Chapter 12 Steele
TWELVE
STEELE
“Hey, man. It’s me. I just figured I’d check in and see how the new job is going. Give me a shout when you get a chance. Bye.”
I end the call, wondering what’s been keeping my brother so busy that he hasn’t answered all week.
Last I knew, he had just been offered a maintenance job at one of the apartment complexes near our hometown, but he specifically said it was a regular nine-to-five shift.
I’ve called him almost every evening, and sent several texts, but they’ve all gone unanswered.
I’d like to say this is odd behavior for Styles, but it’s not.
He used to disappear for weeks at a time, pulling all-nighters at the casino and sleeping in his car when the money got particularly low.
Eventually, he’d make his way back around, crashing on couches—often mine—while he worked odd jobs to replenish his bank account.
Rinse and repeat.
I shove my phone into the pocket of my sweatpants, reach into the passenger seat for my duffel bag, and step out into the warm Cleveland air.
We’re gearing up for our first preseason game a week from Sunday, so it’s been an endless cycle of workouts, studying tape, and full practices in preparation.
Some guys hate this sort of thing—waking up before the sun and getting home long after it’s set for the evening—but not me.
I live for this shit. I always have. That’s probably why I don’t do serious relationships, and why I’d rather get what I need from consenting partners at the club.
Have I dated? Sure. I enjoy the press of a warm body against mine while I sleep, but I know better than to let it go further than a mutually agreed-upon, short-term fling.
The women I hung out with in Miami were all about the limelight and the notoriety of being seen on the arm of a professional athlete.
Being known as the city’s lovable bad boy didn’t hurt either, guaranteeing that I never had to attend an event—or go home—alone.
Life in Cleveland is a whole other story.
I’ve only been here for about two weeks, and I’ve been busy moving stuff into the four-bedroom townhome I just snagged on a one-year lease, but still.
The idea of spending time with anyone right now, for sex or otherwise, just doesn’t appeal to me the way it used to.
There’s obviously something very wrong with me.
Maybe I’m still settling in. After all, I did leave behind everything I’ve ever known to move over a thousand miles away. Or maybe I’m just tired from work and need a few good nights of sleep before I’m feeling like myself again.
Or maybe the owner’s daughter fucked me so good that I can’t focus on anyone else.
No. That can’t be right.
Sydney Grant may have shocked me at Velvet, but that’s not who I am. I’m not the type of guy who gives up control, despite the way I barely considered it for ten seconds before I was on my knees for her. I can’t explain any of it, but I refuse to let her stay in my head.
I walk down the concrete path, pulling out my team identification card as soon as I reach the gate of the practice facility.
Flashing it to the guard, I nod when he waves me in, adjusting my bag on my shoulder as I head toward the locker rooms. My chest tightens with anxiety, preparing for more awkward moments with my new teammates when I get there.
I’ve never been the new guy before, other than when I was an actual rookie.
I’m sure that’s strange enough on its own.
But add in the fact that I’ve given this entire organization about a million reasons not to like me, and that makes the pre-practice moments even more tension filled.
I feel like the kid in elementary school who nobody wants to eat lunch with, and I’ll admit it kind of sucks.
Two weeks ago, I didn’t give a fuck if I spent every second of my free time alone.
I figured I didn’t come here to make friends, anyway, so why bother making that type of connection with people?
I had access to the club if I got lonely or craved physical touch, which I truly thought would be enough.
But now, walking into a building full of guys who barely even look at me unless we’re on the field together, I’m really missing home.
I’ve spoken to some of my old Rage teammates since I left, but they’re busy gearing up for the new season. Plus, most of them have girlfriends or families, who I’m sure they’d rather be with than talk to me.
I thought maybe, after Sydney and I are done doing whatever she planned this evening, that I’d head to Velvet.
Even though I really have no desire to have sex right now, it might be nice to play a little.
It beats sitting at home with a video game controller in my hand or staring at the ceiling until I finally fall asleep.
The locker room is loud with booming laughs and chatter when I arrive, but nobody really pays me any attention as I move toward my cubby.
I make quick work of pulling off my shoes, sweats, and shirt, shoving them into my bag so I can put them back on after my shower.
Sydney didn’t tell me anything about where we’re going later, so I wasn’t sure what to wear, opting for my usual comfy attire.
It’ll work, and if it doesn’t, maybe she’ll learn to communicate better.
Or she’ll rip me a brand-new asshole for no reason at all.
I’m in my pants, pads, and cleats in record time, gripping the mask of my helmet with my fingers and heading out of the room. I jerk my chin in greeting as I approach Austin Baker, who stands with his back against the wall, slowing when he rises to his full height.
“Hey, Harlow,” he says, extending a hand between us.
I reach out and wrap my fingers around his in a firm, yet slightly confused shake.
Baker was the Renegades’ quarterback for their inaugural season, until a terrible injury took him out of their second game.
He ended up retiring, which is why I’m wondering why the hell he’s standing in the tunnel at our practice facility right now.
“I haven’t had a chance to say hello since you got here. How’s Cleveland treating you so far?”
I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “Haven’t really gotten much of a chance to sightsee,” I tell him. “Still getting settled in, I guess.”
He nods in understanding, looking from left to right as he lowers his voice.
“Everyone being cool?” I almost scoff like an asshole at the question, because aside from Theo Calloway, I haven’t gotten much of anything from anyone.
They hate me, and I can’t really blame them for it.
The important thing is that it doesn’t affect us on the field, but until we get into real-life situations, we won’t know.
Unlike an actual game where we’re keeping score, and there’s a whole team of men against us, it’s impossible to tell what kind of chemistry we really have.
The moments where we’re down with only minutes left on the clock, or when the boos of the opposing fans are making it hard to focus—that’s when you really know what you’re made of as a team.
“They’re alright,” I reply. “I don’t think we’ll be having slumber parties anytime soon, but it’s fine. I don’t blame them for not being my biggest fans.”
His expression softens with understanding. “Give them a bit. They’re all great guys, and they’d do anything for one another. I have no doubt that they’ll warm up to the idea of you being here. Until then, let me know if I can help in any way.”
“Thanks,” I grunt, my chest tingling with…
something. I had no intentions of making friends in Cleveland, but Baker extending even a small amount of acceptance in my direction feels good.
He may not technically be my teammate, but the guys still consider him to be their captain.
If nothing else, maybe he can bridge some of the gap between me and the others, so we can create the type of trust and chemistry that wins games.
He nods again, patting me on the shoulder as he takes off toward the coaches’ offices.
I continue down the tunnel with a new outlook plucking at the back of my mind.
At the end of the day, every man drafted into this league is here for the same thing—to get to the Super Bowl.
I may have thought that was impossible with this particular group, but the more I watch them play together, the more I realize I may have underestimated them.
They’re much more in sync than I expected from a team that’s only existed for two seasons.
At the moment, it seems like I have two choices. I can either do what I’ve been doing—act like I don’t care, because I never wanted to be here in the first place—or I can embrace this as a chance to show everyone that I’m not the teammate they thought they were getting when Mr. Grant signed me.
Will I be telling them my deepest, darkest secrets?
Not a fucking chance. But I don’t need that, and neither do they.
We just have to build the kind of rapport that wins championships, because at the end of the day, that’s what it’s about.
We’re just a bunch of guys who grew up with the same dream—hoisting that trophy over our heads while confetti flutters down from above.
I can’t remember ever wanting anything more.
“Not too bad out here today, huh? It looks like the rain might stay away until we’re done,” I say to our tight end, Jett Kingsley, as he stretches on the sideline.
He looks up to the sky, then back to me with confusion written all over his expression because this is the first I’ve spoken to anyone, unless it pertained to football.
Could I have come up with literally anything more interesting than the weather?
Probably, but here we are. I’m going with it.
“Uhhh…yeah,” he replies, clearly unsure of my motives. I get the guy’s wariness. I don’t think I’d trust me, either. Not yet, at least.
“Come on, Harlow,” Theo cuts in as he sidles up next to us. “Tell me you didn’t live to play in the rain when you were a kid.”
I smirk, memories of sliding around in the mud with my high school teammates playing like a highlight reel in my head. Those were easier times, when we didn’t have to worry about grown-up shit like jobs and money. We played for the love of the game, and we were damn good at it, too.
“Yeah, I did,” I say on a quiet chuckle.
The three of us stand there, looking on as the rest of the team funnels out onto the practice field.
The silence is oddly comfortable, but that’s all blown to bits as soon as Emmett Hayes heads in our direction.
He really doesn’t like me, and I’m guessing it has to do with the way I’ve treated their fans over the years.
He’s a little more hot-headed than the rest, so I doubt he’ll let me off the hook easily.
I’ll prove that I’m here to win games as a member of this organization, and with Sydney’s help, I’ll earn the trust of the Renegades’ loyal fanbase.
It won’t be easy, but I got myself here, and now, it’s time to get out.