"A little light-headed?"
"Okay, I fainted. I'd forgotten to eat and my blood sugar was out of whack, but it's all under control now."
"Fuck, Claudia!"
"It's okay, the doctor said it's common with type 1 diabetes when your stress level increases to have some adjusting…"
"Screw that stupid doctor, I want you to see another specialist. Come up here for a couple of days. I've found one of the leading endocrinologists in the country, and he's right here in Pittsburgh…"
"No! Stop it, Wyatt. You need to listen to me, okay."
"I'm listening, but all I hear is someone that can't, or won't, take care of herself."
"I'm not even going to dignify that bullshit, Wyatt. I'm an adult whether you like it or not, and I can't miss any more classes," she answered, almost yelling now herself. He could hear her pause and take a deep breath before going on, "Besides, you need to focus on your playing. I saw your game against Denver a couple days ago, you need to get your own shit together."
"Aren't you a sweetheart?"
"I know, thank you, it's a gift," she teased, clearly trying to lighten the mood, and Wyatt tried to force himself to let her. She was so stubborn and ever since she went to college, it was getting even harder to make sure she was okay.
"I'll see if I can get a specialist to see you down there. I wish you attended a school in a city somewhere closer to me."
"I know, Wy, just focus on practicing, and I'll focus on school. Graduating a semester early has its perks — school will end soon and then there will be no more fretting over me every second that I'm at college."
"Yeah, right, don't try to bullshit me, Claudia. Then you'll go to Quantico for FBI training and you'll push yourself even harder. I wish you would take it easy and just graduate in four years like everyone else."
"I'm not like everyone else Wy. It's bad enough I had to redo first grade after I got so sick. I started life out behind, but I won't stay there forever.
"It's like you're deliberately trying to worry me."
"I don't need to make any effort to do that — you'll manage to get yourself all worked up perfectly fine on your own. Speaking of, is everything okay, Wy? You seem even more annoyingly up my butt than usual," she asked with concern in her voice.
"I'm heading to a meeting with the GM of the team."
"What about?"
"They want to get on my ass about something. I'm pretty sure it's about the latest exam the team physician did of my shoulder."
"The rehab isn't helping?" Claudia asked.
"I think it is. And I've been managing the pain with painkillers. I'm going to try a cortisone shot to my shoulder before the next game, but I did take a lot of hits last week."
"I'll say. The season isn't over, maybe you can still show them you can get better."
"That's my plan. Enough about that shit. Do you have enough money?"
"Yes I do, thank you."
"And you're sure you really want to go to the FBI so soon?"
"It's a huge honor, Wy. Everything will be okay, I promise. And after interning at the Washington headquarters, I think I have a real shot of getting placed there."
"You're going to have to take better care of yourself, though."
"I know. I promise I'll be more careful. I love you, okay?"
"I love you, too. Bye."
"Bye," she answered, and as soon as she hung up, Wyatt felt even more convinced he had to do everything in his power to keep weaving links in his family's safety net. One of the only things he'd ever gotten from Jim McCoy was an ability to make money as a quarterback, and that had to sustain them for a lot longer than just these few paltry years.
"Hello, Coach McGill. How are you?" Wyatt asked in greeting to his head coach as he caught sight of him in the hallway on the way to his meeting.
"Hey, Wyatt. I guess you heard that John and Tom want to talk to you?"
"I did. You aren't going to be there?" Wyatt asked with confusion in his voice. A meeting with the General Manager and Assistant GM was concerning enough on its own, but to know that his own coach wouldn't be there made it downright dismal.
"No, I'm not gonna be at this one, but they know how I feel, Wyatt. And you do, too."
"Coach…" Wyatt began, not quite sure what he would say next, but his coach placed a hand on his shoulder, effectively silencing him.
"Wy, I still believe in you and your potential, you know that. But I can't control what the doctors say about your health or what you do about your own attitude. You know this game isn't just about what happens between the hash marks, it's about what happens in here," he said seriously, poking Wyatt hard in the chest where his heart should be. "It's about what you feel about the game and your team — inside of you."
If only it were that simple, Wyatt thought to himself.
"Thanks, Coach. I want to do whatever I can to help the Roughnecks succeed," he responded numbly, yet again saying the words he knew the world expected to hear, even though he wasn't sure what he actually felt in his own heart.
"Then don't be your own worst enemy, boy. You gotta play the game off the field, too, sometimes. Look, I knew your dad better than anyone — the real story most people didn't know, not just his talent. But this is your life, you can't let him be a part of it."
"All I know is that I need to stay on the field, Coach," he answered, and it was the truth.
"Wy, this season isn't over yet. You still have time to show us what you can do — show me that you have what it takes in here, to really succeed out there," Coach stated, with another poke to Wyatt's chest, followed by a jerk of his thumb to gesture out the window to the practice field.
Wyatt nodded, and thanked him before walking on to his meeting, his teeth gritted in his mouth. When Wyatt was younger, his skills had been enough to make up for his workman-like attitude about the game. Yet now, it seemed like all these other X factors were becoming much more important, just as his shoulder was causing him so much trouble on the field.
If Wyatt could somehow make himself feel passionate about this game that had always been merely a job to him — a means to an end — then maybe he wouldn't need to have meetings like this. But that had never been the case for him, and it didn't look like anything would change about that now.
He'd managed to keep his brain mostly free of abuse and had a fair amount of endorsement deals to start building that empire he so coveted. But he couldn't do any of those things without a starting position on a viable team.
It certainly wouldn't help if his story turned into a cautionary tale of yet another first-round draft pick bust. Wyatt could not let that happen. He needed to get through this shoulder issue and get back on top, so he could take control of his life — and career — again. Theoretically, he had several more years left to play, but a sustainable legacy didn't come from being just a journeyman, hopping from team to team or never making it far in the play-offs.
Wyatt needed to stay on the field and get some traction in at least one city before he hung up his cleats forever. One sore shoulder and a handful of annoying team executives weren't going to stand in the way of that plan — not if he could help it.
His mind cleared the moment he came upon his agent waiting outside the GM's office.
"Gabe, it's good to see you, but you didn't have to come all the way here just for this meeting."
"I'm pretty sure I did, actually. They're really worried about your latest physical. Come on, let's head in and get this over with."
They sat down across from John Davison, the GM, and Tom Wilkins, the Assistant GM, and it felt like being called into the principal's office.
"Thanks for meeting with us. I'll get to the point, Wyatt. The club physician is disappointed in your progress. That shoulder is a big problem. And that Denver game on Monday really did a number on you. He thinks you're going to need surgery after the season is over." John looked at Wyatt, waiting for an answer.
"It felt like that to me, too, but I've been working
hard on my rehab. I think it's helping a lot," Wyatt answered evenly.
"The club doc is great," Gabe added, quickly chiming in. "But the collective bargaining agreement lets us get a second opinion, John, you know that."
"I do. We have a recommended list of orthopedic surgeons that we've used before. You can see their names and bios here. Any of these individuals would certainly be qualified to perform the second opinion consultation the CBA allows."
Wyatt took a folder from John and flipped through it silently, his jaw twitching slightly in agitation. It was full of older male surgeons, each with impressive levels of expertise, but it was the image of one young, and very sexy, doctor that jumped out at him.
Dr. Jenna Sutherland caught his eye for more than just her looks. He recognized the blonde beauty from the VIP group immediately. She'd turned him down flat — much to J.J.'s delight, as he'd been tormenting Wyatt about it ever since. But Wyatt knew she was drawn to him, just like he was to her. He felt sure of it...
He needed someone he could sway and influence. Despite her cocky insistence that she wasn't interested in him, he could tell she was attracted. If his life to date had proven anything to Wyatt, it was that he could get women to do what he wanted, especially if they were easily manipulated by his charm. It wasn't something he was proud of, that was for sure. Also, the idea of taking advantage of someone just to better his career made him feel all kinds of shitty, but he had to do everything in his power to get out of this situation.
Besides, Wyatt wasn't sure she was that innocent in all of this, anyway. It irked him that a team-approved orthopedic surgeon was watching him play. She even knew he had an issue with his shoulder. That fact had been kept completely secret. If the team was trying to have her gauge his health from a luxury box, then he was sure as hell going to make her get a more complete impression of how well he was actually doing.
Just let her try to ignore me now, he thought smugly to himself.
"We might want to choose a physician of our own, John, like the…" Gabe chattered on.
"Like the CBA permits you to do? Sure, you can do that. But I'm sure you're also aware that Wyatt's shoulder isn't the only thing giving us pause when his contract is up this year.”
John turned his head slightly, pinning Wyatt with a serious stare. “Coach is very worried that you've never taken on leadership in the locker room. You're unfocused in practice, and on the field. You haven't bonded with your teammates in any real way. We tried to overlook your reputation from when you were in Dallas, but I'm not sure if we can anymore. We've got a lot of rookies on the team that could really use the guidance from someone that's been in the league for as many seasons as you have, but you're too isolated. You come in, do your time and leave — that's not how we do things here in Pittsburgh. This is a family institution, and the quarterback needs to be an important part of that family," John rattled off, leaning back in his chair.
Wyatt could feel his hands clenching into fists — desperate to shut this asshole up.
Wyatt didn't need to listen to this bullshit anymore. He had a plan of his own, and it didn't involve listening to Gabe and these team bosses bicker at each other.
"This one. Dr. Sutherland. She'll do," Wyatt stated assuredly, tossing the folder onto the table. Her pretty face was staring up at all of them — glowing like an unsuspecting angel against the manila folder backdrop.
"Jenna Sutherland?" Tom asked, his eyes widening with shock at Wyatt's pronouncement. And it gave Wyatt a strange thrill to see he'd thrown the guy off-balance.
"Absolutely. Is that a problem?"
"Of course not, she's very popular with our players, has been requested several times before…it's just…" Tom sputtered out.
"John put her bio in there. I chose her. I told you I can be a team guy," Wyatt answered, staring Tom dead in the eye.
"I'm glad to see it, Wyatt. It's no problem, of course we like your pick," John said, looking questioningly at Tom. "We'll set it up."
"Wyatt, we don't have to decide now," Gabe whispered to him in a hushed tone.
"Why wait? I've got nothing to hide. I'm ready to move forward. Thanks, Tom, thanks, John."
"You got it," John said, standing and walking them out of the room. "Wyatt, I like you. You know I believed you could have a lot of success here when we brought you in. I still do."
They'd barely made it out of the building on the way to their cars before Gabe looked at him with utter confusion.
"Why the hell did you choose this surgeon? How can you be so confident? Do you know something I don't?" Gabe asked.
"She's younger…and a woman."
"And you have a way with younger women?"
"Generally, yes. And I'm pretty confident I have a way with this particular woman."
"What's that supposed to mean? Why was Tom so hesitant in there? Those are their list of docs, so what was that all about?" Gabe asked.
"Because I've met her before. He saw me ask her out. He's probably terrified I have her in my back pocket already. I will soon though, don't worry."
"You're kidding."
"You know I never kid about my career. Look, it worked with Olivia Hayes from Fox Sports. I've gotten a lot of favorable press out of her."
"There's a big difference between flirting with an unscrupulous cleat-chasing reporter and manipulating an actual orthopedic surgeon with a career impressive enough to be included in that folder."
"We'll see about that. Besides, who said anything about manipulating her? I just want to give her the chance to have an open mind about my shoulder."
"And you think she'll just start seeing things your way?"
"I definitely had an effect on her. It's a long shot, but I need to use whatever advantages I can find to stay on the field."
"Wy, I've had plenty of clients that have had to get surgery."
"But none that's this invasive right when their contract is up. Gabe, you know as well as I do that needing to have surgery makes me about as unappealing as a one-eyed skinny pig at the state fair. Look at you, and what happened after your knee injury."
A furious look streaked across Gabe's face and a stream of guilt ran through Wyatt's chest. Gabe had been an incredible running back in college, but a catastrophic knee injury and two surgeries cut his career short.
"Dude, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"
"Forget it, Wy. This isn't about me. You've got the possibility of several years left in you if you recover fully."
"Gabe, you know how I feel about surgery. The only time someone's putting me under is when they bury me six feet in the ground."
Wyatt felt a pang of pain in his chest. He remembered feeling weak, defenseless, and powerless when he lost his grandfather. Once he was gone, his absence tortured Wyatt — it still did. If something were to go wrong with this surgery, he’d be leaving behind the family he promised to take care of. He couldn’t do that to them — he wouldn’t do that to them.
"Fine, Wy. Well, you better bring the charm to this pretty, young surgeon because you're gonna need all the help you can get if you won't take my advice or the doctor's either. You know, you're making life very hard for all of us."
"Have a little faith in me, Gabe, and stop stressing so much, I know how much you hate wrinkles, pretty boy."
"Fuck you, Wy. Try to be serious."
"Oh, I'm serious all right. Completely. Ever since Dallas traded me, nothing's gone right."
"It wasn't going that well in Dallas, either."
"True. But if I want to get this two-year contract renewed, I can't be off the map with a surgery for months."
Wyatt knew that he had no intention of ever having surgery, but he wasn’t going to tell Gabe that.
"Avoiding surgery alone might not fix it. Word is, they've got their eye on a new backup for you. And he's supposed to be ruthless."
"What the fuck? Who is it?"
"I'm still trying to get his name. Everyone has suddenly clammed up on me, and you know that's never good."
"You think he's really my replacement?"
"Possibly."
"And what if they do end up kicking me off as starting QB here?"
"I'm testing the waters with some other teams, but with your shoulder and it being your third team in however many years, you may need to drop down to back-up somewhere."
"And lose all that money and likely blow my shot of a broadcasting gig. You know that's where the stability is. I've got to think about my family. My mom, Claudia, my abuela…I'm all they have."
"Fine, if that's the way you see it, just be careful. I know you're desperate, but this doesn't seem like you, man."
"No. It's not me. Not, at all. But, you said it yourself, man, I'm desperate." And Wyatt couldn't deny that he was. This wasn’t just about his career; it was about the livelihood of everyone that mattered to him. As guilty as he felt for what he was about to do, sometimes you have to do something you hate to protect the people that you love. If it were just about his career, then he would be just like his father — and other than his playing abilities, he was nothing like that piece of shit. This was about keeping promises and seeing things through, no matter how hard or uncomfortable the situation.
"Besides," Wyatt continued as he pulled open the door of his Range Rover, "I've got my dad's blood running through my veins. There must be some of his son-of-a-bitch gene in there to go with all that football DNA. I know I’m as good a player as him."
Wyatt climbed in and started his engine, deliberately avoiding Gabe's disappointed gaze.
As he drove away, a self-loathing grimace marked his lips, but he quickly schooled his face. He let out a deep breath and smiled to himself, planning the delightful text message that he would send to the lovely Dr. Sutherland to share the good news about their upcoming second meeting.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Jenna?" Wyatt called to her softly, his breath fanning across her cheek. "Can you hear me, Jenna?" he added, letting his lips brush against the curves of her ear before leaning back away from her.
"Yes," Jenna answered, shocked to hear that he was using her actual name — no "sugar," no "Doc," just Jenna. It was unnerving.
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