Chapter 2
HAWK
I stretched my arms over my head until my knuckles gave a satisfying crack. My mom hated the sound. She would have given me a lecture on the pseudo-science behind the dangers of knuckle-cracking. Or just told me to stop it. Turns out, that’s all bullshit.
I flopped down in a chair, let out a gusty sigh and listened to the guys seated around the table.
"Can you believe the timing?" Abraham 'Bam' Clinton sat to my left. He was shorter than me and not quite as big, but the intensity in his expression made him formidable on the field and off.
I shrugged. "It is what it is." Losing the head coach near the end of the preseason was bullshit. It would throw off our game if we let it. So we wouldn't let it. Simple as that.
I turned to face the team, hands behind my head as though I wasn't as rattled as they were.
"Coach Franks had no choice but to take care of his family," I said. "Coach Quinn has been with the Humpbacks for almost as long. He'll do fine."
I wish I was as sure as I sounded. Wayne Quinn had been offensive coordinator for longer than I'd been with the Humpbacks. He and I hadn't always seen eye to eye. As leader of the defensive team, I didn't always have to, but now we'd need to find common ground, for the good of the team.
"He better," Bam muttered. "This is our year. I can feel it."
"You feel it every year," Chase McKinney said.
As our wide receiver, he was tall and lean.
His usual expression was a smile. Sometimes because he was joking and sometimes because he was waiting for someone to fall for a practical joke he'd set up.
When you knew him well enough, you could tell which smile was which.
This time, it was a genuine tease, laced with hope.
Of course, who didn't want to win the Down Under Bowl?
"And every year we get better and closer," Bam reminded us. "So, this year, we kick ass." He nodded around the table at us.
I jerked my head toward him. "What he said. There's no reason we can't win this year. We have the best coaching team there is and the best fucking players."
"Not to mention the best fucking quarterback, eh, Hawk?" Chase elbowed me on the arm.
"Absolutely," I agreed, no ego lacing my tone. I earned my title. Ego was for those who didn’t work hard.
I worked my ass off to get better and stay focused.
I had my off days, like anyone, but I did my best not to let it get the better of me.
The Humpbacks couldn't afford to have me slip up too badly.
Not just for the sake of winning, but because of the bad publicity that would come with it.
The press were like a bunch of circling vultures, ready to pounce on a morsel for the right story.
That was why I did interviews as often as I could. If you keep the press on side, you might be lucky and avoid them turning on you when you slip up.
Yeah, okay, I wasn’t that naive, but it didn't hurt to have good publicity out there to balance the bullshit the tabloids served out.
If you believed a word they said, I'd slept with half the women in Lowball Bay, especially the married ones.
That kind of publicity was irritating as shit, but it didn't cause too much harm.
Most people were smart enough to look past that kind of crap. Right?
"And the most humble," Chase said.
I gave him a smirk. "You're just jealous you're not nicknamed God's Gift." I nodded down the table at Ollie Tucker. Recruited in his first year in university, he was tall and muscular, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes that apparently women found appealing.
If he wasn't playing pro ball, he'd be in the movies. When he was first drafted for the offensive team, he was so shy he spent most of the time looking at his shoelaces. These days he was too busy fending off women's panties and marriage proposals to keep his head down.
Tucker grimaced in my direction. "Worst. Nickname. Ever."
"Because you're a virgin," Chase teased.
"I fucking am not," Ollie retorted. "It's just a shit nickname. I'll leave the praying for a win to Bam. I'll work my ass off instead."
Bam shrugged. "No reason we can't do both. Cover all the bases, so to speak." He fingered the cross tattooed to his neck.
"Wrong ball game." Chase grinned as he stood.
Bam rolled his eyes. "No shit, really?"
"Really." Chase pretended he missed Bam's sarcasm. "That's not a bat you have in your hand every night before you go to sleep." He shot Bam a sly grin.
"It's probably a Bible," Ollie said. He looked surprised he'd actually gotten in a dig.
"At least I can read," Bam retorted. “And at least you acknowledge it could be mistaken for a bat in my hand.”
Ollie's mouth moved, but nothing else came out.
I smirked at them and followed them out of the meeting room.
They always razzed each other, but on the field we came together like the stereotypical well-oiled machine.
Last season, we could have used more grease, but we did okay.
The problem was, I wanted to do better than okay.
I hated losing more than anything else. Second on that list was being thrown a curveball, like the head coach quitting suddenly. Or my mom…
Focus, I told myself. The day was far from over. I had an interview with a journalist from the National Daily to get through yet. Strange, the woman had the same name as a girl I knew in high school. Were they related? It was probably a coincidence. Rebecca Anderson was a pretty common name.
Whatever happened to that girl? I'd thought about her a lot over the years, but never brought myself to look her up. Not after the way I treated her. No doubt she hated my guts. If she hadn't forgotten all about me.
When I left high school, I wanted nothing more than to put those days behind me. The memories were fuzzy now and that was how I liked it. Gone would be better, but there were times things came flooding back…
I gritted my teeth and shoved the memories firmly out of my mind. I had to put my game face on, so to speak, and keep it firmly in place.
Mister Congenial. Mister Nice Guy. Mister Approachable, as long as I was on the clock. Who was I kidding? I was always on the clock. Whether I was playing, or buying pizza with my cousin and her family. I had to assume someone was watching wherever I went and act accordingly.
I exhaled through my nose and headed toward the stairs that led to the lower levels of the Humpbacks’ HQ.
The upper sections contained offices for staff, and team meetings.
The lower was for press conferences, and a large room which was set up for watching plays.
The basement contained a gym. Wide doors led to the locker rooms and out to the field.
I looked longingly in that direction. I was living the life I'd wanted since I was a kid, but no one told young Conrad how much time he'd spend talking, and sitting in meetings, instead of out there on the field.
I trotted down the stairs. I preferred to use them, not just for the exercise, but because I hated the confined space.
Those were third on my list of dislikes, right above expired yoghurt.
Anyone who is okay with expired dairy products probably needs to seek help from an exorcist. As for hating elevators, that's a totally rational fear, as far as I'm concerned.
"Hey, Conny."
I grimaced. Mary from the front desk was the only living human who got away with calling me that. I used to worry it would catch on, but it hadn't.
Yet.
"Hey, Mare." I gave her a nod. "How's the family?"
"Same old, same old," she replied as she always did. "Bob still hasn't learned to put down the toilet seat."
"The true battle of the sexes," I said with a grin.
"Ain't it though?" she agreed. "I even put a sign up about the toilet, saying, 'If you pee, put it down.' Y'know what he did? He crossed out the last three words and scribbled 'leave it up' on there in red crayon."
I chuckled. Mary and Bob had the happiest marriage of any couple I knew. In spite of their running bathroom battles, they were tight. When I saw them in public, they were usually holding hands and snuggling. All that after thirty years together.
"Hashtag couple goals," I said with a laugh.
"Yeah, as a kid, I dreamed of a guy who writes in red crayon," she said with a shake of her head.
I scratched my chin. "Is that what I'm doing wrong? I'll have to stop by the shop on the way home for a packet of them."
"Bah!" She waved a hand at me. "You're barely out of nappies. You have years to enjoy yourself before you surrender to the daily tortures of marriage."
"If I find someone half as good as you, I'll be a lucky man," I said sincerely.
"Conny Florence, are you flirting with me?" she teased.
My eyes widened. "I wouldn't dare. Bob might come after me with his second best rolling pin." A baker by trade, Bob was at least a foot shorter than me, thirty years older and a hell of a lot slower. But I bet it would at least be an amusing sight.
"He might at that," Mary said, a glint of humour in her eyes. "He's more likely to trip you than chase you these days. Besides, it would be his third best rolling pin. He wouldn't want to break the first two on your hard head."
"I'll keep an eye out for trip hazards," I assured her. I couldn't deny having a hard head. It got hit enough times that it was miraculous my brains were more or less intact. Some would say more, some would say less. It depended on who you spoke to. Both sides probably have a great argument.
Her expression turned serious. "You guys must be sad to hear about Fred quitting."
"Word travels fast," I said. If Mary didn't know what was going on around here, it wasn't worth knowing. She'd probably heard Coach Franks was leaving before I did.
"It sucks, but he's gotta do what he's gotta do. I hope Lori pulls through. Cancer is a bitch." I pressed my lips together and averted my eyes.
"Yeah, it is," Mary said softly. "With everyone praying and hoping, she'll pull through. She's tough. She'd have to be, to live with Fred all these years."
"And to marry him, divorce him and remarry him," I said. Apparently no one who knew them back then was surprised when they tied the knot a second time. Some folks were meant to be.
"That too," Mary agreed. "No one is tougher than Lori Jones-Franks."
I had a feeling she had more to say, but I didn't ask. If she wanted me to know, she would tell me. Mary wasn't backward in coming forward. I suspected whatever it was, simply wasn't her news to tell. I'd respect that.
"Has the journalist chick arrived yet?" Mary didn't like it when women were referred to as anything but women, so I did it to tease. It got her every time.
She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "The young woman in question seems to be running late." Mary didn't like tardiness either. "Hopefully she'll be along shortly. Fred is holding a press conference later and he'll expect you to be there."
I nodded.
Oh joy, more press. I could hardly contain my excitement.
I sighed loudly. "Okay, I'll be there." I glanced at my watch. The journalist wasn't that late, not yet, but if she didn't hurry her, hopefully, cute little ass, she'd run out of time and be shit outta luck. I had better places to be than here, waiting for her.
"Of course you will." Mary gave me a smile and hurried back to her chair at the front of the building.
I cast another longing look toward the field and stepped into one of the small press rooms to wait, ass on a table, boots on a chair, arms over my chest.