Chapter 9
COLE
“Reeaadddy. Hut. Hut.”
The ball hits my hands. I drop back, scanning right, then left. Ricketts sprints, cutting back to the middle at fifteen yards. I throw the ball, it makes contact, he pulls it in, and we gain twenty yards.
I call a play, hoping they’re listening. We set up. There are only twenty-five yards between me and a win. With thirty-four seconds left on the game clock, we’re down by three and need to move.
The ball is snapped. I drop back, but I need time. I cut to the left, scanning for an opening.
Wait. Wait. There.
I pull my arm back and release the ball.
Crunch! A massive form slams into my side.
Thud. My back, then my head, crash to the ground.
I lie stunned, struggling to pull air into my lungs. When my ears clear, I hear the crowd erupt.
Touchdown.
After a few long seconds, I climb to my feet as my team celebrates in the endzone. I jog to the sideline, pumping my fist three times in the air, wishing my dad were here.
The field goal is good, and the few remaining seconds on the clock run out. I walk to the center, meeting reporters and the other team, before heading to the locker room and taking my turn with the press. When I’m done, I’ll find Ryder.
She dropped me off this morning before heading to some kind of mixed martial arts club, but she’s here, somewhere. For some reason, the thought is comforting.
It took me a while this morning to get my head in game mode.
I’ve never had trouble before, but standing in the locker room with my team felt different.
It’s one thing for these guys to think I’m privileged and take every opportunity to rub that in my face.
It’s another if one of them wants me dead.
I went with it today as they called me Rocket Boy and talked about their plans after the game. I put my helmet on, and I played my ass off like my dad would have. Ryder said to play it cool, so that’s what I did.
But now, I stand in the back as Coach gives his after-game speech, surveying the group and wondering if there’s an actual desire to see me gone behind any of their little jabs.
Coach tosses me the game ball, and I want to throw it back, knowing extra attention won’t help current matters. I’m sure in their eyes, this win has nothing to do with me or anything I bring to the team.
“Matthews,” someone barks as I search for my phone.
Ryder said she would text me if she had any issues with the VIP pass that should get her into the waiting area. She informed me that, based on Tracker’s discussions, stadium security is less than desirable. So, Ryder will attend my home games to walk me out and make sure I get home.
A large, sweaty arm drops onto my shoulders.
“You’re joining us tonight,” Roman demands. “After the press, we’re heading out. Your ass better be on the bus.”
Roman is my center. He’s loud, a bit eccentric, and an amazing player. He and I get along fine and work well together, but he tends to fall into T-Bone’s gang when it comes to partying.
“Sorry, man. I’ve got plans.”
He chuckles. “What could be more important than celebrating our first win? Come on, Matthews. Our season starts here. Only ‘Ws’ from here on.” He roars, and the team erupts again. He points at me. “Matthews, you’re coming.”
I check my phone again. Nothing. “Sorry. Not this time, guys.”
Under other circumstances, with a different team, maybe I’d join them, but some of these guys are loose cannons, and I don’t need any more trouble in my life.
Would it help my relationships with this team? Maybe, but I’m not willing to test the theory. I have games to win, and the only way I can do that is to stay grounded and focused like I always have.
T-Bone’s massive arms cross over his chest as he leans against my locker. “What’s the problem? You still too good for us?” He waits for an answer, but I don’t give him one as I pack up my gear. “It’s all lined up. You’re getting on that bus, Rocket Boy. No special treatment here.”
I really want to ask him what exactly he’s lined up, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t care, and there’s no way in hell I’m dragging Ryder to one of their ragers.
Today will be enough. It’s only a matter of time before the socials start buzzing, and she and I are lighting up screens everywhere.
This is all I’ve known, and I forget sometimes that it’s unnerving for others.
When Ryder blurted to Carly that we’re living together, I almost laughed but held it in. Her coming right out and saying it told me she’s all in.
That’s all it took to realize that if she’s willing to do this, I could make an effort and change some things. So, I gave up my prepared meals and offered to cook, hoping it’d help break some of the mile-thick ice between us.
I shove my phone in my pocket, ignoring T-Bone’s attempt at being intimidating. “Not interested.”
“You know. You’ve always been—”
“Matthews!”
I turn to see Coach tip his head in the direction of the hall, saving me from telling T-Bone I’ve had enough of his shit.
I grab my duffel and follow. “Hey, Coach.”
We walk toward the press room.
“You’re up next.” He stops at the door. “You did good today, and we’re going to keep the wins coming.”
He slaps me on the back, and I nod, hoping it’s true, but that requires our defense to get serious. I keep that comment to myself as I duck inside to answer questions about the game, my team, and the season ahead.
My eyes drift from one reporter to the next, and I pause as it hits me for the first time that someone, somewhere, is watching with me in their crosshairs. I scan the faces in the room, all staring back at me, and realize it could be anyone.
When did this become my life?
I step down from the podium, letting Ricketts take his turn. I grab my duffel and wind my way to the friends and family area as uneasiness stirs in my belly. It’s new and uncomfortable.
As I walk, my game adrenaline wears off, and a sharp ache grips my ribs from that last hit. I’m dragging by the time I enter the large conference room. I usually bypass this space, but today, I enter searching for Ryder.
I spot her through the sea of people, leaning against the wall, watching everyone.
She fits in, sort of, wearing jeans, a Stingrays T-shirt, and sneakers rather than her boots. Her light hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her face bears only a hint of makeup.
I observe her for only a moment, and it almost brings a smile to my face. She’s reserved, on guard, and always alert. One of her hands grips the other at her waist. I’ve recognized it’s how she stands and carries herself, unlike any other.
I have a suspicion Ryder is extraordinary in ways few will ever have the privilege of understanding.
Her scan lands on me, and she straightens, her relaxed posture stiffening.
I cross the room, and people congratulate me as I pass. I stop in front of her, unsure of just about everything except that everyone will be watching us.
Her eyes drift around me. “You ready to go, or do you need to stick around?”
I don’t know if it’s my lack of personal interaction outside of this organization or the fact that I actually have someone waiting for me, but having her here, along with her complete bluntness, breaks my smile free.
Her head dips to the side as if she doesn’t know what to do with my grin. I kind of like it.
“I’m ready,” I nod toward the exit.
A loud ruckus breaks out behind me as T-Bone and his gang enter. He calls out, flexing his arms low in front of him like he scored the winning touchdown.
Ryder’s gaze shifts beyond me, but she doesn’t move. “Well, that completes the picture,” she says quietly.
My shoulders sag. “Let’s go.” I turn, wanting to avoid what’s coming.
I attempt to lead the way out, but of course, T-Bone slithers into my path, appearing as if he landed on a chest full of gold.
“Yo, man. What is this?” His last word hits that high pitch as his eyes linger over Ryder. “You said you had plans. I didn’t know it was these kinds of plans.”
“Let’s go,” I tell Ryder, trying to push by him.
His giant frame steps in my way. “What’s the hurry, man? Bring her. The more the merrier.”
“Yeah, no.” Ryder’s tone is crisp and clear as she grabs my wrist, tugging me right around him.
She immediately drops my arm and steps behind me, putting space between T-Bone and me.
“Ahh. Rocket Boy is celebrating tonight, boys!”
Whistles and catcalls erupt behind me, but I ignore them, although I have no doubt Ryder will have something to say about them.
She matches my pace as I march toward the parking lot. “What the hell was that? Rocket Boy?”
“He’s a dick and runs his mouth constantly.”
“And you let him talk to you like that?”
Yep. I’ve become a complete and total pansy ass since moving to Miami.
She stops, but I don’t want to hear whatever it is she has to say.
But I’m gonna.
I turn back toward her. “This is my job. Nothing good will come from getting in his face. That’s what he wants.”
“Is this what you meant when you said there were some players who had an issue with you being on the team? How long has that been going on? That jackass bullying you?” Her hands shift to her hips, and she looks pissed. “Matthews.” She says my name, demanding an answer.
I hold up my hand. “Look, guys in the locker room are full of themselves. All the time. That’s not new.”
Her face and posture tell me she’s unconvinced.
I glance around to make sure no one is paying attention or listening. “These guys, especially T-Bone, can say whatever they want. It doesn’t change anything. I know what I’m doing and how to win games.”
She doesn’t even flinch.
I inhale and let it out, shifting an inch closer.
“I just want to play football, and I want to win. I can’t get worked up over a bunch of guys who want to party and piss away our chances.
My management has to see that they’re holding us back.
For now, they’re a part of my team. I can’t change that. It’s how it is sometimes.”
“So that’s it?”
She’s got that look again, like she wants to stroll back in there and kick his ass. It makes me smile.
“Something funny, Matthews?” Her light brows scrunch together in full irritation.
“I’ve not seen you riled up.”
She glowers at me.
“Besides, they can call me Rocket Boy or think my name got me here, but I worked my ass off day and night for it. I proved it today.”
Her eyes run over my face like she’s testing my confidence. When she doesn’t say anything, I start walking, ready to go home.
“I hope their asses get busted tonight, or at least they get benched. I’m not losing again.”
She walks beside me, scanning the parking lot. “You’re way too cool about this, Matthews. I need to know everything about that jackass.”
I laugh. “Didn’t you tell me I needed to be cool?” I’m pretty sure I hear her grunt. I take it as an affirmative. “It doesn’t do me any good to get all pissed off and worked up about something I can’t change. It burns energy I need to retain.”
“Are you ever not in football mode?”
“When it’s all you’ve known ever since you can remember, it’s difficult to change.”
She doesn’t say anything as we approach my car.
“But maybe that’s something I need to work on.”
She stops, her blue-green eyes meeting mine over the hood of my Range Rover. They’re intense but gentle, almost as if she understands.
After a moment, she rounds the car to inspect it.
I don’t know Ryder, but what I’m learning is there’s a whole lot more to her than meets the eye. The massive wound on her shoulder proved that. The fact that she bolted backward rather than let me help her was only another tiny piece to an intricate puzzle.
There’s so much hiding behind all those massive barriers she has in place, and as the days go by, I’m finding I really want her to let a few of them down.
She signals the all-clear, and I climb in. We proceed through the parking lot, passing fans hoping for an autograph as we exit. I usually stop and sign a few footballs and jerseys, but no more, at least for now.
“How long until pictures of us surface?” Her tone is lighter, as if she’s accepted this being a consequence of taking this job.
I glance at her. I didn’t have to see to know phones were pointed in our direction from the moment I approached her.
I run a hand over my jaw. “They’re. . .probably already out there.”
She mumbles something that sounds like, “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”
I bite my cheeks to keep from smiling. Strangely, it’s starting to feel like we might be in this together.