Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Devotion to his game, to his career, had taken on new meaning, and even for him it was getting out of control.
Could he, the one who’d always been one hundred percent in control of his life, disciplined beyond the most rigidly disciplined of athletes, be so crazy?
Taking the serum, taking this chance had seemed like the only answer to buy one more year.
But he’d had to sell his soul to do it, to lie in bed with the devil—literally.
Not that he’d been forced to sleep with Charlie, but damn if he could stop himself from wanting it. That was the worst part of his lack of discipline. This was the Trent Lockheed he didn’t recognize, even beyond the man who snuck around behind closed doors to get shot up with experimental serum.
Walking as if on a plank to his doom, he made his way to the training room at the stadium in Chicago, with a steel grip on Charlie’s arm.
He didn’t need to hold her so tightly, but she’d become emblematic of holding onto his goal, keeping himself straight and on task.
She had as much to lose as he did and knowing it gave him comfort.
He needed her to do more than shoot him up with serum, even more than to f—ck his brains out at night.
He needed her to reassure him that the devil he’d bargained with wasn’t going to do him in. Because she was his devil.
As long as he stood with her, went through this with her, he would be all right, no matter the outcome. He was never more sure of anything—no matter how irrational and unreasoned it was—in his ridiculously over-privileged life.
“You can let go of my arm now.” She closed the door behind them with a mild click. He’d have slammed it against the buzz of men and media. Ralph had preceded him into the room.
“You know,” Ralph said, “I’m starting to get some uncomfortable questions from the media about why we’re always locked away in the training room—with Charlie—before every practice and now the game.”
“I’ll bet you are.” That’s all he bothered saying. Reporters bugged him about Charlie being in the locker room and on the team plane. He didn’t care as long as the coach didn’t bother him. But maybe that would be next.
“What do you tell them?” Charlie asked as she took her lineup of instruments and vials from her black bag.
“Mostly I deflect with jokes or tell them to mind their own f—cking business.”
Trent snorted. “You’re more polite than I am.”
“Really?” Ralph met his eyes with concern. “You’re the darling of the media. You can’t have them turning on you now. You need them on your side in case . . .” Ralph’s thought trailed off. Charlie stopped what she was doing as Trent ripped the shirt over his head.
“Finish your thought, Ralph.” A ripple of tension rolled through him, transforming into anger.
Not at Ralph. In truth, Trent had no idea why he was angry.
Maybe it was a symptom of the serum, for all he knew.
He stared Ralph down. Needed to know what was on his mind, needed to face the unpleasant prospects, to keep it real.
“In case things go south.”
Charlie scoffed and picked up the syringe.
“The media, whether they’re friendly or not, will be the last thing he needs to be concerned with if things go south.
” She rubbed an alcohol-soaked gauze pad over the spot at the back of his shoulder, under the bone, and he forced himself to relax his tight muscles. It would hurt less if he did.
But the way she said go south gave him pause. He had the feeling she was talking about something completely different than Ralph was.
“What do you mean?” he asked and she jabbed. He kept his wince to himself.
“The worst version of things going south have you in a precarious state of health.”
She was trying to be delicate, but her efforts were lost on him. He knew she meant that he could have a stroke and some serious consequences that could threaten his daily functioning or even his life.
“Jesus,” Ralph said. “I wasn’t even thinking—”
“Don’t worry, Ralph,” Trent put on his church smile, the one his mother had trained him to wear in polite company since he’d been a toddler. It was usually automatic, but he purposefully aimed it at Ralph now, knowing Charlie was watching, like it was a weapon aimed at her.
“If I have a stroke it’ll have the media all-in on my side.”
“I’m serious, Trent,” Charlie said. She moved around the table where he sat to stand in front of him. “You don’t have to continue doing this. You’ve made progress. It can be dangerous—”
“I’ll see it through. The season is seventeen weeks long. And then there’s the playoffs. We have two months to go, Charlie, you and me.”
A startled look changed her worried eyes. He’d had to remind her that they were together as long as she was treating him, as long as he was John Doe. And that meant the minute he stopped being John Doe, there was no more relationship.
There couldn’t be. For too many reasons. His head flooded with random thoughts and emotions warring and arguing about all the reasons why and why not. He shut them down as he stared into her eyes. She looked hurt. He felt like shit.
It wasn’t his usual style to make a woman feel bad. No matter that he was a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy, he’d prided himself on taking care of feelings and wounded hearts. And giving jewelry.
But he couldn’t make himself handle this any other way but hard.
No sugarcoating. She wasn’t one of those other women.
She was the kind of woman he avoided, the kind he wasn’t supposed to have a relationship with at all.
The kind of woman where all was fair because he couldn’t afford to fall in love.
Especially not with the devil. The kind that could ruin him if he let her.
He wondered if it was too late.
So he’d hurt her feelings and probably a hell of a lot more before they were through, and he would feel a world of his own pain. Because that was the kind of hellish bargain they’d made.
He said, “Too late to start worrying about the consequences now. I made my choice. We all have.” He stood, backing her off. She turned and packed up her bag.
Ralph shot him a dagger, but said nothing. He knew which side his bread was buttered on.
Trent pulled on his Under Armour and left the room. It was time to dress and get his mind focused. It was time to win a football game. That’s what he was here for, wasn’t it? That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it?
He never needed reminding. It was built into him. Winning. The need to win at all costs. Maybe that’s why he’d made his choice those years ago. Maybe that’s what Doc had seen in him. His natural killer instinct.
After the game, the press was on him before he left the field as if it were a playoff game, before he could get to the tunnel to the dressing room.
“How’s the shoulder? It looked great, like nothing had ever been wrong with it.”
“To what do you attribute your recovery? You discover the fountain of youth?”
“You looked like yourself ten years ago. How do you feel?”
Trent darted a look in the direction of the tunnel and saw Ralph waiting with Charlie.
“If I was myself ten years ago, I’d be giving you stupid answers.
Seriously, if I was myself ten years ago, we wouldn’t have won and you know it.
I’ve learned a thing or two about ducking away from tackles and getting rid of the ball quick.
” He kept his church smile going until he flashed another look in Charlie’s direction and saw Tammy standing with her.
“Shit.” He hadn’t realized he said it aloud.
“What? Something wrong?”
“No, I just remembered I have a hot date—and it’s not with you.” The reporters laughed as the cameras went off and they followed him to the tunnel opening. He trotted ahead of them and stopped only for a second.
“Wait for me and don’t say a word,” he whispered to Charlie.
Ralph followed him into the locker room. Charlie was supposed to take some measurements, but there was too much media around. And Tammy would be too damn suspicious if she saw Charlie go into the training room with him, doctor or no doctor.
“We need to get back out there. Pronto,” Trent said. “Tammy’s going to pump her for information. She’s probably spotted the missing ten mil.” Trent stripped down and jumped in the shower.
“Don’t jump to conclusions.” Ralph shouted over the shower water. Trent snorted.
“Why else would she show up randomly without calling?”
Ralph didn’t respond. Trent turned off the water after a two-minute shower. Not how he usually operated, but he had no choice. While he dried himself with a towel, he went to the storage area and pulled out his clothes.
“How long do you think you can get away with using the training room as your private dressing room?” Ralph asked. He sat at the empty visitors’ training room desk with his feet up, chewing on an apple while Trent dressed as if he were trying to break a speed record.
“As long as it takes. Why? Am I in danger of being labeled a prima donna?
“Oh, I think we’re well past that label and into something less tasteful.”
Trent frowned as he buttoned the cuffs on his dress shirt. He’d planned to take Charlie out tonight. Now he’d have to include Tammy for dinner.
“Did you notice whether Tammy had her boyfriend with her?”
“What do I look like—”
“Never mind.” Trent threw the balled-up wet towel at his friend. “Let’s get out of here. You’ll need to stick with me and run interference. Tell them I needed a deep tissue massage after the game to keep the muscles loose and the tendons and ligaments lubricated to prevent injury.”
“Sure.” Ralph sounded skeptical, but he followed Trent out the door back into the dressing room where most of the players hung around talking, joking, half dressed.
“Trent, what the hell kind of treatment are you getting for your shoulder that you need to—”