Booty and the Beast, page 29
The one that I loved.
The one I would never forgive.
The tears fell. I hadn’t practiced those. They came naturally, revealing everything. Made it look damned convincing that I was fucking heartbroken.
No pretending it. No mistaking it.
I sure as hell wouldn’t have to worry about Mom setting me up with anyone else now.
Because there was no one else in the world for me.
No one but Nick.
24
Nick
Our season opener was slotted as an away game.
On a Monday night.
Broadcast on national television.
In less than twenty-four hours, I’d take the field in front of sixty-five thousand angry fans of our division rivals, the Atwood Monarchs.
But I loved the pressure.
I knew what the game meant. Not just to the team, but to me.
We played on the national stage, with all eyes on me. I’d earned my starting position, and the offense depended on me. It was enough to make a lesser man crack, but I wasn’t worried.
For the first time in my life, I needed a distraction.
I needed to stop thinking about her.
We’d flown halfway across the country, and yet it wasn’t nearly far enough to ease the pain of leaving behind the only source of happiness that wasn’t a ball in my hand or an open field in front of me.
I hadn’t made a mistake ending it.
But that didn’t make it any easier.
The team doubled up on occupants for each hotel room. Mine was empty when I got there. I dumped my stuff on the far bed. Didn’t have a lot to bring with me. Clothes for the ride. Toiletries. Though now, with the new contract, I finally had money to blow on fancy luggage with working wheels and no holes. I’d also bought a suit. Couldn’t jump onto a plane looking like a hobo while the rest of the team wore crisp Armani suits.
I had nothing else with me. No good luck charms. No photographs. My phone sat silent with no calls or texts.
It was exactly what I’d wanted. A simple life. No complications. Just me, the game, and a constant desire for improvement.
Why was it so fucking lonely?
The door opened. Jack Carson hauled his luggage inside, immediately unpacked, and placed a portrait of his wife and kids on the nightstand.
“If you were any other man, I would order you to give me the bed by the window,” Jack said.
It didn’t matter to me which bed was mine. I wasn’t getting any sleep anyway.
“And if you were any other man, I’d let you share,” I said.
“Good thing you’re not that desperate.”
“Not yet, at least.”
Jack had waited for the privacy of the room before he dared to loosen his tie—one of his wife’s rules. As his PR representative, she had her hands full. A tie was the least of her concerns when it came to Jack, but he’d done what he could to make life easier on her. And if that meant staying presentable until the doors locked, he’d behave.
Started to think he would do anything for her. I wanted to relate, but I wasn’t as good a man as Jack Carson.
“What are you doing in this room?” I asked.
“I switched,” he said.
“Should I be flattered?”
“Depends on what you do to me tonight.”
I respected the quarterback, but the occasional slap on the ass for a good play was a far as I wanted to take it.
“I…was hoping we would just sleep,” I said.
Jack waved away my concern. “Usually I bunk with Lachlan. Unfortunately, he’s a cuddler.”
More information than I needed. I dug through my bag until I found my headphones and wedged them in my ears.
“Don’t you guys have two beds?” I asked.
Jack didn’t drink anymore, but he chugged sparkling water by the six-pack. He offered me something grapefruit flavored. I would’ve rather shared his bed than drink that piss.
“Lachlan’s problem is that he can’t stay still, even when asleep. He sleepwalks.” Jack groped the air with his hands. “Sleephumps, really. Let’s just say his wife is a very lucky lady. Me? Not so much.”
Fair enough. “You’re welcome to the bed.”
“Thanks. It’ll be nice having a bunkmate I won’t have to tie down.”
“Save the rough stuff for later this season.” I laced my sneakers and grabbed a bottle of water. “I’ll be back.”
Jack checked his watch. “Where the hell are you going?”
“I can’t sleep. I’m gonna go work out.”
“Now?”
“Why not?”
“Pregame jitters?”
Hardly. “No. I just want to get out there and play. I’m too amped to sleep.”
Jack collapsed on the bed, his arms tucked behind his head. “I get it. I used to feel the same way.”
Then he’d understand why I wanted to go run a couple miles on the treadmill. At least, I thought he would.
Jack called to me before I reached the door.
“I used to have the same shit way of coping with it too,” he said.
Who was coping? “I know. I remember the tabloids.”
“It was more than what those hacks published,” Jack grinned. “They got a lot right, but they missed some of the worst of it. I used to think that the only way I’d enjoy being a professional quarterback was if I lived life to the fullest—which meant blitzing my own ass every night.”
He had built quite a reputation doing it, then spent the next four years undoing all the damage he had caused.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I tapped every ass, drank every beer, and blessed the hottest clubs in Ironfield with my presence every night.” He didn’t sound proud of it. “And you saw what that got me.”
“A hell of a lot of trouble.”
“And not nearly as much fulfillment as I’d hoped.”
He should’ve had this talk with the other rookies. “You don’t gotta worry about that shit with me.”
Jack grinned. “That’s what I like about you, Walk-On. You’re one of those straight-laced guys. You keep your nose out of trouble, your eyes on the prize, and your hands to yourself.”
“That’s right.”
Jack let the silence hang. “And how’s that working out for you?”
I gestured over the hotel room. “Well, I’m currently rooming with the quarterback of the reigning champions. I’m starting as wide receiver tomorrow in front of the entire country on Monday Night Football. I’ve got a million dollars coming my way, and interviews with six different media outlets in the morning. Oh, and today, a kid asked me for my autograph. I’d say I got my shit together.”
He agreed. “Nothing can stop you.”
“Hasn’t yet.”
Jack never went far without a football. He pulled one from his suitcase and twisted it in his hands. “The coaches can’t touch you. The haters can’t doubt you. And, sure as hell, no defense will ever catch you. You’ve proven that you’re every bit the man you said you were.”
I didn’t like his tone. “I proved that to everyone.”
“You’re still a cocky son of a bitch.”
“The team doesn’t pay me to be humble.”
“And now that you’ve tasted success, nothing’s going to get in your way. Not the team. Not the league. Not the assholes who never gave you a chance.” Jack paused. “Not even a woman.”
I squeezed the water bottle. The plastic crinkled, and water squirted out from under the cap.
“What the hell is your point?” I asked.
“No point. I’m just impressed. A man can get pretty far when he won’t let happiness stop him.”
“Cut the shit.”
“The only thing that can stop you now is yourself.” Jack tossed the football at me. “And I bet that’s burning you up inside.”
I caught it with a grunt. Maybe Lachlan was the one who lucked out on losing Jack.
“The only person who can stop you now is you,” Jack said. “The only person who can make things difficult for you is you. And the only person who can ruin everything that you achieve now is you.”
I tossed the ball, harder than necessary. “Glad somebody finally understands.”
And yet, he didn’t. And he had no problem looking me in the eye while he said it.
“You beat all the expectations, Nick. Fuck, you made professional coaches look like idiots. You turned the media into a circus. You showed everyone. Now you’re on top.”
“So what?”
“There’s a lot of risk with being on top,” Jack said. “Most notably, you’re alone. If you fail, you’ve got no one to blame it on. No other reason that you didn’t succeed.”
He didn’t know a goddamned thing about me, or he would’ve realized I had faced the same odds every day of my life and had come out on top.
“You don’t think I realize what an opportunity this is?” I asked. “You have no idea what I sacrificed to get to this point in my life.”
“I know exactly what you sacrificed. And I know what type of man you are now, because I couldn’t have done the same thing.”
“Does that make me a good man or a bad man?”
“It makes you stupid.” Jack shrugged. “But you know my past. I’m no one to judge. But I’ll tell you this—you’re going to be one of the greatest goddamned receivers to play in this league.”
So why did he preach it like a warning?
The irritation wore my patience. “So, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, you still don’t believe it. And you’re never going to believe it. You’ll think the only way to make it is by sacrificing everything to keep what you have.” Jack amused himself, tossing the ball in the air for him to catch. “The panic will set in soon, Nick. I guarantee it. You’re gonna wake up one night in a cold sweat, look around, and realize there is nothing left for you to do to prepare yourself for what’s ahead. Sit-ups won’t do shit. Lifting another ten pounds won’t matter. Studying the playbook won’t do a damned thing because you’ll be able to see every page with your eyes shut. That’s the day it all comes crashing down, and the pressure breaks you.”
“I don’t break easily.”
“All men break. It’s just a matter of waiting it out.” Jack smirked. “But, by then, this entire experience—this privilege—will have passed you by. And you won’t know what the fuck went wrong with your life until it’s over.”
Enough of the dire prophecies. I hadn’t met any challenge I couldn’t handle yet. And I wasn’t going to piss my pants just because the great prophet Jack Carson told me a scary story before bed.
“You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”
Jack took the bait. “Of course, I do. Because I was you, five years ago.”
What a crock of shit. “Don’t patronize me.”
“My first couple years in the league, I wrestled with the insecurity that keeps you running to the gym late at night. You work out. I went out at night, got drunk, and came home with a different girl on each arm. That was how I coped with the pressure. Like I was trying to wring every ounce of enjoyment out of this life before it got taken away from me.”
Regret shadowed his words.
But that wouldn’t sway me.
“I’m not you, Jack.”
“You’re also not stupid,” he said. “You know how good you are on the field. But you also know how easily this can all get taken away. Not a lot of players have that perspective. You have more talent and brains than most of the men on this team, and it’s because you work so hard for it.”
I extended my arms. “Then why are you giving me shit for it?”
“Because men like us don’t know what to do when we aren’t challenged. We don’t know how to handle that pressure. We act out. We do stupid shit. Or, in your case, you don’t do anything. You retreat. You hide inside yourself and take no risks because you can’t afford the chance.”
I disagreed. “That’s pragmatism. Not cowardice.”
“It’s fucked up, and you know it. If you’re going to go down this path, you’ll end up in the same place I did. Alone. Miserable. Searching for an outlet in all the wrong places.” Jack ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I like you, Nick. I want to see you do well. And sure, that’s selfish of me. If you do good, it makes me look even better. But the last thing I want is to see you blow your brains out at thirty-five because you’re done with football and had nothing else in your life.”
“I have plenty in my life besides football,” I lied.
“What happened with Charisma Cassidy?”
Jesus Christ. Jack was my quarterback, and I would listen to his play calling in the huddle, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to answer to him about her.
“I’ve gotta go work out,” I said.
Jack called to me before I stormed from the room. “A normal man wouldn’t let a booty that perfect just get away.”
Let her get away?
No. I pushed her away. I ruined everything that I might’ve had with her now for a chance to give her what she deserved later.
“It’s not what you think,” I said. “So drop it.”
“Guys like us need someone in our life.”
“I’ve never needed anyone.”
Jack stood, offering me the photo on the nightstand. His wife smiled, a candid shot. A little boy crawled over her shoulder while she held three squirming, giggling, grinning triplets in her lap. The woman was a goddamned saint, but that didn’t mean he was right.
“And that’s how I know you really do need somebody. My life changed when I finally had someone look me in the eye, slap me across the cheek, and tell me that I was being the biggest idiot alive.”
Good to know that a blow to the face would shut him up.
“What’s that got to do with me?” I asked.
“Everything. You need her, otherwise, you’re going to wake up five years from now and realize that this league has destroyed you. You’ll have concussions. Torn muscles. Injuries. You’ll wake up every morning, bruised, broken, and desperate. And it’s not like the team’s going to do shit for you. The league won’t care about you. And the money isn’t enough to console you. You’ll be desperate for companionship, because, believe me, the people you’ll meet now are jackals. The women only want cash. The endorsement deals just want to sell you. New friends will only ever tell you what you want to hear, not what you need. You think you’re alone right now? You have no fucking idea what the world’s going to do to you once you’re sitting on top of it and you’re getting fucked by everyone except the one girl you can’t live without.”
I wouldn’t let the man dissuade me. I’d made my choice.
And it was the right one for me and Charisma.
“Thanks, but I can handle myself.” I grabbed my bag, but Jack ripped it from my grip.
“I thought I could handle it too, but I was wrong. Sit your ass down and listen to what I have to tell you.”
I didn’t need this shit.
But I wasn’t about to jeopardize everything just to spare my pride.
“I broke it off with her,” I said. “Okay? That was the best thing I could do. I couldn’t manage the team and her at the same time.” The truth hurt worse than any hit on the field. “For Christ’s sake, I was getting calls from collection agencies. Hiding my truck so they couldn’t repo it. I had nothing. Nothing to my name, nothing to offer her. This is the only way I can give her anything. I’ll play the game and make the money. Then I can devote myself entirely to her. I’ll win her back.”
Jack stared at me in stunned silence. “You’re one hell of a football player, but you’re the biggest dumbass in the world.”
My temper flared. “I’m doing right by her.”
“You might think you made the right decision…” Jack said. “But I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. Every play you run, every block you throw, and every touchdown you score will mean fucking nothing when you realize you’re not playing for yourself anymore.” He pointed at me. “You’re gonna play for her.”
“So what if I am?” I asked. “If it’s more motivation, that’s fine. I’m not going to stop until I’m the best receiver in the league and I have championship rings on my fingers.”
“And then what?”
“Why would I ever worry about what happens next?”
“Because the only thing worse than potentially losing this career is losing her.”
Jack reached into his pocket as his phone rang. A FaceTime call. He answered, grinning like a fool as four little faces crowded onto the screen to say goodnight to their daddy.
He flashed the screen at me, proud as could be.
“Believe me, Nick. You don’t want to wake up one day and realize you’ve got nothing left in this world. Not when the alternative is something so much greater than this damned game.”
25
Charisma
I used to hate that I didn’t travel with the team.
Now, I couldn’t get far enough away.
At least the best seats in the house were usually in my living room, a place where I could do my spreadsheets comfortably. I turned my coffee table into a desk and did one final check of next week’s dietary guidelines.
Unfortunately, it was the first time in years that work felt like…work.
When I was younger and upset, I buried my worries in ice cream.
When I got older and more rational, I chose carrot sticks and exercise.
Now?
Hell, I was lucky I put on sweatpants.
And I deserved it. This was what I’d wanted. A broken heart. I’d got my wish, and I regretted every minute of it.
The season opener was always exciting, but Monday Nights made the ceremonies even more impressive. Unfortunately, our guys were playing in a notoriously difficult city with vengeful fans and dangerous players. The Rivets lost the coin toss, and I feared the stadium would come down on top of them.
Who was more nervous? Me or the men? My job was done. I had given them everything I could to ensure they were in the best shape possible for this matchup. The rest was up to them, but that didn’t stop the torrent of butterflies from invading my tummy. I gripped a pillow from my couch, digging my nails into the fabric as special teams lined up for the kickoff.
