Chapter 4
COLE
I blow air out of my cheeks, setting the weight bar on the rack. I lie, my chest moving in and out, staring at the metal rafters as weights clink around me.
“You gonna lie there all day or do another set?” Ricketts’s face appears over me.
I roll myself up, my slick back peeling away from the plastic.
“What’s up with you, man? Did you decide to take up sleeping in?”
His words pick at my defensive wall, even though he doesn’t mean anything by them. No one knows about the threats. I’ve kept it all to myself, not wanting to make it more disruptive than it already is.
“I had something important to take care of.” It’s all I offer, so sick of hearing about my tardiness.
The tight end runs a hand through his long hair. “These jackasses can’t seem to cut you some slack, but whatever made you miss practice must have been pretty urgent.”
I’m never late. I don’t miss practices, meetings, training, or anything related to the team, so my absence this morning didn’t go unnoticed.
I meet his gaze, contemplating telling him about what’s happening. If there’s anyone I’d trust with the information, it’s Ricketts. But I recall Tracker’s insistence that I keep things on the down-low since we don’t know who might want to take me out.
The first threats came through email, but quickly turned to letters. They were simple black font on a white page, stating I’d be eliminated from the roster. Rob told me about it, and we moved on. It wasn’t the only time someone pinned last season’s losing record on me.
A few weeks later, another arrived in the Stingrays’s mail. This time, it was a photo of me with a red “X” meticulously painted over it. Behind it was a fabricated injury report. The note beside my name: death.
This one was brought to my GM, who demanded precautions, but I talked him out of it. I didn’t need anyone on the team thinking I was getting special treatment, so he let it go. Greg insisted on hiring a private organization to trace the picture and envelope back to its origin. They came up empty.
The preseason ended, and we lost our first official game. That’s when my tire was slashed with a note tacked to it, reminding me that I won’t see the end of the season.
I wasn’t concerned until someone cared enough to follow me and risk being seen or caught on security cameras. Unfortunately, due to the darkness and camera angle, nothing was captured.
I roll my neck, stretching. “It was urgent. You want a spot?” I stand, offering him the bench.
Ricketts frowns at my curt response, but I ignore it. “Nah, man. I’ve had enough for today. I need about an hour in the hot tub.”
“All right, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
He nods, and I feel his eyes track me as I head out of the weight room when that obnoxious voice halts my steps.
“Ah, what’s up, Rocket Boy? You show up halfway through practice and check out early? What kind of example is that from one of our captains?”
I should keep walking, but his mouth has been running non-stop, and my normal shit ton of patience is running a little low.
I turn and face T-Bone, who’s across the weight room with his small gang.
T-Bone is a defensive end and a total imbecile. His massive, broad frame holds two large dumbbells at his sides. A smug grin curls across his mouth. Cox, Roman, and Lautner do a sucky job of acting like they aren’t entertained by another one of his lame-ass jabs.
I don’t have time for their shit today. I have stuff to do. I need to get home to take a call from a sponsor and enjoy my last night of having my apartment to myself.
Ricketts’s gaze darts between us like he’s waiting for the day I finally have enough, but these guys don’t matter. I need their help to win games, but what they think of me isn’t predictive of my ability to do my job.
I relax my fists, running one hand over my damp hair. “I’m just easing up before the game, giving my body and mind rest. I’ll see you boys in the morning.”
T-Bone adjusts his grip on one of the weights. “Is this a new one of Daddy’s pregame rituals?”
My dad was one of the greatest quarterbacks of all time. He’s a legend, and certain people decided long ago that my way to the NFL was paved. Being Tim ‘The Rocket’ Matthews’s son, I’m used to people thinking I’ve piggybacked on his success.
The reality is, I’ve never walked onto a team thinking I deserved to be there. I’ve always earned my spot. It’s what my dad taught me—show up each day and work to maintain my place in the lineup.
After I signed with the Stingrays, the first half of the season went by, and they still called me Rocket Boy. We ended the season with more losses than wins, and I spent the entire off-season training and working to prepare myself to show this team what I could do.
Once again, I’ve stepped in to prove myself, ready to win, but it seems they’d rather do their time on the field, run their mouths, party, and piss away another season.
I keep my tone calm and cool. “His record and the fact that you’re referencing him prove he knew what he was doing. I’d be an idiot not to follow suit.”
I turn, ending the conversation, and head to the locker room. I grab my stuff as Jenkins, the second-string quarterback, enters.
I nod. “Hey, man.”
We slap hands as he passes.
“Are you joining us tomorrow?” He smirks.
After listening to T-Bone and his minions’ nonsense all afternoon, I’m sure he knows I’ve had enough for today.
“You bet your ass I will.”
He laughs as I exit. Jenkins is older, a father, and doesn’t give those fools the time of day. He’s quiet, works hard, and keeps his focus on the game. He knows why he’s here, and we have that in common.
I find my Range Rover in the parking lot, protected by the facility gates and security. As instructed, I do a quick walk around before driving home.
I park and enter my building, nodding at the security officer behind the desk, then ride the elevator to the sixteenth floor. This is my home for however many seasons I remain in Miami.
My eyes wander to the massive sliding doors that showcase the ocean beyond. The view is the reason I bought the place. The sunrises are the most magnificent I’ve ever seen.
I slide a door open, needing the fresh air. It’s a beautiful sight, but I miss the mountains. I try not to think about it, but I miss my family.
I weigh calling my sister, Maggie, to fill her in on these latest events. She’s likely to get on a plane and man a stakeout of her own. The thought makes me smile.
I drop onto the couch, tapping her name.
“Hey, hang on, I’m elbow-deep in a poopy diaper.” Maggie’s voice carries through my speaker, and just hearing it relieves some of the homesickness. “Ok, I’m here.”
“Aiden or my little Quinny?”
Besides caring for my three younger siblings, Maggie and her husband, Shane, have two children. Aiden is two, and Quinn was born over the summer. I haven’t met her yet, and I want to punch myself for not flying out for the weekend when I had the chance.
“Quinny. This chick can’t keep it in the diaper. She had poop all the way up her back.”
“Mags, that’s gross.”
She scoffs. “Just wait. It’ll be you one day using a thousand wipes on a twelve-pound baby.”
I miss her sass and her fight.
“What the hell is going on with your team? Seriously, it’s like watching a bunch of slobs.”
I let my head fall against the back of the couch and stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Our defense doesn’t seem to understand that dedication and focus lead to winning.”
“Well, keep doing what you’re doing. You’re the only thing preventing them from losing every game.” Her voice is softer now, and something pinches in the center of my chest.
I inhale through my nose. “Yeah. I’m trying.” I jump into why I called. “So, you and Shane need to be extra careful and ensure the kids’ school is taking security seriously.”
Everything on her end goes still. I check to make sure the call didn’t drop.
“Mags?”
“Cole, what’s going on?” Her voice is tight now. All joking is pushed aside.
“I’ve had some threats, and I just want to be sure you guys and the kids are safe. They’re only aimed at me, and extra security measures are being taken.”
“What kind of threats?”
I knew she’d have a thousand questions. “It appears someone would like me off the team.”
“Annnnnddddd in what fashion are they suggesting that happen?”
I don’t answer, and she sighs.
“Cole?” Her tone is softer now.
“Yeah?”
“You ok?”
I think about it for a second. For the first time, I’m not sure I know the answer. “Yeah. I’m good.”
If she thinks I’m lying, she lets it go. “You get back here for Thanksgiving. Whenever bye week is, that’s when we’ll have it.”
A few days with my family sounds like a dream.
“It’s late this season. I’ll let you know.”
“No excuses this time.” She’s putting on her bossy pants now.
“I’ll talk to you soon. Love you, Mags.”
“Love you, too. Cole.” She catches me before I hang up. “Don’t sit in that big apartment by yourself watching hours of game tape. Have some friends over.”
The concern in her voice causes that ache in the center of my chest to spread.
Friends. Right.
I used to have friends—a whole team of them. I rarely see my best friend, Nick, who plays for New York Liberties.
I blow out a breath. Maybe that will change tomorrow when my new roommate moves in.
______
NICK: Yo, man. I’m attending the SportsElite event. I’m staying with you.
ME: You’re attending. LOL. Is hell freezing over?
NICK: Rob’s making me. He said you’re being featured. If I have to go, I’m going with you.
ME: So, are you asking me to be your date?
NICK: Shit, man. You’re too pretty for me.
ME: Fine. You can’t punch anyone.
NICK: I don’t make any promises.