The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

2. Reading the Cards

2

READING THE CARDS

Beck

I didn’t want to leave my hometown. But if I’m being analytical, San Francisco suits my personality. Los Angeles was too sunny. Too warm. The skies were too blue.

Fog is more my style.

And I’m hoping this one-bedroom furnished apartment will be my style too. This ground-floor place in the Hayes Valley hood is the sixth rental I’ve seen today. Focusing on the necessities of relocating keeps me from obsessing over the enormity of my new job. I’m still shocked over the trade, but if I dwell too long on the massive change, I’ll be up in my head way more than usual.

Good thing I have a long to-do list, starting with picking a new place to live.

Portia, the landlady, shows me around the ground-floor apartment. First, she ferries me into the living room, outfitted with a faux fur bean-bag-style chair. Next, she ushers me to the bedroom, home to a king-size bed, right under a massive window.

She flicks her long, curly brown hair off her shoulder, then waves me closer to the glass. “Come, come. Do you like birds?”

Well, besides Hawks . . .

But I don’t know her football allegiances, and I like the furnished pad so far. “I do,” I say.

“Take a look.” She beckons me again, the swishy sleeves of her maroon dress flowing as she moves.

I cross the room and peer outside at the birdhouses hung on trees and wooden posts in the yard. Finches and sparrows dine on their afternoon snacks. It’s a surprisingly rustic sight in the middle of the city—a homey touch—and it makes me feel welcome.

Something I’ve been looking for.

“But they do sing in the morning,” she adds with a frown. “So if you like to sleep in, that might be an issue. I just wanted you to be aware.” She sounds like she’ll be sad if that’s a deal-breaker for me, but like she couldn’t sleep at night if she didn’t tell me.

“I don’t mind. I’m an early riser,” I say as I gaze at a yellow bird hanging out on top of a mini red barn-style birdhouse.

“Oh, good. I wouldn’t feel right if you were surprised by the chirping one morning,” she says.

“I wouldn’t feel right about myself if I hated the sound of birds singing,” I say drily, appreciating her candor.

“Also, birds are auspicious. We all need a little auspiciousness in our lives, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.”I could use a touch of fortune as I step into my new job.

Since the news hit on Sunday, I’ve been living outside my body, as if I’m watching all these wild events happen to someone else.

You’ve been traded!

You’re moving!

You’re running the offense on the Super Bowl winner!

It’s mind-boggling—this chance—so I laser in on my to-do list. Finding a new home. I step away from the window. “Could you show me the kitchen, please?”

“Absolutely.” As she heads down the hall, she turns and glances, a sneaky smile on her lips. “You have big shoes to fill, Beck. Cooper Armstrong was our city’s GOAT.”

Her team loyalties are quite clear now. “I take it you’re a football fan,” I say evenly. I don’t assume her fangirling of Cooper means she’ll fangirl over me. Cooper’s beloved. I have earned nothing in this town.

“Every Sunday, I host a wine and cheese football party with my friends, and we watch the Renegades. We light candles to bring good fortune to the team. And we read the Tarot cards for the game.”

Wow. That’s a new level of fandom—the candles and the cards, that is.

“I guess they’ve been working,” I say.

She wags a finger at me playfully. “And they better keep working. I have the candles ready for this Sunday.”

Her excitement starts to kick me out of the daze I’ve been in since my agent tracked me down three days ago at the Mercenaries stadium.

Mere minutes after we’d won our first game of the season, I headed through the tunnel, riding the high of the victory, congratulating ángel, the kicker, on his two field goals, when I bumped into my agent, waiting for me in the corridor.

Vaughn hauled me a few feet away, all spiffy in tailored slacks and a dress shirt. “Are you sitting down?”

I snort-laughed. “Dude. I’m right here. Standing in front of you. Are you high?”

“Honestly, a little bit. And you will be too.”

He was giddy to tell me the news. I didn’t believe it.

I still don’t quite believe it. I’ve pinched myself five hundred times in the last three days as I packed up my meager possessions, flew to San Francisco, and checked into a hotel for the first few nights. But picking out a new home makes the change start to feel real.

And sorting out the practical details of my new life here makes the trade feel less... overwhelming.

We reach an arched doorway, and I stop short as I drink in the kitchen. It’s a total hog of a room that gobbles up most of the space in the apartment, like a giant advertisement for size matters . I head in and walk around, running my hand along the counter. The fridge isn’t quite appliance porn, and the stove won’t make a chef moan, but it’ll suit me just fine.

“It’s a good kitchen, isn’t it? You can throw dinner parties here if you want,” Portia says.

Huh. I suppose that’s a thing people do. I’m more of a solo chef.

“I doubt I’ll do that,” I say. I have maybe one person in town to invite: Carter, an outgoing receiver on my new team. I don’t think the rest of the guys on the Renegades are jonesing to come to my dinner party. They want what everyone in this town wants from me—a repeat of last season.

Another shiny, fat ring.

Portia shrugs knowingly. “You might,” she says, hinting like she’s already asked the cards.

But if she had, the cards would be wrong.

“Take your time, Beck,” she adds. “Look around. And if you decide to sign the lease, I’ll give you a discount for every game won.”

Is she serious? But the please say yes look tells me she’s not joking. “Take your time. Think about it. I’ll look out for you,” she says in a kind tone that surprises the hell out of me.

Maybe it shouldn’t.

Maybe this is my new normal, this level of fandom.

But it’s not just that. There’s something about Portia that’s reassuring.She seems to want me to rent so she can protect the new guy in town.

“Thanks, Portia,” I call out. I haven’t had much support in my life lately. Everyone’s far away or gone.

As I putter around the kitchen, opening the fridge, testing the appliances, I’m no longer in a daze. I’m not numb. I’m this shy of... excited for real.

This is happening.

I’m in the limelight.

Fans will cheer, haters will jeer, and I won’t go unnoticed like I often did in Los Angeles, with its laid-back football vibes. Los Angeles has so many sports teams that no one ever got too excited about the Mercenaries. There’s baseball and basketball, plus the beach and the movie stars. They were all more interesting than a sometimes-decent-but-sometimes-not football team that has never won a championship.

Now, I’m the epicenter of a football-obsessed city. I can hear the stomping of feet, the rally cries. I can feel the intense weight of the wild, wonderful, terrifying responsibility of leading this team.

The Renegades are a dynasty, having won four of the last twelve Super Bowls, and they’d already anointed Cooper’s heir when he retired last season. His backup, Trevor Washington, was all set to take the throne. But Trevor tore his shoulder in practice the day before the first game.

Less than twenty-four hours later, they’d traded for me.

It’s humbling and awesome all at once.

I’ve been trying to keep all these feelings in check, but now they’re clawing their way out of me, and I want to tell someone—to say holy shit, this is my life!

My parents are nearly impossible to reach since they relocated to Australia when I was in high school, leaving my brother to finish raising me. My friends in Los Angeles are at work. But Portia’s down the hall.

I march out of the kitchen and find her by the door, fiddling with her phone. She looks up, her hazel eyes expectant.

But I bet she isn’t expecting me to blurt out: “It’s daunting to replace the city’s favorite son.”

She pats my arm warmly. “Aww, honey. You’re going to do great.”

“As long as I win,” I say.

She brings her hand to her chest, alarmed. “Did I make you feel bad? I don’t want to pressure you.”

I shake my head. “The job comes with pressure. It’s literally part of the role. And you didn’t make me feel bad. You’re making me feel welcome. I appreciate that. A lot ,” I say.

I think I need to feel welcome too.

I also need this apartment. I’m still earning the salary of a second-year player who went in the sixth round of the NFL draft.

“I’d like to sign the lease,” I say.

She gasps. “I’m waiving the security deposit right now.”

Well, then. That is an auspicious start.

And finally, I feel a little more like myself again. Like maybe my humor is coming back. Some of my native sarcasm. “By the way, when I said I liked birds, I meant all birds, except Hawks.”

Her eyes gleam. “We’ll get along just fine.”

I move in the same day. It takes all of an hour since I have no furniture, only suitcases.

So, there’s something checked off my list: unpack.

I grab my phone from the kitchen counter to text Carter.

The day I was traded, he reached out to welcome me. So I wouldn’t have to start from zero, the Renegades wide receiver told me about his fave restaurants and hangouts in town, and his gym. I joined it this morning.

I’m heading to the gym in thirty minutes. Up for a workout?

His reply is instant. Dude, you’re a mind-reader. I’m walking over there now. I’ll be doing cardio and weights because I have this badass new quarterback, and I want to impress him.

I laugh, rolling my eyes as I grab my gym shorts from the bureau. I think it might be the other way around. I need to impress you and the other guys.

That is true. Better get here soon , he writes.

I’ll be there in thirty.

I tug on my workout clothes, reviewing my game plan as I get dressed.

I’ll work out, then devise a plan to find Jason McKay.

That’s the hardest task of all. The one that makes my stomach churn.

But my brother, Griffin, taught me to own my fuckups, and this one still hangs heavily over my head.

I need to find Jason so I can apologize for last year. I desperately wanted to explain then why I didn’t show up at his house, and I still want to explain it to him now.

Jason never returned any more of my texts, though. After his it’s all good and best of luck , he went radio silent.

I don’t want to start the season with bad blood with my local rival, especially when I’m the new guy in town.

But even now, one year later, just the thought of Jason still makes me shiver.

The things we did in his kitchen have taken prime real estate in my mind for the last three hundred and sixty-five days. I don’t need porn when I have the clip of him and me bookmarked.

But another hookup is not in the cards, and I don’t need Portia to tell me that.