Chapter 7
Seven
Chess
When people say they’re busy, they usually mean they have a lot of work that piles up while they spend a few hours watching
TV and lamenting how busy they are.
Hell, I’ve been there, done that, have the couch divot.
When Finn says he’s busy, he means it. Workouts, team meetings, practices, games, press conferences, television tapings, sponsor
obligations, charity meetings and visits . . . I can’t keep up.
I hear from him in random spurts. Texts between his travels from one obligation to the next. Phone calls when he finally gets
home, his voice soft with exhaustion.
Sometimes, I have to order him to get off the phone and go to bed because I can practically feel him fading.
I’d rather fall asleep talking to you, he always responds.
I won’t pretend that it doesn’t make me all warm and fuzzy inside. Days pass into weeks. Before I know it, Finn has become
a fixture in my life.
One rare free Saturday afternoon, he takes me to the aquarium. “I’ve never been here before,” I tell him as he collects our
tickets.
“Let me guess,” he says. “You haven’t been to the zoo, either.”
“I haven’t been to a zoo since grade school.”
“Where you from, Chess? You’ve never said.”
“Neither have you.”
“La Jolla, California,” Finn says with pride.
“Wow. Surfer boy, eh?”
“How do you think I developed my awe-inspiring balance and sense of timing?”
“That ego of yours inspires something, but I believe it’s heartburn.”
He slings an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “We’ll get you an antacid inside. Now, tell me where you grew
up.”
“Brooklyn, New York.”
“No shit?”
“Yep, but my dad is from here. He bought my loft as an investment property, but gave it to me after I graduated.” It is the
one big surprise from my parents that I found myself extremely grateful for. Usually their gifts were well-meaning, but involved
some sort of drama that I’d need to clean up. “I took out some equity on the loft to pay for my camera and equipment, which
really helped as well.”
“Your parents still in New York?” Finn asks.
“No. I think they’re in Oregon right now. Or Idaho. I can’t remember. They sold their town house and bought one of those tiny
houses that you can tow all over the place.”
A startled laugh escapes him. “Really? You ever watch that show with the tiny house buyers?”
Cringing, I can’t meet his eyes. “Mom and Dad are on an episode.”
“Holy shit. Which one?”
“Nope. Not telling.”
“I’ll just do a search on their last name,” he warns.
“Damn it.”
Snickering, he gives my shoulder another squeeze before he looks me over. “So, Brooklyn, I’m guessing you know how to handle
yourself in a rowdy crowd.”
There’s something in his tone that has my steps slowing as we reach the main aquarium lobby. “What are you up to, Mannus?”
He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing much. Just that you’ll have a couple of chaperones on this outing.”
By a couple, he means thirty. Ranging from the ages of six to thirteen, the crowd of schoolchildren gives a big cheer and
cries, “Manny!” when we round the corner.
For his part, Finn gives them all high fives, learning each one of their names. He turns, surrounded by kids, the tallest
one barely reaching the center of his chest, and beams at me. “Guys, meet my friend Chess. She’s never been to the aquarium,
so we’ll have to make sure she doesn’t get lost. Let’s give her a big welcome.”
Feebly, I wave as all of them shout, “Hi, Chess” with various levels of enthusiasm. Finn winks at me before turning his attention
back to the kids. I grin like a loon because he’s adorable with them, like an overgrown kid as excited as they are at the
prospect of seeing a shark or maybe petting a stingray.
A blonde woman in skinny jeans and a T-shirt with a schoolhouse logo on it comes to stand by me. “I’m Ally, the program director.
Thanks for joining us.”
“Sure. Although I don’t really know what all of this is about.”
“We’re an after-school sports program for children, sponsored and funded by Mr. Mannus . . .” She flushes a bit. “Finn, I
mean. He keeps telling me to call him Finn. Anyway, this outing is one of many Finn takes the kids on throughout the year.”
We chat as Finn leads his crew to find the sharks. As soon as we stop, I find myself pulled into his orbit. His big hand engulfs
mine as he tells the kids that his favorite shark is the hammerhead. This is met with much approval.
“What’s your favorite, Ms. Chess?” a boy, who’s probably around eight, asks me.
“Hmm . . .” I pretend to think about it. “I’m going with the whale shark.”
The kid looks unimpressed, but a couple of others pipe up to agree that the whale shark is awesome.
They race on to the next viewing window.
Finn and I follow. He hasn’t let go of my hand, but I don’t mind.
His is big and warm, the strength in his fingers tempered now by a gentle clasp.
A hand worth around fifty million dollars a year in the eyes of pro football, and it’s holding on to me as though I’m the valuable one.
“Sorry I didn’t warn you,” he says at my ear.
Little shivers dance along my skin. I ignore them. “I’m beginning to think you like surprises.”
“I do.”
“Thanks for letting me be a part of this. You’re great with them.”
“Kids are easy. Completely unfiltered and ready to have fun, kind of like football players.” He gives my fingers a light squeeze.
“So you don’t want to run away screaming?”
I’m not certain if he’s referring to the kids or football players. Either way, the answer is the same. “Only if you try to
get me to touch a stingray.”
“Now, Chess, that’s basically a dare.”
Before I can answer, we’re swarmed by the kids who’ve realized their hero isn’t in their midst anymore. Finn doesn’t let me
go, and I’m swept up along with him.
By the time we’re done, I know more about fish and sea life than I probably need to, and have been infected by a bit of Finn
Mannus hero worship myself. How can I not be? When he lifts up each kid who asks for a better view. When he takes the time
to shake employees’ hands and put them at ease when they get flustered.
Parents show up, and Finn takes a picture with anyone who asks. Each time, he grins wide as if he’s standing next to a good
friend.
Finn might hate posing for professional cameras. But he clearly loves this part of his life.
He ends the tour by handing out T-shirts with his jersey number on them. “You didn’t give one to your girlfriend,” a solemn
six-year-old girl points out. “You’ll hurt her feelings.”
I’m trying to figure out if it’s worth it to clarify that I’m not Finn’s girlfriend and my feelings won’t be hurt, when Finn catches my eye.
A teasing smile plays on his lips. “You’re right, Maisey.
But I’m out of shirts.” He takes off his baseball cap with his team logo splashed over the front. “Think she’ll be okay with this?”
“If she doesn’t want it,” an older kid drawls, “I’ll take it!”
Finn shakes his head. “You got your shirt, Darrius. My girl here needs something special.” He looks over his flock. “Girls
like special things.”
A bunch of boys gag, but a few girls giggle.
Me? I’m both trying not to blush and restraining myself from rolling my eyes at his antics.
Finn’s expression, however, is soft and sincere as he sets the hat on my head, deftly tucking strands of my hair back behind
my ears. The cap is too big and sits low on my brow. I probably look like an idiot, but I’m not taking it off.
A little cheer rings out. Before I can blink, Finn swoops in and gives me a playful peck on the cheek. I feel the warm brush
of his lips like a stamp on my skin, pressing there long after he’s moved away.
Finn
Losing sucks. Losing when you’re a quarterback sucks sweaty balls. I don’t give a shit what they say; if the offense is crumbling,
it’s the QB’s fault. Fucking fair-weather reporters jump all over that: Has Mannus lost his touch? Can he handle the pressure?
Is this just an off night or a sign of things to come?
I’m lying on the grass, a three-hundred-pound slab of lineman sprawled over my hips. My head rings, white lights popping behind
my eyes. Fuck, that hit hurt. I can’t breathe for a second. My entire body has seized with an internal shout of What the shit?!?
Davis, the lineman who’d plowed into me like a tank powered by nitro, lifts his head and grins at me as if I’m his new bitch. I want to get to my feet and show him that his effort failed, but my head is still swimming and I can’t feel my legs.
“Can I have some fries with that shake next time?” I ask lightly. His grin dies a swift death, and he jumps to his feet—show-off.
I’m not so quick because I hurt like a motherfucker. “Nice hit, bro,” I say, extending my hand out. Help me up, asshole. But I smile like it’s all good.
Have I mentioned that part of the art of playing football is to mindfuck your opponent? It’s one of my favorite aspects. I
might get knocked down, but you better believe I’m going to take the wind out of the motherfucker’s sails in retaliation.
Slightly confused, Davis silently helps me up and then shakes his head with a laugh.
I laugh too, ignoring the pain in my ribs—I’m gonna feel that shit tonight—and give him a friendly slap on the shoulder before
he jogs off.
Only when my guys surround me do I let my smile fall. “Dex,” I say to my center, “I don’t know what bug crawled up your ass,
but get it together and pay attention.”
He’s been addled the whole game and completely misread the defense on this last play, resulting in me being sacked before
I could blink. I’m fairly certain the press digging into his personal life is getting to him, but we have a job to do.
Glumly, he nods. “On it.”
I slap his helmet. “Good man.”
But it’s a lost cause. Whatever is going on with Dex spreads like a disease through the line. Soon, everyone is fucking up.
Jake and Rolondo both drop passes. North, my tight end, can’t gain yards. Moorehouse, my running back, goes down with a bad