The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

42. Throw Down

42

THROW DOWN

Jason

Sometimes the owners call a meeting with their players. Rarely do the players call a meeting with the owners.

But two rival quarterbacks falling in love is rare.

After I called Nadia and told her it was urgent we meet, she said she and Wilder would make time for us immediately.

We walk into his office. I sit on the couch, and Beck sits next to me, shoulders tall.

Wilder and Nadia have claimed the blue chairs, and she clears her throat. “Hey, guys. Thanks for reaching out. I’m guessing this isn’t about Ding and Dine?” Her tone is kind but professional as she feels us out.

“Or the auction?” Wilder asks.

“It’s not about either of those,” Beck says, then turns to me—my cue to take over.

On the drive over, we talked about how to do this. We agreed I’d take the lead only because I’ve been in the league for five years. I’ve had more experience with management.

“We’re together,” I say, then add, “Romantically.” Just so we’re crystal clear.

Nadia blinks.

Wilder frowns.

That’s not an auspicious start, but I power on. “We’ve been together pretty much the whole season,” I add.

Wilder jerks up a hand as a stop sign. “Whoa. What? The whole season?”

Here’s how you knock a smooth-talking man off-kilter: confess to a secret romance.

“Yes. Since the night after we won in Texas,” Beck adds.

Oh, hell. That’s hot. Just dropping his win into the convo.

Beck keeps going. Screw the script. “And almost the entire season in which I took the team to a thirteen-three record, with two games left to go, and a playoff berth. We’ve also maintained last year’s record-breaking attendance when your Hall of Fame, Super-Bowl-winning quarterback, played his last season, drawing packed houses. We haven’t lost a beat.” Then he rattles off his passer rating, one of the best in the league, his completions, also one of the best, and his touchdowns, near the top too.

The hair on my arms stands on end. Is this my boyfriend? Throwing down his impeccable stats before the team owner?

Yes. Yes, it is. And I am going to reward him in bed tonight.

“And the Hawks are going to the postseason too,” I point out, but who cares what I have to say? Beck already dropped the mic. And his record is a smidge better than mine, so that’s all I have to add.

“And we’re thrilled,” Nadia says to me, her eyes narrowing. Not in anger—more in contemplation. “I honestly wasn’t sure we’d make it this year... for various reasons.” She’s not going to dive into team woes in front of Wilder, though I’m sure he can read between the lines. “But you’ve played great, Jason.”

Wilder turns to the guy by my side. “So have you, Beck. But I’m just surprised. I didn’t see this coming, and I’m pretty perceptive.”

Nadia rolls her eyes, stifling a scoff. “Oh, please.”

“What?” he asks.

“You didn’t have an inkling? Their chemistry is incredible,” she says.

I peek at Beck. He’s mostly stoic, but a smile slips through.

“I thought it was just... banter and trash talk. Like you and I have. We’re not a thing.”

“No kidding. I’m married!” she says, brandishing her baseball-sized diamond ring.

“But that’s my point, Nadia. People might say we have chemistry because of our rivalry, but we’re not together.”

“And our quarterbacks are together. Focus on that, Wilder. Not on your astonishing lack of radar. We have guys to take care of.”

Scolded, he returns his gaze to us. “What do you need from us?” The question is earnest and absolutely wonderful.

But I still have to ask a painful question. This has been my biggest fear of all. “Are you going to let me go?” I ask Nadia.

Beck turns to Wilder. “I kind of have the same question,” he says quietly.

Wilder barks out a laugh. “No. Not for this. I don’t let players go because of who they date.”

Nadia smiles, shaking her head. “I don’t either.”

“I let players go for other reasons. Like poor character. If we were talking DUI, rape, smacking your partner, hitting your kid, or selling drugs, among other abhorrent and illegal behavior, then yes, I would let you go without a second thought and happily watch you go to prison,” he says, cold as ice, as he should be. “But you can fall in love with whoever you want,” he says to Beck, warmth returning. I even detect a little wistfulness, as if he’s wishing for love he doesn’t have. “And I’d let you go if you stopped performing on the field. But that, evidently, isn’t a problem.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “Let’s talk about what sort of resources you need from us to support you when the fans find out. As for your teammates, all I can say is good luck.”

We’ll need it.