Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Tugging his ballcap low, Decker got out of the car to help her.
“Here.” She smacked a sack of ice on the door frame. Then she yanked a gallon storage bag out of a box and shoved a few cubes in it. After handing it off to him, she reached into the cart to unload bags onto the floor of the backseat.
“We only have four hours to go. What the hell did you buy?”
She leveled a look at him that would make a Mafioso piss himself in a courtroom.
“Well, let’s have a look-see.” She handed him a small soft-sided cooler.
“This is for the ice.” Then, she tossed a beach towel onto the seat.
“It’s not much, but it’ll give you some elevation.
” Rooting through a plastic bag, she started pulling out containers.
“Since you’re giving my body-is-a-temple vibes, I got you a chicken Caesar salad, a couple hardboiled eggs, and a bunch of water bottles.
And”—she waved a smaller bag at him—“pain relievers.”
Oh. “Thanks.”
“Now, get back in the car in case someone recognizes you. That’s why you didn’t want to come into the store, right?”
He gave her a curt nod, snatched the bags out of her hand, and hobbled back to the passenger side.
As he buckled in, a strange feeling passed through him—a jittery sensation and a tingly warmth at the back of his neck.
But he focused on cramming as much ice as he could fit into the cooler.
He dumped the rest of the cubes on the ground, balled up the sack, and shoved it into one of the plastic bags.
The cart’s wheels rattled as she returned it to the corral, and then she slid into her seat and started the engine.
He tore open the Velcro boot and eased it off his ankle. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Before she could respond, he said, “It was nice of you to get me all this stuff. I do need it.” He rolled up the towel and lowered his ankle onto it. Then, he set the ice on the swelling.
“You’re welcome.” She drove out of the parking lot. “You’re obviously freaking out about the injury. I don’t know when football season starts, but I imagine getting injured is never a good thing.”
“It’s nothing. Minor injury. I’ll be ready for training camp. The boot’s just for stabilization.”
She barked out a laugh.
Which was a messed-up response. “What’s funny about anything I just said?”
“I’m an attorney. You think I don’t know when someone’s giving me canned answers? If it makes it any easier for you, I’m a vault. Anything said inside this car is safe.”
And that was the thing. He barely knew her, but he got the feeling she was a ride-or-die kind of woman. The kind who had your back.
He believed her.
Other than his family, he didn’t have a lot of people he could trust. Women wanted to fuck him, the press wanted to catch him in a scandal, and his manager, agent, and most of his teammates and coaching staff viewed him as an asset. A commodity.
That wasn’t to say they weren’t good people. They were. But if he left the game, he’d likely never hear from any of them again.
Still, no one needed to know about his injury. “It wasn’t canned.”
“Oh, come on. You’re constantly looking around, worried someone will recognize you. Every time we stop at a light, you slink lower in your seat and pull down that stupid hat.”
“Hey, it’s a cool hat.” Zach Callahan had given it to him at his first football camp when he was thirteen. All these years later, it was still his favorite.
She reached behind her and grabbed two water bottles. Handing him one, she said, “I got you Tylenol and ibuprofen. Wasn’t sure which you wanted.”
“I appreciate that, but Doc doesn’t want me taking ibuprofen. Anti-inflammatories can slow ligament healing. I try not to take anything if I can help it.”
“Right.” She cracked a smile. “The temple thing.”
“Yes, but also I don’t want to mask what the ankle’s doing.”
“That makes sense. But why so much secrecy? It’s not like you can hide an injury.”
I can sure as hell try. “People recognize me. If they see me limping, it starts a whole mess of problems.” It would get out eventually—impossible to hide it. But he’d put it off as long as possible.
“Like?” she asked.
“It paints a target. Tells every defense we play where to hit me.”
“Oh, yeah.” She had a contemplative look. “I can see that. That’s bad.”
“Real bad. And the minute the media gets hold of the story, everything gets filtered through the injury. You miss a throw? His ankle gave out. Win a game? Good thing they were able to manage around him.” He hesitated, unsure if he should mention this part, but it was a real concern.
“And it gives the front office leverage.”
“Leverage as in… paying you less?”
“Sure. But it’s more about giving the backup more reps. Getting him ready to—” His voice caught. “—start games.”
“Damn,” she said. “That’s a lot of pressure for a guy wearing tights who just wants to play with his friends.”
He smiled despite himself. “So you do watch football.”
“I don’t live in a remote rainforest,” she said dryly.
“I have seen pictures. Hard not to notice those very fine asses.” Then her expression shifted, becoming thoughtful.
“But seriously, it must be hard to do your job when the stakes are so high. You get hurt, and suddenly it’s not just about healing.
You’ve got all these threats coming at you from every direction. ”
He nodded. “Probably not that different from your world, right? If you stepped away from a case, someone else would take it over. The firm would start making decisions about you. Someone else would get the credit.”
Her energy dimmed a notch. “Yes.”
“So you get it.”
“I do,” she said. “In fact, I just brought a really big deal to my law firm. It’s a relationship I’ve been working on since college.
And while I should get the lead on it, I just don’t know.
And it’s driving me crazy. I keep trying to put it out of my mind, but it’s running in the background all the time.
Like…I have to get it. It’s my fast-track ticket to partnership.
” Her grip on the steering wheel tightened.
“I can’t imagine how much worse it would be if the whole world was watching to see whether I got it or not. ” Her gaze flicked over to him.
He’d been avoiding looking at her. There was something about her—he couldn’t explain it—but when they locked eyes, he got a wallop of recognition. It felt like his body knew her before his brain caught up.
It didn’t make sense, and it wouldn’t lead anywhere, so he shut it down. He shrugged. “It’s the nature of my job.”
“I don’t even know what you do for a living other than throw a ball.” She flashed him a sassy grin. “Sorry.”
“No apology necessary.” He almost smiled back, but he caught himself. “The quarterback’s the center of the offense. Every play runs through him. He’s the one calling protections, setting tempo, making sure everyone’s where they’re supposed to be. If something breaks down, it lands on him.”
“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“It is,” he said. “You’ve got ten guys counting on you not to screw up. Every single play.”
She shook her head. “Okay. I officially take back the boys-running-around-in-tights thing. Your job’s more important than I thought.”
Yes, it is. Because if he messed up, everyone paid for it—his teammates, his coaches, the people signing his checks. And fans didn’t forget. Still… “I love my job.”
She glanced at her phone. He realized she’d been doing that a lot. “You expecting a call?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m waiting for the announcement… Whether I get the lead.”
“Is there a reason you wouldn’t?”
“Oh, yes. A very big reason. Huge.” Her thumbs worried the steering wheel. “It’s my mom’s firm, and she has the final say.”
“Ah. Must be tricky working for your mom. You’d have to work extra hard.”
“Which is why I intentionally took a job with another firm out of law school and worked my way up to third-year associate before joining her practice. I didn’t want anyone to question my worth.”
“Then why wouldn’t she give you the lead on the deal you sourced?”
Up until this moment, Willa had been nothing but positive, generous, and determined. But right then, the helplessness in her eyes did something strange to him. He wanted to champion her, fight for her. Which was funny because he barely knew her.
She reached behind, rummaging through the bags, and the car drifted into another lane.
“Hey.” He blocked her groping hand. “Tell me what you’re looking for. I’ll get it.”
“I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Okay, what do you want?” He hauled the bag onto his lap.
“I’ll take the frosted animal crackers.”
“Cookies?” He pulled out the bright pink bag. “For lunch?”
“It’s a road trip. Rules don’t apply, and calories don’t count. Now, come on.” She made a gimme motion with her fingers, but when she caught his horrified expression, she laughed. “You act like you weren’t a regular person once. You can’t tell me you never ate junk food on vacation.”
“It’s all I ate in the club. But that was a long time ago.”
“Okay, but you have some comfort food now? Mac and cheese, a thick slice of chocolate cake? Everyone has cheat days.”
Out of nowhere, a memory hit. Hunger. Raw, gnawing. He’d left the bike club on an empty stomach, hadn’t had anything for lunch, and the whole way back from school, he’d been thinking about the pizza the guys usually left out on the counter.
But when he walked in, the music hurt his ears, and the guys were roughhousing—grunts, shouts, laughter. He hurried into the kitchen, his nearly empty backpack bouncing against his ass, to find the counters were empty. His stomach cramped hard, sharp enough to make him light-headed.
He couldn’t reach the refrigerator handle, so he went into the pantry, grabbed a box of mac and cheese, and sat on the floor with it in his lap. He’d ripped it open and shoved the dry noodles into his mouth, the sharp edges scraping the roof of his mouth.