by Liz Lincoln
Fortunately Jaron’s wife, Tanisha, was a good sport about Matt’s enthusiasm for the rules. After JJ went to bed, she was in there yelling at the TV right along with Matt. Jaron claimed he thought it was hot.
Did Bree yell at the TV during games, or was she a quieter, more observant fan? She had some fire in her when she and Marcus got into Star Wars versus Star Trek debates over lunch, so he could imagine her putting the same passion into her football viewing.
Yeah, he could understand why that was hot.
“You boys need more beers?” Tanisha called from the kitchen. Their house had a giant open room that included the kitchen, dining area, and family room. “Oh come on, what the heckadoodie was that shish?”
Marcus raised his eyebrows and shot Jaron a glance. Heckadoodie? Shish?
“Mommy swears,” Jaron said. “I’ll take another IPA, baby.”
“Marcus? Matt? You good?”
Marcus tossed back the last of his beer. “I’ll take another. Whatever is fine.” One great thing about living in Milwaukee, he never had a bad beer. The town earned its nickname of Brew City.
The game cut to commercial, and Matt sank back on the couch. He scrubbed his hands over his face and let out a sigh. “So I think we’re moving the wedding up. We’ll still do a big reception in June like we’re planning. But we’re gonna do a quick ceremony at the courthouse in a few weeks. You guys will still stand up with me, right?”
“Of course,” Marcus said automatically.
“You know it,” Jaron said. “Celia decided she wants to do the wedding before the baby comes?”
Matt’s fiancée was pregnant, due in February.
Baxter inhaled deeply and held his breath. Tension vibrated through him. “Babies,” he exhaled. “Twins. I’m having fucking twins.”
“Oh shit,” Marcus said.
Jaron said, “You’re fucked, man.”
No one called each other out on the swearing, even though JJ had toddled over and dropped an action figure on Jaron’s lap. “Da, Fas.”
Everything about Jaron softened as he rubbed his son’s head. “Yeah, that’s Flash.” He turned to Matt. “Kids are great, man. But a flerging lot of work. I can’t even imagine having two of ’em.”
Jesus, Marcus was not ready for that kind of reality. He was still trying to figure himself out. No way was he ready for a family.
His knee was starting to feel stiff, so he got up and walked to the sliding glass doors leading to the back patio. He took extra-high steps with his right leg to work out the tightness.
“How’s the knee?” Tanni asked, turning off the kitchen sink.
“Pretty good. Therapist says I’m making good progress.”
She smiled. “That’s great.” She brought his beer to him. She was a gorgeous, brilliant black woman, nearly as tall as her husband. They’d gotten married right out of college, so Marcus had known her nearly as long as he’d known Jaron. He counted her among his closest friends.
Marcus took the bottle from her and murmured, “Thanks.”
“These guys miss you,” she said softly, so only Marcus could hear. “They would never say it, but they miss having you on the field.”
He missed being on the field. He felt like a huge part of who he was had disappeared. Sure, he was going to team meetings and working out at the team’s training facility. But there was nothing like sitting at his locker before a game, going through the routine to get his head in the zone. Nothing like settling into the pads and lacing up his cleats. Nothing like running out of the tunnel to the cheers of thousands of fans. Nothing like getting on that field and doing the thing he loved most in the world.
He needed a hobby. Big time.
“I miss it too,” was all he said. He and Tanni were friends, but she didn’t want him dumping his pity party on her. It needed to stay a party of one. Even better, a party of none.
She patted his arm then headed for JJ’s play area. “Come on, big man. Time to say night-night.”
“Noooo!” JJ threw an action figure on the floor and glared at his mom with an epic pout. “No bed!” He stomped a foot with each word.
“Boy, you better be listening to your mama,” Jaron said, his voice firm.
JJ swung his glare toward his dad. “No. Bed.” More stomps. Which were kind of adorable.
“Hey, JJ,” Matt said. “I hear that boys who are really good at following Mommy and Daddy’s directions wake up to find the Uncle Matt fairy left them a present.”
JJ’s eye got huge. “Pre’nt?”
Tanisha took advantage of JJ’s change in mood and scooped him up. She turned him upside down to give Matt a hug. Then he got his upside-down hug and kiss from Jaron. Marcus wasn’t ready for kids, but it was sweet to see the open affection in Jaron’s family. He and Tanni had what Marcus wanted someday. His parents thought of him as a screw-up or failure, but at the end of the day, he wanted basically the same life they wanted for him. He just wanted to play football instead of working in an office.
Tanni brought JJ over to Marcus, and the little boy wrapped his arms around Marcus’ big shoulders. Marcus hugged him back. “Night, big man.”
JJ pulled back and held up his hand for a high five. “Ni’, Un’l Mow’is.”
Marcus tapped the kid’s hand. “Cooperate for your mama, hear?”
JJ nodded, his expression solemn.
“Lub oooo, Da,” he called as Tanisha carried him up the stairs.
Her voice drifted down the stairs to them: “Tell the Scorpions to score some flerdin’ points.”
The Las Vegas Scorpions and the St. Louis Stallions, the two teams playing, were both in the same division as the Dragons. St. Louis was only one win behind the Dragons, who sat on top of the division at the moment. The Scorpions were last, with the Colorado Springs Vipers in third. So while Marcus, Jaron, and Matt were predisposed to dislike both teams, it was best for the Dragons if the Stallions lost.
At halftime, Marcus took out his phone and checked his email. Maybe Bree had contacted him about class.
How pathetic was he?
He didn’t have anything from his sexy instructor, but he did have an email from each of his parents. Dread curdled in his gut the instant he saw his dad’s name pop up.
For about ten seconds, he debated deleting the messages without reading them. But there was always a chance it was important. So he tapped on his dad’s message first.
It was a reminder that Marcus needed to be keeping up with his therapy. Despite not liking his son’s job, Leroy was taking an interest in Marcus’ recovery to a degree that bordered on obsessive. And uncomfortable for Marcus. But his doctors all allowed it because Dr. Leroy James was an expert in the field. And Marcus agreed because he didn’t have it in him to fight his dad. It was as close as he’d ever get to his dad giving a shit about his career.
After skimming the list of exercises and appointment reminders, Marcus deleted the email. He deleted a few junk messages until he got to his mom’s message. The subject read “CTE.” Which was the subject of roughly 75 percent of her emails to him.
He got it, he really did. She was a concerned mom, and a neurologist to boot. So not only was he a disappointment to her by being an athlete, he was a personal affront because he’d chosen a sport that could wreck his brain.
He knew the risk he took every time he stepped on the field, even for practice. It was impossible to be a player these days and not know about CTE, or chronic traumatic encephalopathy. And Marcus knew all too well the price the rest of his body could pay.
Maybe he and his teammates, and the guys on all the other teams, were making huge mistakes. But they were informed. No new research about percentages or tau proteins or fMRI scans would change his mind. He loved football. He had a limited life span in the sport, but he was far from done. He was only twenty-nine.
So he skimmed his mom’s brief message, a few sentences about the findings of the article. Looked like more of the same: football and hockey players
were at the biggest risk for developing CTE.
She didn’t ask about him, how his knee was doing, or what he was doing with all his free time. Just the reminder to her dumb jock son that he was going to get dumber.
“Email from your mom?” Jaron asked.
Marcus looked over at his friend. “How you know?”
“You never get that part-pissed, part-sad look except when your mom emails you. ‘Nother article?”
“Yep, we’re all going to get dementia by forty and die angry and alone.”
“Sounds right.” Jaron grinned. Like Marcus, he’d decided the risk his body took on the field was worth it.
“Speaking of brain injury,” Matt said. “Don’t forget about Celia’s charity thing in two weeks.”
Celia was the development director for a nonprofit that worked with people who had traumatic brain injuries. Matt’s brother had a brain injury from a car accident, so he’d taken it on as his pet cause, which was how he met Celia. He’d convinced a group of Dragons players to buy tickets to the formal fundraiser dinner.
“It’s on my calendar.” Marcus waved his phone at Matt. He was a slave to his calendar app.
“It’s on Tanni’s master schedule, which means I’ll be there. I just go where she tells me.”
“She your wife or your secretary?” Marcus teased.
“Shut the fuck up, man. She’ll kick your ass, she hear you say that. If I don’t kick it first.”
Marcus laughed at his friend. He had no doubt Tanni could give him a run for his money. She’d played basketball in college and was still in fantastic shape. And Marcus wasn’t exactly at his best.
“We’ve got a couple exciting announcements for the event,” Matt said.
Halftime was over and the game came back on. Marcus wandered to the kitchen to stretch his knee and get some chips. He returned to the couch just as the Stallions kicked off to start the second half.
The Scorpions’ first play was a thirteen-yard pass completion to their best receiving tight end. Watching his counterpart, Marcus’ chest hurt.
“Fuck, I miss playing.”
Did he say that out loud?
“Man, I’m sorry. It sucks.” Jaron shot him a look of sympathy. Two seasons ago, he’d broken his arm and been out six weeks. It wasn’t an entire season, but he had an idea what Marcus was going through. And they’d all had injuries that sat them out a week or two.
“We miss you out there,” Matt added. “I like Gibbons, but we’re not in sync the same way you and me are.” He gestured between himself and Marcus.
It felt good to be missed, but not as good as it would feel to be back on that field. His knee didn’t really hurt anymore, unless he overdid it. Just a nagging stiffness. Some days, he almost felt like he could get back out there.
But of course that was a trick his grieving brain played on him. He had his range of motion back, but he was far from being in football shape. If he tried to put the sort of stress a football game required on his knee, the running and pivoting and twisting, he’d tear the damn ligament again.
Still, a tiny part of him was so desperate to get back on the field it wanted to say “Fuck it” and go back. It would never happen, and he would never actually do it—he could give himself a potentially career-ending injury if he did. But when he was alone, working his battered knee, sometimes he imagined it.
“Next year, man.” Jaron reached over with his beer bottle and tapped it against Marcus’. “It’s your year. I feel it. Best season ever. You gonna get that comeback award. And we gonna get our rings. And that Lombardi Trophy.”
“Hell yeah!” Matt agreed. “But we can get it this year too. Still plenty of season left to get ourselves into the playoffs. Don’t count us out in October. We’re in first place in the division.”
Jaron shot a flat glare at Matt. “Really?”
“Really. We’re ranked second in the AFC. And we can beat Kansas City. So why you writing us off?”
Marcus couldn’t help laughing. Matt was like a golden retriever sometimes. A great guy, everyone loved him. But clueless.
“Man, you an asshole.” Jaron grabbed a throw pillow and chucked it at Matt.
Matt looked genuinely confused. Marcus laughed harder. He appreciated what Jaron was trying to do for him, but he also appreciated Matt’s confidence in the current team.
“What did I do? I say we can win the Super Bowl, and I’m an asshole?”
“This why we love you, Matt. You don’t have a damn clue.” Marcus grinned. “Jaron’s trying not to talk about winning it all without me on the field. He’s being inclusive of your poor mangled friend, ya dipshit.”
Matt’s cheeks pinkened. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. I am an asshole.”
“ ‘S OK. I think you’re right. You can win this year. And I’ll still get a ring.” His chest felt hollow at the idea of having a Super Bowl ring he’d earned by sitting on the sidelines. Sure, he was helping Vince Gibbons, the rookie who had taken his place. And the other tight end, Colin Dowd. He did a little coaching, along with Coach Wardowski. But it wasn’t the same. And he didn’t want a ring he hadn’t earned.
“How many more chances you think you got?” The question popped out of Marcus’ mouth before he even knew he’d had the thought. He’d directed the question at Jaron, who at thirty was past the typical life span of a running back. At twenty-six, Matt still had plenty of years left. Quarterbacks played well into their thirties. Favre, Brady, and a few others had all gone into their forties.
“I’ve got another decade,” Matt said. “At least. I told Celia I want to play until I’m forty.”
“Don’t we all?” Jaron said.
Marcus considered his friend. He’d never heard the guy sound quite so serious or glum.
“You thinking of hanging it up?” Marcus asked.
Jaron shook his head. “Not yet. I still got a couple years left in the tank. But I ache more every season. We ain’t getting younger.”
Wasn’t that the truth. At twenty-nine, Marcus often felt like an old man. Getting beat up for a living had its downsides.
“Tanni’s been talking about wanting another baby. JJ’s two, and she wants three, three years apart. Means we gotta get to work. But she say she wants a solid timeline before we do.” Jaron sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees.
Heavy silence fell over them. They didn’t talk as they watched the next few downs. The Scorpions were building a steady drive, and if they made it to the end zone, they’d be ahead by three.
Four plays later, Singleton threw a perfect spiral to their top wide receiver in the back corner of the end zone. Touchdown. The extra point was good, and they were ahead. Now the Dragons needed the defense to keep that lead so they could remain on top of the division.
“She wants me to retire after next season,” Jaron said as the announcers analyzed the touchdown replay. “Wants me to quit before my body completely falls apart.”
Two years. Not even. Marcus and Jaron would only get to play one more season together if he did what Tanni asked.
Shit.
Marcus couldn’t even imagine lining up without Jaron in the backfield. Sure, neither of them played every snap. But when one wasn’t on the field, the other knew his teammate would be back on the next play. And they were always there, together, on the sideline. Watching the game, discussing the adjustments they needed to make for the next series.
Players coming and going was part of life in the NFL. But Marcus and Jaron had played their entire careers in Milwaukee. Since his rookie training camp, Marcus had clicked with the second-year player. They were both from the Midwest, both went to college in LA—Marcus at USC, Jaron at rival UCLA. They’d quickly gone from opponents to close friends. Best friends.
“You can’t,” he said without thinking. He was doing a lot of talking without thinking tonight.
Jaron picked at the label on his beer bottle. “I don’t know. I’d be almost thirty-two by then. That’s pretty much geriatr
ic.”
“You guys are already geriatric. Dude, you’re thirty.” Matt’s attempt to lighten the mood fell flat, but Marcus appreciated it.
“Shut the fuck up, young’un,” Marcus shot back.
“I don’t think it’s even so much not playing,” Jaron said as if the other two hadn’t spoken. “I just don’t know what the hell I’d do with myself all day. Tanni works. What, I’m gonna be a stay-at-home dad? I’d go crazy.”
“We got Bubble,” Marcus said.
“And we pay people to run it, and they run it well. They don’t need me interfering.”
It was the same dilemma Marcus had been struggling with for the past month. He worked out, he did PT, he had classes and homework. But he still went to every practice and every team meeting. Partly to keep one foot—on his good leg—in the game, but also because he just didn’t know what to do with himself. His condo was empty and lonely, especially now that he had nothing to do but hang out. It had never felt that way before.
“Shit, man. I don’t know.” Marcus shrugged. Every player went through the question of what to do after the NFL. But if Marcus couldn’t figure it out for himself, he sure as hell didn’t know what to tell his best friend. “I guess we just hang on to football as long as we can.”
Chapter 6
Bubble was loud and crowded and full of swirling lights and music Bree could feel in her back teeth. It smelled vaguely of alcohol and sweat. In short, it was like every other club she’d been in. Granted, that was a limited sample.
What set Bubble apart was the upscale decor. Everything had a smooth, polished feel. Instead of the dark colors of most clubs, Bubble was done in cream and beige and other light shades that evoked being inside a champagne glass. And, not surprisingly, there was a bubble theme: bubble chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, bubbles etched into the bar, bubbles glowing in the lighted walls, bubbling water features placed around the space. It should have been over the top, but it was just understated enough to be classy.
The one problem Bree and Reina had—and this was the case anytime they went somewhere loud—was it was impossible to talk without Bree leaning all the way down to Reina’s ear. Because Reina’s head came to roughly Bree’s waist, it could get tedious.