Chapter 8 Matt - Kentucky
EIGHT
MATT - KENTUCKY
Damn, it’s loud.
If there’s anything louder than a stadium packed with screaming fans, it’s a pack of ten-year-old boys playing football, each trash-talking more than the next.
I never thought I’d be more afraid of a birthday pinata than I was when a defensive end barreled at my blindside, but here I am—dodging water balloons and neon cupcakes in suburban Kentucky.
After playing professionally for a couple of years, I became the quarterback coach for the Stallions, where Logan Warren was the quarterback.
Then we were together at the Louisville Heavyweights until I needed to make a change and ended up with the Armadillos.
I’ve been lucky in my career to coach top talent and create bonds of friendship, which is why I’m here.
Logan catches me watching the chaos and claps a big hand on my shoulder. “Admit it, Matt, you’re reminiscing about the glory days when we won the National Title and the Super Bowl.”
I grin and shake my head, watching his daughter Evy race across the grass, her hair flying wild. “No, I’m thinking these kids are a tougher crowd than the SEC ever was. Besides, I’m going to win the Super Bowl this year. How’s retirement?”
Reed jogs over. “Hey. Greer and the kids want to play against the old guys. Can we take them?”
Reed was Logan's and his wife Harper’s roommate in college and played professional hockey for ten years. Now, he’s retired too. “We can. I don’t know about you,” I chuckle. “How are all the kids? How many do you have?”
He starts naming them, “Caleb, Cannon, Carly—”
“A whole basketball team. Even has a sixth man,” Logan teases. He looks at Reed. “Has Caleb decided to take the hockey or football scholarship?”
“Hockey.”
Greer yells, “Dad, come on.”
The guy’s eyes light up like children at Christmas time. I wonder if it’s having kids that makes them happy or if they would be this happy anyway. Logan punches Hagan, his brother-in-law. “Let’s go.”
“Why don’t they want to play baseball?” Hagan asks.
Growing up in a small town, I played baseball, basketball, and football, so I say, “Easy question. You can’t hit anyone in baseball. Not as fun.”
“Yeah, I’m beginning to think I’m the only smart one in this group,” Hagan says, shaking his head as we run over the big field.
I’ll say this: these kids are as competitive as they come. Logan passes me the ball, and suddenly I have one kid, Cannon, leaping onto my back. The kid must have a forty-inch vertical jump. Two more are tugging at my legs, leaving me to face-plant into the bluegrass.
Greer is the quarterback for the kids’ team, and it’s evident that Logan has worked on his mechanics. He’s smooth at ten years old. We’re tied at eighteen, not having extra points in backyard play, when Logan’s wife, Harper, yells, “Time to eat.”
All the boys complain loudly, “No, the game’s not over.”
Logan whistles, getting their attention. As soon as he does, they take off toward the food table.
Admiring the rolling green hills and tree-topped land, I ask, “Do you like living out of town?”
“Yeah. It’s still close to the hospital for Harper and the private school the kids attend. And the interstate is only five miles away, so it’s a great jumping-off point.”
“Do you feel like you’re missing something by retiring?”
“No. Been there. Done it all. Now it’s time to be with my kids and Harper.”
Adalee, Hagan’s wife, strides over, hugging me. “Didn’t know you had come in.”
“This guy keeps inviting me.” I’ve been to nearly every one of Logan and Harper’s kids’ birthday parties. After coaching him two years in college and nine years in the pros, Adalee gets distracted by a cupcake-grabbing kid and rushes over to intervene.
“If you ever retire, I’ll pay you to train Greer when he gets a year or two older.” Logan swipes his hand over his face. “You’ll probably have kids by then.”
“Me? Nope. Not in the cards for this guy.”
He laughs, but his eyes narrow—he always did spot trouble before most. “Are you regretting moving to Austin? Is something wrong?”
Might as well get it all out. I nudge him toward the grill, away from the shrieking chaos. “So…you know Greyson O’Ryan?”
Logan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Of course. Problems with your new golden boy?”
I exhale and run a hand over the back of my neck. “Yeah. No. Maybe,” I stammer. “It turns out his little sister, Noelle—she’s all grown up. And I may have gotten myself tangled up in a fake dating situation with her.”
Logan chokes on his beer. “You’re kidding. Greyson’s little sister? What are you, a glutton for punishment?”
The answer is yes.
“She needed help shaking off an ex. I ended up playing the part. The whole thing blew up at her graduation party. Her family… let’s just say, none of them are thrilled that the guy she’s fake-dating was the starting quarterback at his high school when she was in diapers.”
He whistles, low. “What is that, a ten- or fifteen-year age gap?”
“Fourteen, but yeah.” I turn my beer in my hands. “Greyson is ticked off even thinking about me dating his sister, even if it’s pretend. Coach is barely speaking to me, and their dad looks at me like I just stole the Hope Diamond.”
He cocks an eyebrow, but there’s a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Have you…”
“We kissed one time when she found out her boyfriend, Brooks Pendleton, was cheating on her.”
“The same guy New Orleans drafted?” he asks, his brows furrowing.
I nod. “One and the same. Total dick.”
He scrapes his fingers over his chin. “So? Will this ‘fake’ thing stay fake, or are you about to end up on the wrong side of a shotgun wedding?”
“Don’t even joke. Like I said, no kids for me.” I shake my head, but a traitorous flicker of hope twists somewhere low in my chest. “We promised—no lines crossed, no feelings. It’s just for show.”
Logan gives me a look—one he used to give rookie wide receivers when they were a little too sure of themselves. “Yeah,” he says, “good luck with that. If it’s nothing, why do you look like you’re in too deep?”
We let his question roll around in our heads because I don’t know the answer. Something just feels different.
I glance back at the birthday party. Girls are screaming—unlike the boys, it’s high-pitched, but my mind’s a thousand miles away, thinking about blue eyes, graduation dresses, and how impossible it is to keep something fake when I can’t stop thinking about her.
Logan holds my gaze for a second longer, then it breaks as I feel a soft tap on my shoulder.
“Matt!” Harper’s voice is all warmth and sunshine—even after all these years, Logan’s wife still greets me like family. She leans in, pecks my cheek, and Greer barrels into me with Roscoe, their doodle, pulling at the leash and sniffing my ankles.
“I can’t believe Roscoe still has as much energy as a ten-year-old,” I tease, ruffling Greer's hair.
Harper gives me a doctor’s once-over, that sharp blend of affection and medical assessment only she pulls off. “You look good, Matt,” she says, her eyes narrowing in a friendly inspection. “Taking care of yourself?”
I grin. “Trying to. My numbers have been good lately. Daily shots. You know the routine.”
But then I rub my eyes, blinking at the late afternoon sun, and Harper’s attention sharpens. “You sure? Anything bothering you lately?” She’s a pediatric surgeon but deals with the ramifications of diabetes all the time.
I shrug, squinting again. “Honestly? My vision’s been a little fuzzy the past few mornings.” I try to brush it off. “Probably just allergies or, I don’t know, old age catching up.”
Her doctor mode clicks in—brows knit, smile gone, careful. “Matt, with your diabetes, any changes in your eyesight can be serious. Have you gotten your eyes checked recently?”
“Not since—” I hesitate, then wave it off, “well, not in a few months. I’ll make an appointment. Promise.”
She gives me a look that could make any linebacker sit up straight. “Don’t put it off. If it gets any worse, call me, okay?”
“Scout’s honor,” I say, though something twists in my stomach. I glance down at Roscoe’s soft fur and Greer beaming up at me, then over at Logan, who’s pretending not to listen—but his frown says he is.
“Thanks, Harper,” I add softly, “for looking out for the old guys.”
“You’re not old, Matt,” she says, smiling now as she pulls Roscoe away from another guest’s hamburger. “Just… not invincible.”
She and Greer head off, Logan trailing after, but her concern lingers, settling in next to everything else I’m carrying.