Chapter 10 Steele
TEN
STEELE
“I want to try one in outside zone,” my new quarterback, Maddox Dane, says into the huddle.
“I think it might work out against some of the tougher defenses. We always have the option to run up the middle, but I don’t think they’ll be expecting too much lateral stress early in the season, since Harlow just got here.
Let’s open up a lane for him and see what happens. ”
He extends his hand, and the rest of the offense joins in. I hesitate, mainly because I’m a fucking asshole and wish I were still in Miami, but eventually fall in line. I may not love the situation I’m in, but these are my new teammates, and I’ll only be hurting myself if I don’t at least try.
“Fifty-seven jam on one. Ready?” he grunts, shoving his mouthguard in.
Everyone nods in agreement, and we break the huddle, taking our spots across from the defense.
It’s only my first day practicing with the Renegades, but I’ve played them enough times to know what to look for and where their weaknesses are.
If the offensive line can do their job even a little bit, I shouldn’t have a problem finding a hole to push through.
“Down!” Dane shouts, scanning the defense. If this were a real game, there’d be more commotion as he did so, but right now, we’re basically just seeing what works and adjusting what doesn’t. “Set, hut!”
In an instant, the ball is snapped into his waiting hands.
The linemen hit their blocks, doing what they can to push the defense in opposite directions to create some space.
It’s not much, but by the time Maddox makes the handoff, I’m able to find a small gap between the tackle and tight end.
I have to shove my way through, but once I do, I’m able to shuck a couple of defenders and get to the end zone with ease.
“Fuck me,” our cornerback, Theo Calloway, says as he jogs up, clearly winded from trying to bring me down. “Good run, man. You’re too goddamn fast.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, noticing that he’s the only guy to come over here.
I’m new, and touchdowns don’t count for shit unless we’re playing an actual game, but still.
It feels good to be praised by your teammates sometimes—not that I deserve it with the way I’ve acted toward the Renegades and their fans.
Fuck Around and Find Out: Party of one. Your table’s ready.
I guess none of it really matters, though. If things go as planned, I won’t be here long enough to need anyone. I just have to focus on my job and let my stats do the talking, then I’ll be able to start over wherever I want.
I return a few half-smiles from my teammates as I head toward the sideline, grateful that I made it through my first practice without getting knocked out. The way Emmett Hayes was glaring had me on edge the whole time, but he kept it professional, even though I’m sure it wasn’t easy.
We hit the locker room, and I quietly make my way toward the showers, knowing that I don’t have much time to get everything done.
I’m supposed to meet Sydney at the children’s hospital in less than an hour, and I have absolutely no idea what kind of traffic I’ll run into on my way.
It’s the middle of the workday, so hopefully it won’t be too bad.
The last thing I need right now is to be late, pissing her off even more than she already is.
I hate to admit it, but I need her a hell of a lot more than she needs me right now if I want to fix the damage I’ve done to my reputation.
Without much of a word to anyone, I get clean, opting to wear one of the team-issued Renegades T-shirts I was given this morning with a pair of black sweatpants.
As awkward as it feels to wear a different logo across my chest, I figure I should be prepared for photos, just in case.
Sydney said she didn’t trust me in front of cameras yet, but I know better than anyone that sometimes, they’re lurking in the shadows anyway.
Thankfully, the drive to the hospital is short, and there’s virtually no traffic on the city streets to slow me down. I end up pulling into the parking lot outside the new wing with about ten minutes to spare, so I use the opportunity to check in on things in Miami while I wait.
Shooting off a quick email to the realtor, I ask if she was able to get my condo on the market.
It was a painful decision to make, but the likelihood of me living there again before I retire is slim, so I may as well let it go.
It’s not like I can trust my brother to watch things for me, and although my parents are right around the corner, they have their own shit going on—not that they’d be willing, anyway.
A little over a year ago, they decided they had watched Styles become a slave to his gambling addiction for far too long.
So, they staged an intervention, where we were all supposed to set boundaries.
In the event that he didn’t get help, we made it clear that he’d be cut out of our lives.
And when he left rehab after less than a week, claiming that he was magically cured, they stuck to them without faltering.
I tried to do the same, avoiding his calls and texts for as long as I could.
But when I heard that he was at a local café asking people for money because he was hungry, I just fucking couldn’t.
He’s my twin. When he hurts, so do I, and I wasn’t about to let him starve…
not that he was. He had already landed a place to stay and found work through a temp agency, but it didn’t pay enough to fund his habit, which is why he resorted to dishonesty.
I’m sure the five-hundred dollars I gave him that day was lost in minutes, but at least he wasn’t taking from people who truly needed it by tugging at their heartstrings.
Unfortunately, my decision to continue enabling him resulted in our parents pulling away from me, too, which really fucking stung.
It wasn’t until everything went down with the league that I finally decided I had had enough.
I didn’t cut ties completely, but I definitely backed away from him.
He knows I’m still around if he’s ever in real trouble, but I also think he understands the damage he did when he stole from me and used the money to bet against my team.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him for that, but at the end of the day, I still love the guy more than I probably should.
Letting my head fall back onto the headrest, I drag my hands down my face.
There’s still so much to do here in Cleveland, and to be honest, I’m a little overwhelmed.
I haven’t even arranged for my cars to be transported, instead choosing to use the rental for a little bit longer.
I also know that I can’t stay in the hotel forever, which means I need to shift my ass into gear and look for a new place.
Those are both things I should have done the moment I found out I had been signed, and now I’m paying the price for my complacency.
Hopefully, Sydney will take it easy on me for the next few days and not schedule any appearances, so I can get my life in order before the season starts… at least, the parts I can control.
I can barely keep my heavy eyes open as I wait.
It’s quiet, save for the whooshing of cars and trucks that are driving in the distance.
I’ve barely slept since I left the club the other night, dirty images of a certain blonde bombshell invading my thoughts every time I try.
I hate that I can’t get her out of my head, and I hate even more that I’d probably sell my soul to have her again.
“Hello?” a muffled voice says, startling me.
My eyes shoot open just as Sydney raps a small but heavy fist against the driver’s window.
She looks adorable in a tight black baby tee and baggy jeans, but the golden curls framing her heart-shaped face take some of the edge away.
She may be a bad girl on the surface, but underneath it all, I have a feeling there’s more to the younger Grant sister.
Too bad I won’t be around long enough to see it for myself.
I nod, killing the engine and righting my clothes.
She steps back as I push the door open, get out, and stand to my full height.
It’s a warm, late summer afternoon, but thankfully, there’s enough breeze in the air to make it bearable.
I guess that’s something for Cleveland’s pros column—the humidity doesn’t make me feel like my lungs are caving in.
“Hey,” I grunt, shutting the car door and shoving my hands into my pockets.
The air around us is awkward, but not filled with volatility like yesterday.
Her stance is protective, with her arms crossed over her chest, although the popped hip lets me know that she’s ready to lay my ass out if she needs to.
She’s equal parts cute and terrifying, if I’m honest.
“Hi,” she responds quietly, a few blonde strands blowing in the wind and creating what looks like a halo above her head.
“My friend Mitch is inside waiting for us. If everything goes well, I may be able to get us tickets to their ribbon-cutting ceremony. It’s a big charity ball, and every reputable media outlet in Cleveland will be in attendance.
So, please be on your best behavior in there.
Don’t be rude, and maybe don’t scowl like you’d rather be anywhere else. ”
I swallow a scoff. I’m not a fucking child.
I don’t need to be told how to act in a professional setting.
I may lose my cool on the field sometimes, but that’s different.
I like to get into the heads of my opponents, throwing them off their game and making them second-guess their next moves.
It’s worked for me since high school, and I’m not about to fix something that sure as hell isn’t broken.
But out here, in the real world, I generally have to be provoked before I strike back.