Chapter 1
ONE
EMMETT
“Hell of a game, bro,” my quarterback, Maddox Dane, says as we trudge into the locker room after our closest game in eleven weeks.
Our defense held the Pittsburgh Ambush to just one touchdown, but the offense struggled to pull away from them on the scoreboard.
I was able to break out of double coverage one time during the third quarter, resulting in a forty-yard reception, and our only points of the day.
Their field goal with just seconds on the clock sealed the deal, and we lost by a score of seven to ten.
“Thanks,” I grunt, pulling my jersey and pads over my head. “Sorry I couldn’t get open for you. Renner and Johnson are so fucking fast—they weren’t giving me an inch of space.”
He scoffs. “Not your fault, man. The fact that those two are on the same team should be a crime. We’ll get them next year. I’m sure Mr. Grant is planning on adding some more receivers to our roster in the upcoming draft. At least, I hope so.”
The Rock City Renegades are the newest professional franchise in the National Football League, and by far the least well-rounded.
As an expansion team, we’re completely comprised of players given up by the other thirty-two organizations.
Our owner, Mr. Grant, and general manager, Tony Rivisi, had their work cut out for them when they drafted this team.
We all have different levels of experience, but at the end of the day, we’re still a bunch of misfits who were thrown together as a foundation to build on.
We got off to a very rough start after our veteran quarterback, Austin Baker, was injured during the second week of the season.
The hit he took left him with several broken ribs, a punctured lung, torn rotator cuff, and a long road to recovery.
Maddox stepped up immediately, having never even seen the field beyond a handful of preseason games.
It took us a few weeks to settle in, but eventually, we started winning.
Now, at about the halfway point of our very first season, we’re holding our own against some of the better teams in the league.
As difficult a challenge as it’s been, I really feel like I’m finding my place here with the Renegades.
My journey in the league has been rocky, at best. I was drafted by the San Antonio Diamondbacks at twenty-one, and I did my best to connect with my teammates, even though I had absolutely no desire to create new relationships, on the field or off.
But I know football is a brotherhood, reliant on the bond between men who go into battle next to one another each week, so I went out of my comfort zone and built real, genuine connections with my guys.
And I’m glad I did, because it paid off in spades when we were able to play together so seamlessly that I broke several receiving yard records my second year.
But just like everything else in my life, it came to an abrupt end—one that I didn’t want.
Being traded to Minnesota during year three really did me in.
Realizing I’d be moving to a new city where I knew absolutely no one—spending my days playing football with a bunch of strangers before going to an empty rental home every night—wasn’t appealing in the slightest. I shut down, doing what I had to do to meet the requirements of my job, yet refusing to go any further.
I knew the loneliness and isolation I felt while I was there was my own fault, but at the time, it seemed a hell of a lot easier than letting people get too close, just to be traded again and leave them behind.
That outlook and behavior ended up being the exact reason Minnesota was willing to put me up for the expansion draft.
They knew I wasn’t giving my all to my teammates on a personal level, and they were ready to replace me with someone who would.
Playing them earlier this season made me realize just how badly I fucked up, since not a single Graywolf bothered to approach me after the game.
That hit me pretty hard. I knew then that I needed to do better.
Luckily, I’ve been given another chance with the Renegades.
A fresh start to fix the mistakes I made in the past, so I can make the most of the remainder of my career.
Football is all I have, and I know that if I don’t give this team one hundred percent, my life will be emptier than it’s ever been.
That’s why I made a vow to myself—to dig deep and find the Emmett Hayes I used to be.
The guy who existed before his entire world was turned upside down, and he was left wondering if he’d ever be whole again.
I’ve been doing my best to get to know some of the guys, and even though the conversation is still just surface-level, it’s better than nothing.
I finish removing my uniform and head toward the showers.
The locker room is quiet, an imaginary black cloud blanketing the entire space as we process our loss.
I swear, the closer ones are harder to swallow than the blowouts.
I can’t help but blame myself a little bit for some of it.
If I had been faster—if my cuts had been tighter—maybe I could’ve put another touchdown on the board and given us a better chance.
As much as I know football is a team sport, I understand what’s on the line if I can’t prove myself to be valuable.
I could end up starting all over yet again, or even worse, becoming a free agent with no guarantee that I’ll get picked up somewhere else.
Making quick work of washing my body, I wrap a towel around my waist and head back to the lockers to get dressed.
Thankfully, I wasn’t chosen to do any press conferences or interviews, so as soon as my clothes are on and my duffel bag is packed, I’m out the door.
It was a rough day, and I don’t think any of us has the energy to pretend we want to be here any longer than necessary, so we’ll just have to wait for our weekly team bonding meetup at Club Tilt later this week to hang out.
The drive back to my apartment is quick—normally about ten minutes from the private lot behind the stadium that only players and staff have access to.
I’m expecting the city streets of Cleveland to be at a standstill with fans trying to get to the highway, but luckily, my building is in the opposite direction, so I’m home with my ass planted on the couch in no time.
The second set of televised games for the day is already in progress, so I flip on the TV, hoping I can distract myself from the way everything went down today.
But as it always does, loneliness settles in, reminding me of everything that’s missing from my life.
It wasn’t always like this. I had parents who seemed to give a shit.
They made sure I had every opportunity to succeed, pushing me to be the best so I could live my dream of being in the NFL.
It wasn’t until my whole fucking world was crumbling around me during my freshman year of college that I realized their love for me was conditional.
Sure, I was already making a name for myself on the field at UCLA, but when my marriage—that they so vehemently disapproved of—began to fall apart, and I looked to them for comfort, all they gave me was a giant We told you so.
Cutting off contact with them was like putting a Band-Aid on a bullet hole.
It felt good to know I wasn’t giving my energy to people who didn’t want me to truly be happy, but it didn’t change the fact that Stella was gone.
There were nights when I felt so alone, I wished I could just disappear.
The only thing that kept me going was the hope that someday, the universe would bring her back to me.
That she’d achieve all her dreams and realize that there was still something missing.
But here we are, over seven years since she left, and I’m so full of resentment toward her for the way things ended that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully move on.
I’ve tried. I’ve dated. But every time I feel like I’m ready to give my heart away, something pulls me back.
I hate her for that, yet her face is still the last thing I see before I drift off every night.
One day, I’ll wake up and it won’t hurt so badly knowing that the former Mrs. Stella Hayes is out there somewhere living life without me. In the meantime, I need to focus on football…and salvaging the one good thing I have left in this world.