit back in my chair. “Only good? Kid, if someone was offering me a ride like that to drive to school, I’d kiss his ass until my mouth went numb—not that you have to do that. I don’t expect it. Keep your kisser to yourself.”
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