The Comeback Plan (The Harbor Bay Hawks #1)

Chapter 1

BECCA

“Don’t go too hard on the quarterback today, kid?” Joe Remeno, my coworker, leaned toward me, balancing his Styrofoam cup in one hand and his iPad in the other.

I glanced up at the colorful backdrop behind the podium, with the Harbor Bay Hawks team logo carefully centered, surrounded by quotes about teamwork and optimism. “Isn’t that what we’re here for? To get the scoop?”

He let out a soft whistle. “You’ve got fire in you. I’ll give you that. But there is a time and a place for tough questions, and you’re way too young to be burning bridges in this league.”

My jaw tightened at how Joe always needed to remind me of my place. “I didn’t realize asking tough questions was off-limits. I thought that’s what we were here for.”

Joe had been around the sports world longer than I’d been alive, and he never let me forget it. He loved to remind me how things used to be done “back in the day.” What Joe didn’t understand was that more experience didn’t make him better at his job.

He leaned in close, just enough so that I could smell his Old Spice aftershave that reminded me of my grandfather. “Don’t forget, we need access to the QB. I know you’re trying to make a name for yourself, but if you press too hard, Sandler will freeze us out of this pressroom.”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times.” I smiled politely despite the annoyance coursing through me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to find my seat.”

I adjusted my oversized bag, which carried my entire life inside, found a spot in the second row, and sat down. I pulled out my phone and double-checked my notes, even though I had rehearsed the same questions in my head at least a dozen times.

The back door opened, and all the players shuffled in, shoulder to shoulder, still sweaty from practice, dressed in hoodies and track pants. Their broad shoulders filled the room as we all sat up straighter in our seats.

There was one man we were all waiting for.

Nate Sandler. The NFL golden boy and team captain. The man, the city of Harbor Bay, both worshiped and vilified after last season’s championship loss.

He didn’t smile when he sat in the middle of the table. He didn’t need to. He had a way of reassuring fans and the media that he was firmly in control without saying a single word.

“Good afternoon,” he said, pulling his chair closer to the microphone. “I know you all have a lot of questions. I will do my best to answer them.”

The sound of reporters’ voices filled the room. They were all competing for his attention, shouting out their questions at rapid fire. Every reporter was trying to play it safe, tossing softball questions his way. No one wanted to talk about what actually happened.

“How’s the shoulder feeling, Nate?”

“What things have you been working on during training camp?”

“Are you feeling confident about the team’s chances this year?”

Nate fielded the first few questions with short, clipped answers.

Not one person in this room had the balls to ask about that embarrassing loss in the final minutes of the biggest game of his career.

The play that cemented their Super Bowl loss and sent them back to Harbor Bay without a championship ring.

Sandler had been playing great all season. The team appeared unstoppable. The fans could practically smell the victory. Everyone thought the golden boy was going to deliver the trophy. Except he didn’t. He got sacked late in the second quarter, and he never recovered.

Nate didn’t talk to reporters after that loss. He didn’t post on social media. He broke up with his girlfriend, fired his agent and went completely off the radar. Now, everyone was afraid to push too hard. They didn’t want to risk setting him off. No one was holding him accountable.

Joe raised his hand, and Nate called on him next. “Congrats on the start of the new season. The commentators are saying you’re looking sharp at practice. Are you feeling confident about the upcoming season?”

Joe was a world-class suck-up, so it was no surprise that he would start with something soft and fluffy.

Nate leaned forward with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t know if confidence is the right word. I would say I’m more focused on winning games.”

The questions continued and he answered smoothly, telling them exactly what they wanted to hear. Just before the microphone was passed to one of his teammates, I raised my hand.

His eyes met mine. “Yes?”

“Good afternoon.” I stood and smiled. “Becca Hendrix, from Pressbox,” I said, even though he already knew who I was.

I’d been assigned to cover the team for the past three years, but announcing myself felt more professional.

“During the championship game, you got sacked late in the second quarter and struggled for the rest of the night. Did that hit affect you more than it looked, or did something else throw off your rhythm?”

His blue eyes narrowed into slits, but then he quickly recovered.

“Everyone wants there to be a dramatic explanation. I threw a bad pass. We lost. People need to point the finger at someone. So go ahead and point those fingers at me. I didn’t execute when it mattered most. I need to do better. End of story.”

Cameras flashed, and I could tell their PR director was furious with me for going at him so directly.

“You talk a lot about accountability. What about responsibility? There is no disputing that the offensive line fell apart during that second half. How much responsibility do you feel you should carry?”

He flexed his hand along the mic so hard that I was afraid he would crush it.

“I’m not throwing my guys under the bus.

And I think your wording is a little unfair.

These guys battled all year. It never comes down to one position.

You are putting that loss on five guys when there are eleven in every snap.

So, to answer your question about how much responsibility I take, a lot. ”

If there was one button to push, I seemed to be the one who knew where it was.

But as one of the few women in this room, I found it a constant reminder that this was considered a “man’s world.

” I didn’t get the benefit of sucking up with charm without being taken the wrong way.

If I smiled too much, I wasn’t taken seriously.

If I pressed too hard, I came across as unlikable.

So, yeah, maybe I was tough on Nate. But he was the face of the franchise. Everyone went easy on him. He was used to people catering to him. I wasn’t one of them.

I made a few notes while he continued answering questions. Before they could move on to the other players, I raised my hand again.

He tilted his head to the side. “Yes, Ms. Hendrix?”

“Looking back and knowing what you know now, would you do anything different?”

His eyes were sharp and assessing. “I’d throw the pass ten yards longer.

” Laughter broke out, and you could feel the tension subside.

“Seriously. Every decision I make in life is about winning. Unfortunately, that wasn’t my first bad pass, nor will it be my last. We fought hard. It just wasn’t our day.”

I raised my hand, but he cut me off. “I think that’s all for now, sweetheart. We need to move on. Next?”

Sweetheart?

I ground my teeth and forced a polite smile on my face. I had pushed him enough. I didn’t want to agitate him anymore.

“Jaxson,” a reporter from Sports Elite called out to the Hawks’ wide receiver. “How does it feel to be back?”

Jaxson grinned. He was the exact opposite of Nate in every way. He was fun, charismatic, and easy to like. “Feels great and even better knowing I still have a job.”

A couple of laughs echoed through the room.

Another reporter jumped in. “Did you do any training during the off-season, or did you relax?”

“I did a little of both. Spent time on the water. Probably ate too much pizza and drank too many beers.” He grinned while patting his belly.

I shook my head as more laughter rippled across the room.

Darius James, a local reporter, held up his mic. “Do you think you have what it takes to win this season with Sandler as your quarterback?”

Jaxson didn’t even hesitate. “Nate’s locked in. He’s focused. There is no one I trust more than him to get the job done. I think I speak for everyone on the team when I say that we’re ready, excited, and hungry for a win.”

Ryder Holbrook, the team’s number one tight end, leaned into the microphone. “You’d better start telling everyone to buy their tickets now, before the prices start going up, because we’re about to make Sundays fun again.”

Every team had players that kept the pressroom fun. For the Hawks’ organization, it was Jaxson and Ryder. They had a talent for breaking the tension with playful jab’s but knew exactly when to dial it back. Their personalities balanced out all the negativity and drama.

The press conference wrapped up quickly after that. Nate walked out of the room with the rest of the team with the same quiet energy he came in with. The reporters all broke out into smaller groups, while some chased down whatever player they could get a last-minute quote from.

I jotted down a few notes and started gathering my things. My friend Ember’s text flashed across my screen.

Ember

Damn woman! That was brutal.

I bit my bottom lip and texted back.

Me

He can handle a few tough questions.

Ember

He looked torn on whether he should kiss you or strangle you.

I rolled my eyes.

Me

He’s annoying.

Ember

Don’t forget, handsome.

I closed my phone and shoved it in my bag before she could send me another text.

I adjusted my laptop bag over my shoulder and headed for the exit.

My feet paused once they reached the door.

As my luck would have it, Nate was right there, leaning against the doorframe like he’d been waiting for me.

His dark gaze swept over me. It was intimidating and probably the same look he gave his opponents on the field.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The hallway hummed with distant voices and maintenance carts squeaking along the floor, but all the noise seemed to fade into a distant blur.

He was tall, so tall that I straightened my posture to hold his gaze.

His quiet stance was throwing me off, and I could feel my nerves getting the best of me.

“Good to see you again, Ms. Hendrix. Although I almost forgot what it was like being on the receiving end of one of your interrogations. Have you ever considered easing into the hard questions instead of going straight for the jugular?”

Clearly, somebody’s feathers were ruffled.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, but I’d rather be direct and not throw softball questions. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. I figured you would appreciate that.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m starting to think you enjoy making me uncomfortable. I’m not sure if I should be concerned or impressed.”

This was the exact reason why I couldn’t go easy on him. He was used to charming his way out of everything. He needed to understand that it wouldn’t work on me.

I took a step back, trying to put a little distance between us. “You know I’m just doing my job, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s funny how your job involves making mine harder.”

I lifted a brow. “You’re the star quarterback. I think you can handle a little pressure.”

He tilted his head slightly and crossed his arms. “I can handle it. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Of course, he didn’t like it. He was used to reporters treating him with kid gloves and kissing his ass.

“I don’t play favorites. Everyone gets the same questions. I’m sorry if you were expecting special treatment.”

His gaze dipped down to my mouth. “You might want to save some of this post-game charm for the other players.”

I narrowed my eyes, feeling the tension grow between us. Every interaction with him felt like a verbal tennis match, with neither one of us interested in backing down. “I’m not treating you any differently. You’re getting the same version of me everyone else gets. It’s called being fair.”

He chuckled. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”

“Please don’t. This isn’t personal. I take my work very seriously.”

He eyed me up and down. “You’re as ruthless as I remember. Sometimes you make me regret showing up at the press conferences.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, feeling a blush take over my cheeks.

“It wasn’t meant to be one.”

Then he pushed off the wall and sauntered away, leaving me standing there, watching him like an idiot. My heart was beating so fast that I had to remind myself that it was just a conversation.

The man was smug and confident, and he somehow managed to get on my nerves. I wasn’t one of those women who were easily impressed. So why the hell was I smiling?

Damn him.