11. Just Wait
Chapter 11
Just Wait
Kolby
We load up in Hart’s SUV just after nine. It’s early, but not quiet, not with Skinner riding shotgun, legs kicked up on the dash like he owns the road and the rest of us are just borrowing it.
“You ever seen someone cry that pretty?” Hart says, eyes still on the rearview, like he left half his soul in Riley’s kitchen. “I mean, she was eating toast and crying about a baby we haven’t even held yet.”
Skinner tilts his head. “Kinda poetic, honestly.”
“The hell do you know about poetry, Robert Frost?” I mutter.
He doesn’t hear me, which tracks, since Hart doesn’t hear him.
Hart sighs. “I just wish I could do something.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “You did. You showed up. You’re showing up every day.”
He nods, jaw flexing. Doesn’t say anything else.
We fall into a lull for a second … until Skinner slaps the dashboard. “Okay, but more importantly , you get your contracts yet?”
Hart shakes his head. “Back off him man. They know his worth.”
Skinner whistles. “Well, damn, now I feel like a dick for bringing it up . ”
“You’re not wrong.” Hart chuckles.
We round the bend that leads toward The Stables, and Hart lets out a low whistle.
“Well, shit.” Skinner pulls his feet down and leans forward. “It doesn’t look like housing. It looks like a goddamn base. Military-grade SUVs are parked along the perimeter. Construction gears stacked against the garages. Security teams I’ve never seen before are walking the sidewalks like it’s a recon mission, not a subdivision.”
“How the hell do you know what a military base looks like?” Hart asks.
He smiles. “Military brat.”
“How did we not know that when you tell us everything?” I ask.
“Not everything. But I will tell you this, I need to use the bathroom.”
“Lo’s bathrooms not working?” Hart asks.
“I need privacy. I have boundaries.”
Hart laughs. “You need privacy? Have boundaries?”
Skinner nods. “I do.”
“We can do that, right, Grimes?” Hart asks.
I lift my chin in response as he pulls up to the men at the main entrance.
“Do we get badges now?” Skinner mutters. “I’d like to request mine to say ‘Knight of Debauchery,’ because when this season is over and we’ve got that trophy, I’m gonna be high on all the orgasms I provide.”
Why wait? My inner voice has always been loud and self-deprecating, but I cannot find it in myself to regret one kiss, one touch.
They wave Hart through, faces unreadable, focused on the next vehicle.
Skinner, looking pretty uncomfortable, asks, “Do me a solid and head to my place first?”
* * *
Skinner’s place is exactly what one would expect—loud and lived-in with mix of hand-me-down furniture and expensive gaming tech. A pair of mismatched cleats sit on the coffee table next to a half-eaten protein bar and a wrestling championship belt he probably bought on eBay.
Hart heads to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and scowls. “Who the hell keeps mustard and Gatorade on the same shelf?”
“Same guy who buys things like this.” I hold up the wrestling belt.
“I’d buy that, but it would be framed and hung in the man cave.”
Our phones sound.
Hart has his in hand before I even remember what pocket I shoved mine in. “ Pack for a week. Gear plus civvies. More details at Legacy. ”
Skinner comes out looking … lighter. “The hell does that mean?”
“Means pack for a week, which I’d like to do, too,” I answer. “We all need to get to the stadium on time.”
“This doesn’t rattle you two at all?” Skinner asks.
I meet Hart’s eyes and, for once, he looks just as unsure as I feel. But I square my shoulders. “We’ve signed a contract; we’re bound. No sense questioning it.”
* * *
The convoy pulls out of The Stables like we’re heading into battle, not practice. Two black SUVs are in front of the line, and another trailing behind.
“They really went full Secret Service,” Skinner mutters, staring out the window.
Hart doesn’t say much. Hasn’t since the message.
Neither have I.
We pass through Main Street, where the shop windows are covered in black and gold. Flags flying and banners hanging. Blue Valley is tiny; you blink, you miss it.
“What this place misses in size, it sure as hell makes up for in loyalty and support,” Hart says like he’s reading my mind.
“So, what you’re saying is Riley wasn’t expecting much when she saw what you were packing. Her disappointment was just no big?” Skinner holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
“Does the job.” He chuckles.
Legacy Field rises ahead. A dream once, now there’s a different feeling here. Bigger. More … important. Less like a dream, more like something worth standing for. I don’t mind at all. A fortress built around my team, even if it’s temporary.
When we pull through the gated side entrance, I count six new guards—all jacked, earpieces in. Their presence works everyone up, but they bring me calm.
Duffle bag slung over my shoulder, holding everything I’ll ever really need, I follow the team inside. No locker room stop. Just the meeting room.
The air’s cold. Fluorescent lights hum. Two walls are covered with whiteboards, all filled with notes in blocky handwriting: new routes, adjustments, shifts in blocking schemes.
Boone’s name is circled in red.
Under it: Grimes fill-in package.
Fill in …
“All right, lock in,” Coach Cohen says, nodding as we take our seats. “Grimes, you’re sliding into Boone’s spot. We’ll adjust the cadence so you’re not exposed on the blitz. Hart, Skinner, you’ve got rotations doubling your routes. Yes, even you, Skinner. Congratulations, you’ll sweat today.”
Skinner raises a hand. “I’ll still be pretty.”
Coach ignores him and keeps going.
The plays come fast, detailed. We’re switching tempo. Prepping for the game like it’s a chess game, and they’ve got a stacked backfield we have to grind down before they open us up.
I memorize everything. Not just because I want to. Because I have to.
Football has kept my heart beating for years, and it will keep it going forever.
This is the shot I wasn’t supposed to get. The position I thought I’d buried when the draft didn’t call my name. And now here I am, in the position Boone should be in, staring at a playbook that demands everything from me.
At some point, Skinner leans close and whispers, “You good?”
I nod once. “I’m ready.”
And I am.
Even if the ground under our feet is shifting. Even if the silence around me is louder than it should be. I’m ready.
Because when the whistle blows, none of it matters. Just the play. The hit. The win.
* * *
Everyone starts filing out of the meeting room, voices low, energy twitchy; half of them due to the circumstance, me and others hungry for a win.
I fall into step with Hart and Skinner, moving like a pack. Hart’s already got his phone out, probably checking in with Riley. His face softens a little, like it always does when he says her name out loud.
Lucas steps into our path like he’s been waiting. “Hart, you headed toward the Brewery?”
“Yeah.” Hart nods. “Gonna drop off these two and meet up with Riley; hang out a bit before heading home. Assuming our houseguests haven’t burned it down or turned it into a brothel.”
Skinner grins. “Shit, lemme come with you.”
Lucas chuckles then turns to Skinner. “Perfect. Go with him; help him clean out his house.”
Skinner raises an eyebrow but shrugs. “Free ride and a distraction? Sold.”
And then Lucas’s attention shifts … right to me.
“Kolby,” he says, voice just a notch more serious. “Hang back. I’ll take you home myself.”
Hart glances over, but he doesn’t ask. Just claps my shoulder and nods once before heading off with Skinner.
I stay put.
Lucas jerks his head. “This way.”
I follow him down the hall, deeper into the staff wing of Legacy Field. We stop outside an office—his, I realize—and Lucas opens the door.
Inside are just two people. Ava and Lo’s father, Ryan Brooks.
Ava’s seated, posture relaxed, but eyes sharp. Ryan’s standing near the window, arms folded, wearing that easy calm that somehow makes him even more intimidating. Not because he raises his voice. Because he doesn’t need to.
My gut tightens, but I nod at them both. “Ava, Mr. Brooks,” I say.
“Kolby.” Ryan offers a quiet smile. “Glad you came.”
The thought that flits through my brain, I should be ashamed of.
Lucas shuts the door behind us, and I brace myself for whatever it is I have coming.
Ryan gestures for me to sit, and I don’t want to, but out of respect, I make myself.
Lucas leans against the closed door, arms crossed like he’s guarding more than the hallway.
“We’ve looked into the message,” Ryan says evenly. “We can’t find a connection to your ex.”
I exhale, just enough to feel it.
“But,” he adds, “we’re not done looking.”
I nod once. “Understood.”
That’s when Ava stands, and she does it like she does everything—with purpose. And I know before she even opens her mouth that the temperature in the room’s about to change.
“What I don’t understand,” she says, her voice clipped, “is why you didn’t come to me when those bastards started bleeding you dry.”
I blink.
“Kolby, that should have been an annulment , not a dragged-out separation with some sleazeball attorney playing chess with your life.”
“I—”
“You knew who her father was,” she says, cutting right through the air between us. “And you still hired a lawyer that has dinner with the Parsons twice a month and plays golf with her uncle at Tribeca Ridge.”
I feel my jaw clench. Because she’s right. And I knew it. And I did it, anyway. Because part of me still thought I didn’t deserve better.
“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” I say quietly. “You’ve all done enough?—”
“Oh, don’t give me that crap,” Ava snaps, eyes flashing. “You’d walk through fire for anyone on this team, but the second you need help, you go radio silent and let yourself drown like that’s the only story you know how to tell.”
“Easy, princess,” Lucas says.
“You are part of this family,” she says, softer now. “And if anyone tries to screw with you, legally or otherwise, they’re going to have to go through us first. But you have to let us in.”
I nod again, slower this time. “I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re right.”
“Damn right I am,” she mutters and crosses back to her seat. “You’re getting every fucking penny back, and she’s going to agree to give you profit from that penthouse?—”
“She can keep it. That was for her. She loves that place. I just want a divorce.”
“She doesn’t love it too much. She sold it for double three months ago.”
“That’s—”
“Twice what you paid for it. It will all be yours.”
“I appreciate whatever you can do, but I was told it was never in my name.”
“Perhaps that’s true, but the down payment was written from your account,” she points out.
“All I want is a divorce. If I can get that done, no matter the cost, I would be eternally grateful.”
“I have them by the balls,” Ava snaps. “I can’t wait to see them in court. Let those old monied NYC elitist fucks?—”
I swallow back the bile rising in my throat and stop her. “I’m going to ask you not to.”
“Why the hell?—”
“Ava,” Ryan Brooks cuts her off. “It’s a lot of information to process in five minutes when you’ve been living it for years. You think we can get through the season and deal with it then?”
“That leaves him without a contract and us an open roster spot. I’m not chancing that they haven’t paid off some judge to take any more of his hard-earned money.”
The room gets smaller, and air becomes a little harder to take in, but I cannot do this shit.
“I’ve gone this long. I need to stand my ground. I won’t take this to court. My life isn’t for public consumption in the media.”
“Even if it means you don’t have a contract? Jesus, Grimes, we?—”
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Lucas cuts her off. “His call, Ava. We have bigger fish to fry. This isn’t connected, and it waits until after the playoffs.”
“All right, Kolby, let’s head out,” Ryan says.
“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” Lucas says, squeezing my shoulder. “Fuck the noise. Head in the game.”
I nod.
We walk silently through the corridors and outside into the crisp air.
“This way.” He nods toward an SUV.
I was surprised to notice that Jade’s and Ryan’s vehicles were navy blue, not black like the majority of the owners’ vehicles.
“Jade insisted on remote starters on all vehicles when we got offered a spot at the table. Said if we were all staying here and freezing for the rest of our lives, it was nonnegotiable.”
“Can’t say I blame her.” I chuckle.
“You need a new vehicle when you get your bonus.”
Bonus? I don’t even have a contract.
“It’s on the top of the list.”
“Good, ’cause it’s not just your battery. It’s your alternator, your serpentine belt—all that. My suggestion is not to waste your money on fixing it up. Give it to one of the locals who love to tinker.
“And don’t stress any of that. I’ve known Ava since she was born. Her bite is worse than her bark . She will rip someone to shreds—loves that shit. But more than that, she’s loyal, and she’s not going to do anything for someone unless they give consent.”
Yet she threatens no contract. No roster spot , I think.
“You have a decision to make.”
Fuck, here we go .
“Options. One being Vegas, and?—.”
“What?” I ask, shocked.
He nods. “They want you, so do a couple of others, but Vegas’s offer is apparently the biggest. Drew Daniels unofficially gave us a heads-up and told us we needed to go all-in or lose you. We planned to do just that on Saturday afternoon. Ava’s fired up because she doesn’t want those”—he pauses and clears his throat—“your wife and her family to have more money to fuck up good people’s lives. She wants your money to go into your pocket.”
I turn and look at him as he pulls to a stop and waits for the gate to lift.
“You mind if we make a few stops before we head to the Barn?”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“Good.” He pulls forward and hangs a left instead of a right.
“We studied every person’s tape we draft. We missed something with you.”
Missed something?
He continues, “Thankfully, so did everyone else, or you’d have gone in the first four rounds. You’re a five—position OL. That’s gold, we know it. On top of that you live this game. You’re quiet, observative, don’t start shit, you stepped forward last night to get the other fools to do the same and, by doing that, it came at a cost to you personally.”
He’s not wrong, they wouldn’t have. “Someone had to.”
“Nah, no one had to . But you did it.” He shakes his head. “We know the worth in that. Off the field, you write your own play. Not one of us is going to question it.”
“But Ava.”
He chuckles. “I probably shouldn’t keep making canine references involving my daughter-in-law, but she’s like a dog with a bone. The bigger bone is who’s fucking with the team. And even though you haven’t asked, I’m telling you, this is not Knoxville fans, and if it involves them, it’s being puppeteered. Every one of us has a past. The boys not involved in the team on a daily, the ones in black, they have enemies. So do the rest of us. But I’m sure you’ve read all about that online.”
“I have a computer, but only because I had to for college. Only a handful of times I’ve opened it since, and I hate carrying a phone.”
“Shit,” he mumbles then sighs. “Hate gossip but will deal with truths.” And then he lets them fly.
“Then you have no idea that, in college, Logan ran his SUV through a bar that was being shot up because he knew that London was out with her friends, and she made sure they got out, but she couldn’t. She had to lay there, playing dead, in hopes the gunman would leave her there.”
I blink slowly.
“Or that Maddox Hines was born into a trafficking ring.”
Holy shit , I think but just shake my head.
“You don’t listen to music?” he asks.
“I do. I know he’s got a band. I stream my music.”
“On that phone you hate.” He chuckles. “Got a love hate/relationship with them, too.”
“Damned if you do, dammed if you don’t.”
“Something you wouldn’t have known because we predate high speed. Lucas left the NFL after too many concussions, and most of them due to the fact he fucked anything with tits to try and bury his loss, which was his high school girlfriend and now second wife.”
I turn and look at him, hating that I am hearing this, but yeah, I want to know just how the hell that came to be.
Eyes on the road, he continues, “And one of them was an ex-teammate. He had the whole D line just brutalize him. Refs didn’t do shit, either. He ended up in the hospital.”
“Vegas?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nope, the Jets. And this goes no further, because again, it’s not a threat to this team. The player, he’s close with your ex’s family. Name’s Miguel.”
“I know him.”
“Yeah.”
“You said the refs didn’t do shit, and we saw how the league handled the situation in Vegas. Any chance this isn’t about any of us, or any of you, and it’s to do with the league itself?”
He thinks on that for a minute. “That may be on the list, but it’s long been buried.”
“Gotcha.”
“And now I’m thinking it should be delved into deeper.” He smiles. “Good call, Grimes.”
Ryan taps a button on the steering wheel. “Send a message to Number One.”
A calm voice responds, “ What would you like it to say? ”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Look deeper into the league.”
Then Siri’s voice cuts in, smooth and sterile. “ You have an incoming message from Number One. Would you like to hear it? ”
Ryan’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t look at me. Just taps the steering wheel once, like a trigger. “Play it.”
The response is copy that , and then the phone rings.
“Hey, Dad, what’s up?”
“Driving to Dad’s to bring in some wood and?—”
“He ever going to let us switch that old fireplace out for gas?” Luke, their oldest—number one—chuckles.
“Never.” Ryan smiles.
“Any idea why my wife is full-on Ava Links right now?”
Ryan chuckles. “Got an idea, and also a passenger.”
“Hey, Mom,” he says.
“It’s Kolby,” I respond.
“You piss my wife off?” he asks.
“That’s possible,” I admit.
“You in the front or the back seat?” he asks, and Ryan chuckles.
“The front. Why?” I answer.
“Because Dad used to make us sit in the back when he was pissed off at us and?—”
“I did not. Your little asses climbed in the back when you did stupid shit.”
“I don’t remember it that way,” Luke states.
“I’ve had this conversation with your sister. Apparently, I have a killer look of disappointment when I have a reason to be disappointed.”
“Lo?”
“Yeah. Said she saw it the first time in fifth grade when she removed her braces.” He smiles. “Regardless, you climbed in the back; that’s on you.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He sighs. “So, what am I facing when she gets home?”
His answer: “She needs a new bone to chew on.”
I still, because that’s not what I was expecting, not at all.
He continues, “Just tell her about the suspicions with the league.”
Different bone completely …
“You’re not leaving us, are you, Grimes?”
“No plans to.”
“Good,” Luke says. “Fuck the noise and lock in.”
“Will do.”
“Daddy, you can’t say fuck. It’s a bad word,” comes from left field. “Swear jar. Pay up.”
Ryan shakes in laughter, and hearing that sweet little voice say fuck , I have to hold back my own.
“Hope, you can’t tell me not to say a bad word using a bad word,” Luke says quietly.
“I heard her say the F-word. You don’t need to whisper it,” comes from right. “Put the money in the jar, Dad.”
Ryan laughs.
“Shit’s not funny,” Luke whispers into the phone.
“Daddy, you can’t say shhhh—” She squeals. “Stop tickling me!”
She laughs, the kind that comes right from the belly for a few seconds, and then Luke says, “There, you two little extortionists. Happy now?”
“Gonna need a bigger jar.” The little girl laughs.
“Give me a minute, yeah?” he asks.
Laughter fades as I assume they take off.
“I’m back.” Luke groans, and Ryan laughs. Hell, so do I. “Look, I need to go deal with that, but did you get the text that we’re sending the practice team home?”
Ryan laughs. “No.”
“You know what that means, yeah?” Luke asks.
“Yeah.”
“Tell Grandpa I’ll bring the kids up to see him before we head to the field tomorrow.”
“Will do. Love you, kid,” Ryan says.
“Know that. Love you, too.”
The call ends as my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I look over the message from Coach Cox, our offensive coach.
“Revised schedule?” Ryan asks.
“Yeah.”
“What day is the whole team on the field?”
I scroll through.
Coach Cox:
TUESDAY – MENTAL REPS WIN GAMES.
Film at 8.
Bring notebooks and shut mouths—this ain’t social hour.
No pads. Walkthrough install.
Outriders shift gaps like snakes—recognize it pre-snap, or we get eaten.
Optional flush lift after. Trainers on standby.
Coach Cox:
WEDNESDAY—Game On Boys
Entire team
Full pads. 1st and 2nd down emphasis.
We dominate or we get dominated.
D-line has a nasty twist game—expect doubles, redirect drills, and trap pickup.
They will bring heat. Don’t match it. Exceed it.
End of practice: red zone run sets. Earn your keep.
Coach Cox:
THURSDAY – SITUATIONAL SMARTS.
Half-pads. Still physical, just smarter.
3rd and long. Red zone. 2-minute.
One missed assignment = busted drive.
Grimes and Hart are running live checks. Don’t guess—listen.
Post-practice: fumble recovery + screen timing.
Coach Cox:
FRIDAY – FAST Tommy Lane, his best friend, was the other. Hated them at first, then maybe even more when I saw Jade falling for a guy who was good enough for her. We all kind of got stuck being friends, so I got front row seats to watching her fall in love.” He slows down and starts down a long dirt driveway.
“We all went out one night. Got in a car accident. Tommy was driving and got killed. Drunk driver.” He shakes his head. “She found out she was pregnant when she was being taken care of in the hospital. His parents were gonna fight her for custody. I put a ring on her finger before Luke was born.”
“I’m not sure what to say. I’m sorry for your loss, but either direction, I go.”
“Tommy Lane was a good guy. And our son, his and mine, he knows that. And I didn’t mean to unload all that. The point was: kids are great; grandkids, they’re even better.”
At the end of the tree-lined driveway is a massive log cabin. Two barns are surrounded by fences, and horses are grazing. It’s stunning.
“This place saved my life, but Jade and Luke are my reason for believing I was good enough.”
An old man with a cane steps out onto the porch, and Ryan opens his door. “Come on, kid; let’s cut some wood.”