CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucas
“You really like Mexican food,” Emery says as we sit in the booth with a second basket of chips and salsa between us. “Breakfast tacos for a late lunch. This for dinner. I’m sensing a pattern here.”
I grin and chomp loudly on a chip so the crunch resonates. “When in Texas.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “I should’ve known.”
“In all fairness, I’ll be sick of it in a few weeks and will be back to my regularly scheduled program of boring and healthy.”
The restaurant is alive, with music humming through the speakers and laughter floating in the air from table to table. The smell of limes and grilled meat and something spicy are all around us. It feels easy here. Uncomplicated. Much like the time I’ve spent with Emery today has felt.
And this most definitely was not how I’d planned on spending my day.
It was recoup and recover day. Maybe watch a little of the baseball pennant race that’s heating up.
Grill something on the barbecue on my balcony.
Go over the schedule of interviews I have for the coming week. General housekeeping type shit.
Not this. A day full of random things with a woman whose laugh makes me smile and who I’ve learned needs to let loose a little more. She’s quirky and intelligent and while I’ve only learned a bit about her, I want to know more.
“There you go,” the server says as she slides a second blended strawberry margarita in front of Emery.
“You sure you don’t want one?” Emery asks. “They’re really good.”
“Nah. I don’t drink during preseason. Or season. Unless it’s a special occasion.” I shrug.
“Lucas Hale, are you telling me that I’m not a special occasion?” she teases, those big, brown eyes of hers owning me.
“You are, most definitely, but I’m still working toward making the final fifty-three, and so I need to be at the top of my game.”
“That’s admirable.” She curls her fingers around the stem of the glass as she takes a sip. And then she stills, her mood clearly shifting. “I guess I shouldn’t be having this either. I mean, not after the other week. What happened. It’s—”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, hating the way doubt clouds her eyes. “You have to live your life, Doc. One bad moment doesn’t get to dictate the rest of it.” I pause. “Besides, you know I’m not going to let anything happen to you, so why not indulge?”
“Thank you for that. I’ve been . . . questioning myself over and over about that night. Why I decided to stop in and get a drink. If I gave the wrong impression to that guy. And then there’s the what ifs.”
“I can’t say I understand how you feel. I’m sorry it happened to you, and if I ever see that guy again . . .” My hands fist reflexively and I roll my shoulders. “But like I said, guys like that are far from the norm.”
Her smile is soft and tugs on parts of me that I didn’t expect. “You’re a good guy, you know that?”
I snort. “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want my asshole reputation ruined.”
“I have a hard time believing that people think that.” She pauses, then laughs. “Then again, the other day you were in rare form after practice.”
“Cole.” It’s all I say. It’s all I plan on saying, but then I exhale and roll my shoulders.
I temper my words. I think them through before I speak.
Yes, she’s now my friend, but she also works for my employer, and her loyalties most likely lie there.
The last thing I need is my honest opinion about Cole getting back to Coach or another player.
“I’ll just say that he plays a huge role in whether my day will be good or bad or somewhere in between. ”
“Cole and not your shoulder?” she asks and then gives me time to respond. She doesn’t repeat herself. Doesn’t fill the space with endless chatter. She gives the silence and my thoughts room to breathe.
“I know why I’m here,” I finally say. “I’m not stupid. I wasn’t brought here to be the future of the team like a lot of second-string QBs are. I was brought in to be the safety net. The steady hand. The guy who makes the rookie look better simply by standing behind him, and not making waves.”
Her gaze stays on me. Curious but not judgmental. “A mentor. And you’re okay with that?”
I toggle my head from side to side. “It’s definitely harder than I thought it would be. Going from the guy everyone looks to when a game needs to be won to being . . . this.” I gesture vaguely. “The backup plan.”
“I’m sure it is. Infinitely harder.”
“I’m not saying that to take anything from Cole.
There’s always going to be someone faster and better and more talented than I am—that’s just how the game and competition works.
Even without age factoring in. And Cole is in fact all those things.
He has incredible arm strength and has a great read on how he sees the field.
There’s no shortage of confidence either.
The kid’s a five-tool player.” I chuckle and shake my head.
“Maybe he has more than that. I don’t know. Just like I used to.”
“Used to? C’mon, you still have them all. You just have to modify them a little,” she says with a scrunch of her nose.
I laugh. “A little or so says my doctor.”
“She might know a thing or two. All that schooling ought to count for something.”
“That remains to be seen.” I wink and earn a laugh.
“For what it’s worth, I haven’t worked with Cole at all. From afar I see talent and love for the game, but there’s immaturity and ego. I mean, give a kid a ridiculous amount of money at a young age and . . . isn’t that expected?”
“He needs some humility. That part hasn’t caught up with the ego and talent, but it’s coming at one point or another.” I glance at her. “And that’s not a knock. He’s young. He’s been told he’s special for as long as he can remember. No doubt, I was probably the same way.”
Her brows lift. “You were?”
“At the time, if you would’ve called me on it, I would have told you that you were full of shit, but yes. I absolutely was.” I smirk at the memories. “I thought I knew everything. Thought I was untouchable. Didn’t have parents who cared enough to temper that arrogance with their wisdom.”
“No?” she asks, eyes searching.
Why did I feel comfortable enough to bring that up with her? To talk about the one truth I only talk with Brendan about?
“No,” I state. “They never chose to be involved. Then. Now. Ever. At this point, I prefer to keep it that way.” I appreciate the way she doesn’t ask. The way she nods like she understands and lets it go. “But you know what’s better than a parent putting you in your place?”
“What’s that?”
“This league. It has an efficient way of humbling you. Fans. Players. Coaches.”
“And the linemen keep getting bigger.”
“No shit.” I chuckle.
She studies me for a moment, lips pursed and head angled to the side. “Are you okay with that role? Being a mentor to him?”
I think about the contract I signed and its terms that kick in if I make the final roster. I recall the virtual meetings leading up to my arrival here, and then the way Coach said the word “mentor” like it was both a compliment and a leash.
All of them led me to here, another chance, and so who am I to bitch about that?
“I don’t have to like it to understand it.” I eat a chip. “And I do want him to succeed. The team to succeed. But some days . . .” I shake my head. “Some days it feels like I’m fighting my own shadow.”
“That sounds lonely,” she says softly, like she understands in her own way.
Her words hit harder than they should though, but I shrug them off. “Comes with the territory.”
But she doesn’t look convinced and for some reason, that matters.
She takes a sip of her drink and then asks, “So how did you get into football?”
I lean back in my chair and angle my head as I think back.
“Honestly? Neglect and boredom.” At her narrowed brows, I grin.
“Like I said, my parents were around for the home and school part, but just not invested or involved in sports. My brother and I lived in the front yard, regularly tossing a ball around, making up games, and trying to beat each other at everything. Turned out I was good at the tossing the ball thing.”
“That’s crazy to me that your parents weren’t involved.”
“It’s as confusing to you as it is me.” I purse my lips and think of my last conversation with them.
There was no mention of my life playing football or my injury.
Just complaints about medication and how my dad’s job is downsizing.
I shake my head every time I hang up as if I just visited an alternate reality.
“So, you did this all on your own.”
“My brother, Brendan, was a big part of it, but it turns out if no one’s paying attention, you learn to push yourself.”
She nods like that makes perfect sense. Like she understands drive and determination in a way many don’t.
“And you certainly did just that and have definitely proven yourself,” she says, smile soft.
“I’ve learned every life lesson imaginable in between those hash marks. Football isn’t just what I do. It’s the place where I’m most myself. Where right and wrong comes with immediate—and sometimes bruising—feedback. It’s where everything has always made the most sense.”
We fall quiet when the quesadilla we ordered to split comes. There’s a bit of small talk in between bites, but when we don’t talk, the silence is comfortable.
I catch myself stealing glances at her though. This woman makes me want to know more about her.
And one of the most obvious things I want to know more about was the exchange with the woman from her past.
“So do we want to talk about earlier? The woman who stopped us?” I ask.
Emery keeps her eyes focused on her food for a beat, but I can see her shoulders stiffen. “Can’t a girl make a mistake in her past life and not have you notice it in her present one?” she jokes and laughs.
“King of many mistakes here. Don’t try and hog the spotlight.”