by Tricia Lynne
Time for a little fun. “Hey, rook. I want the third seat in the eleventh row.” Truthfully, I didn’t even know where the seat was. I pointed at him. “You let anyone else sit there, I’ll make you hand-wash my compression shorts after practice for a week.”
He sent me a salute, shifting his backpack. Too bad the guys behind him heard me. They knew what was up. They were about to make his life miserable for the next hour, and my compression shorts would gleam like an ad for Clorox.
Not able to resist, I called Lily again. It went straight to voicemail. I didn’t bother. Hanging up, I texted her instead.
Brody: We need to talk, Lil.
Brody: I miss you.
The three dots appeared only to disappear a few seconds later. They didn’t pop back up again.
Staring at the ceiling, I banged my head against the wall behind me. Suddenly, I wasn’t much in the mood for the rookie talent show. I went back to my room and grabbed my lifting stuff. Time to punish myself.
Why didn’t you explain to her who the girls are, dumbass?
Because I was wrapped up in my own butt hurt. Lily didn’t trust blindly, and she had good reason. Thing was, I knew how bad it looked to Lil, but a small part of me wanted her to give me the benefit of the doubt. Not fall back on her media-soaked idea of who I was. I wanted her to see me, who I was now, not who I’d been once upon a time.
I didn’t know, maybe I was asking too much. It was one thing to see it in a magazine. It was something else to be slapped in the face with it in my apartment. If roles had been reversed, I’d have been just as closed off. In fact, I was. Lily was pissed but she’d tried to give me a chance to explain and I hadn’t. I’d never had to explain myself to someone else like that. When I was with Andra, I didn’t have the player reputation then. And before Lily, I honestly didn’t give a single fuck what anyone thought of the reputation I’d earned post-Andra, either. Lily deserved an explanation at the very least—if she chose not to believe me, it was on her.
The weight room was empty except for a couple of trainers working out with Devon. He gave me a nod when I walked in, but I tapped the earbud in my ear, letting him know to leave me alone.
Wrapping my wrists, I stacked plates on the shoulder press and took my seat, anticipating the routine of it all. The space it gave me to think. The time to sort shit out. After pulling up my lifting playlist, I found my hand placement on the bar and hoisted over my head.
One. Two. Three...
I was falling for Lily Costello, and it scared the shit out of me. It fucked with my grand plan, didn’t it. After all, it would be a shit-ton easier to let her make the decision to let me go than it would for me to decide between football and Lily. I wasn’t naive enough to believe that if we continued down this path, our relationship would never get out. It would eventually, and it would be the end of my run with the Bulldogs. But was I even ready to give up football for a woman who seemed to think the worst of me? Would I always have to explain myself to her or would she ever give me the benefit of the doubt? That’s why I’d hesitated to tell her who Erica and Staci were. If she didn’t trust me, it would be a lot easier for both of us to walk away now. Before our relationship got out, my dream of retiring with the Bulldogs went in the shitter and I’d lost both my job and my heart in one fell swoop.
Half growling, I pushed off the bench to stack more weight on.
Was that six or seven plates? Eh.
Must have been an uneven number because when I lifted the bar the left side felt heavier. Whatever.
One. Two. Three...
I had this insistent part of me that believed when Lily got what she needed from me, she’d take off. Would she even need me anymore if I didn’t play football?
That’s when it happened.
It felt like somebody bumped the left side of the weight bar while I had it in the air. The bar listed to the left halfway above my head. My hand slipped, and I tightened my shoulders, reflexively.
POP!
Pain rocketed up my neck and down my arm. My ears started to ring, and my field of vision narrowed. I let the bar go, and it tumbled to the floor, but I barely registered the ruckus it made. Instead, today’s early practice ran through my head.
We’d been running scenarios and were only supposed be going at seventy-five percent speed.
I called a new blitz. The play did what it was designed to do, creating a hole in the offensive line. The left guard read it and saw me coming.
We were both going harder than we should. Both twitchy for some real contact. He grabbed for the chest piece of my shoulder pads. I used a swim move to get around on him, throwing my left arm up and over his helmet.
But somehow his foot ended up on top of mine. The guard’s weight shifted funny, but he’d managed to get ahold of a part of my pads. Brian rolled to my left on his way down, taking me with him. I landed on my left side, my left arm extended all the way out over my head, and all 320 pounds of writhing guard on top of it.
I lay there a minute and took stock. I heard two little pops and my shoulder hurt plenty, but it was fine.
I got up and walked away. Brian didn’t. Broken ankle.
Now, I thought maybe I should have told someone about those two little pops earlier.
Slowly the ringing subsided and I heard Devon talking to me. “Brody, I’m sorry, man. My shirt...it got stuck on the bar. Shit, get Dr. Chase.”
Ugh, not that fucking guy.
The pain wasn’t the same as when I’d dislocated. That had felt wrong on so many levels. This felt more like soft tissue. It wasn’t nearly as deep.
“Devon, stop. It was an accident. It’s not your fault.”
In the medical room, Dr. Douche gave me a shot of some painkiller and took films then sent me to the recovery room to ice it. I sat there like nothing. Just waiting to hear if my career was over. I didn’t think so. I was moving okay. It just ached.
Half an hour later my ice had melted, and I hadn’t heard anything. Sitting up from the table, I went to find out what was going on. Outside the PT room and down a hall, I finally heard the first voices.
I didn’t think anything of it when I stood poised to knock and heard Dr. Chase say my name, or even when Dick’s voice came from the other side of the door. But when I heard Lily’s name, I pulled my fist back.
Why the hell would they be talking about Lily?
The voices were muffled, but it was definitely Doc, Dick, and someone else, a voice that was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“That girl’s a pain,” Dick said. “What...about Shaw?”
I was only getting bits and pieces of sentences.
“...some hyperextension...” Dr. Douche responded.
“... I need...sidelined,” Dick said, but I missed so much of it I couldn’t make heads or tails. Were they going to sideline me? My heartrate kicked into a gallop.
“...on the bench,” Doc answered. “...it’s a separation... X-ray or MRI. I’ll put him in an immobilizer.”
Okay, a separated shoulder. That wasn’t too bad. It would take a little time to heal, but it wasn’t a career killer. I might even make it back for the season opener.
“But... Lily...insurance.” That from Doctor Douche. Again, with Lily. What the hell did she have to do with any of this?
“That was smart...real dedication, son,” Dick intoned.
Then the third voice spoke up. It was also the hardest to hear. I pressed in close. “...lose my job...” He kept going but I could only make out the last few words, and I wasn’t even sure of those. “...stepdaughter, you’d overlook this.”
There was more after that, but the rest was so mashed up, I couldn’t make anything out. I knew I should walk away. Go back to the treatment room before I got caught, but when I heard Chase’s voice again, I stayed put. “How?”
“...said it...” That from the th
ird voice.
Dick’s next string of sentences were so tangled all I could make out was “proof” at the end of his sentence.
“I got it,” Doc replied. “... Lily’s fiancé...dust settles.”
“Let me... Lily’s fiancé soon,” Dick responded.
Lily’s fiancé. What the fuck? She never told me she was with someone. And how the hell could that possibly be tied to my shoulder?
Motherfucker. She’s gotta be taking you for a ride.
But it wasn’t anger that welled in me, it was hurt. A good old-fashioned ache in my chest that made my stomach drop to my feet.
“This is bullshit, right here.” A new voice cut through—a woman, who must have been right next to the door. I didn’t have any trouble understanding her. “You guys are screwing with people’s lives for a damn game, and he’s hiding something. That little prick is shady as hell.”
Dick’s voice got louder, clear as a bell. I could almost see his face, all scrunched up and red. “You’ll do your goddamned job and keep your mouth shut, or I’ll toss you out on your pretty little ass!”
When I heard a hand hit the doorknob, I folded around the corner into the recess. The door slammed, and at the last minute, she spotted me as she passed, her mouth drawn in a grim line.
I didn’t blame her. Mariana Lopez was the team’s Public Relations Manager, and this team had been one dumpster fire after another lately.
Slipping back into the PT room, I hopped up on the table. Was it possible Lily wasn’t the person I thought she was? There were too many secrets. Too much she was keeping from me. Never mentioning she was engaged? I was falling in love with a woman that belonged to someone else.
I was trying not to go there in my head, but it sure as hell sounded like Lily could be playing me. Dick would give his left nut to get me out of here. It was a little farfetched, but I’d heard of crazier shit happening in this league.
Dr. Douche pulled open the medical room door carrying an immobilizer. I couldn’t even look at Chase. How the hell did he know Lily’s fiancé and why the hell would it come up in the same conversation as my shoulder?
His voice cut through, his face covered with disdain. This man truly hated me.
The feeling was mutual.
“Separated. Rest and ice. We’ll reevaluate in four weeks. You can take the brace off to shower, but it stays on otherwise, with the exception of PT. No workouts. No practices. You’re going to miss the season opener at least. Pack your bags. We’re sending you home.”
I cocked my head. “You sure? It doesn’t feel that bad. A little achy, but usable.”
“I have the medical degree here. What I say on player health is final. I’m going to tell your coach now. Check in with the office to get a flight home.”
This was bullshit. Everybody knew what Dick said was final, not the doctor.
After a trainer helped me get the immobilizer on, I headed for my room to shove my stuff in a duffel. I pulled my playbook into my lap, flipping through pages. I’d designed several of these plays myself. Me and the defensive coordinator. I knew them like the back of my hand.
Dick would never release me outright because my contract was guaranteed—if they fired me, they’d have to pay me out for the last two years of it. I was valuable in a trade, too. But they couldn’t do that unless I violated the conduct clause. Did they have enough to enforce it, or was Lily the missing piece?
* * *
Dallas had insisted on the clause with my first contract.
I’d screwed up bad my senior year of college. I got into a fight with a guy harassing a drunk girl at a party. I’d missed the last three games of the season, including the national championship, and scouts labeled me a troublemaker. It had cost me several places in the draft.
The clause was based on a strike system. If I behaved in a manner that violated our code of conduct, they could trade me. We’d never bothered pulling the clause out of subsequent contracts.
Right up until I banged the owner’s granddaughter.
Technically, I wasn’t in violation for that because it wasn’t public knowledge. But it did put me at the top of the owner’s shit list. Then the fantasy suite happened. Strike one. CC bit the sitter who decided to sue me, and I refused to put CC down. Strike two. If Dick knew about me screwing his apparently engaged stepdaughter, he’d get his strike three.
It was time to call my agent.
As I was about to hit her contact, Hayes smacked my foot and mimed pulling out my buds. “What?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?” I wasn’t in the mood to play guessing games.
“Wait, what happened to your shoulder?”
I balled a fist next to my leg and told him the story. “Chase said it’s a separation, but it doesn’t feel bad.”
“How long?” He pulled the chair from the desk and turned it to face me.
“Four weeks. Then reevaluate. They’re sending me home, dude.”
“Shit.” Knees on his elbows, he dropped his head. “I really don’t want to tell you this now.”
“Spit it out, Walker.”
“Go to Sportsworld’s home page.”
Navigating to their home page on my phone, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Fuck me running.”
This was going to go down as one of the worst days of my life.
A woman from the fantasy suite was suing the team and the individual players. She was a Bulldogs employee and claiming sexual harassment. She’d named every player in attendance that night.
There was one problem. I wasn’t there when things got dirty. I’d never even spoken to this woman before. I’d never seen her at the Bulldogs headquarters, even.
Yet, here I was.
Guess I’d be calling my lawyer before I called my agent.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cupid is an asshole.
Lily
“Oh shit!” Whoops. Still at the training center, I slapped a hand over my mouth.
Brody was in it up to his eyeballs. In fact, the entire Bulldogs organization was in trouble from the looks of it. Olive had sent me the link as soon as the news broke. This woman who worked for the Bulldogs wasn’t playing around. I didn’t presume to know what actually took place in the fantasy suite, but this didn’t sound like Brody.
I probably should have felt relieved that I’d dodged a bullet with him by getting out with minimal damage to my heart. Or so I’d thought. Apparently, when I’d dodged the bullet, I’d stepped into cupid’s arrow.
Little asshole.
I couldn’t get Brody out of my thoughts and had no idea how to harden my outer shell again. Deep down, I think I knew that the floodgates were open. Instead of the relief I thought I should feel, my heart hurt for him and what he was going through right now.
Brody may have been a manwhore, but he wasn’t a predator.
“Lily, you have someone asking for you in the shop.” Startling in my chair, I scowled at the breakroom speaker and I shoved my cell into my pocket.
“Okay. Be right there.” Probably a student with a question.
When I walked into the shop, my jaw hit my chest.
The last people I’d ever expected to see: the Doublemint twins.
They weren’t half dressed this time, either. Erica had on a red power suit with black patent heels, and Staci wore yoga pants and a T-shirt that said The Boxing Academy—Head Trainer.
They both smiled, warmly.
“Umm, hey. Does one of you have a dog or something?”
Erica shook her head. “No, we were hoping to talk to you. Is there someplace we can go?”
“Okaaaay.” I motioned for them to follow and led them past the agility rings to the door at the back of a storage area that led to a staff picnic table. “So...”
“So,” Staci repeated. She seemed
overeager, almost jumpy. “How have you been? Have you heard from Brody?”
I met her question with a glare. “We’ve texted about CC. That’s it. If you’re here to pump me for info—”
“Oh, God no. Sorry!”
Erica interjected. She was the calm one. All business. “I apologize for my wife, Lily. She tends to say whatever comes to mind.”
Uh, WIFE?
“Oh. You two are together?”
Staci nodded. “Married four years next month.” She took Erica’s hand and held it in her own.
Ohmygod, did they bring Brody in for threesomes or something? I really didn’t want to know that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I just didn’t particularly need to think about him having one with other women.
Erica set a manicured hand on top of mine. “We’re not in an open relationship, darling. We’re very much monogamous.”
I was both mortified and felt instant relief wash over me in a way that told me I didn’t think I was falling for Brody Shaw. I knew it in my soul.
“We’re Brody’s neighbors,” Staci put in. “We watch things when he’s gone. The picture you saw in the magazine—that was of a man who’s like a big brother taking us out for Erica’s birthday.” She turned to her wife. “A good man treating two friends to a night on the town. That’s it.”
Erica nodded her agreement. “I know what it looked like when I answered the door. If it had been Staci with two half-naked women, I wouldn’t have handled it well at all. It would have involved hair pulling. We’d just finished a workout, and dropped by to tell Brody goodbye before he left for camp. We let ourselves in,” she said. “Should have called first. Lily, we wanted you to hear this from us. We don’t see Brody that way. He’s family.”
“Besides, his equipment is all wrong.” Staci made an eww face. “All that man junk jumbled about on the outside. Just, no. Seriously, we’d be more inclined to invite you over for a threesome.”