Chapter 14 – QUINN
QUINN
“Does this hurt?” I press on Crew’s second and third metacarpals.
He grunts, annoyed that his sister is having to examine him. “No. I’m fine. I know how to throw a punch.”
“I’ll say,” I quip, and his lips finally twitch. Mason is pacing around the trainer’s room, his hands on his hips. “What did he say to you? Exactly.”
I set Crew’s hand down. “It’s fine.”
“Like I told you.”
“Quinn!”
I spin around and fold my arms over my chest. “Take a breath, Mason. He told me he was here for the coach, the team, and the girl.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Crew bites out.
I toss my hands up before I refold them. “I don’t know. I told him I better not be the girl and that he needed to leave.”
“Why is he here, though? As in stalking the parking lot during practice.”
I shrug at Mason. “Didn’t get that far.”
“Why has he been calling you?” That’s Crew who’s revving back up.
“Don’t know. I never picked up. He texted once saying he needed to talk to me but only called after that. I figured since he’s so good with expressing himself over text that if it was really that important, he’d tell me.”
“Dude, if he’s trying to get—”
The door bursts open, cutting Crew off, and our father walks in. “It’s already all over the news. ESPN, the Boston Globe, you name it, they’re reporting it.”
I sigh and hop up onto the bench beside Crew.
“Are you going to fine him? Suspend him?” Mason questions.
“Me?” Our dad points to his chest and chuckles.
“No. I’m sad I didn’t get a hit on him, but that stays between us.
They don’t have Crew hitting him on camera because no one was there yet, and the players were blocking the camera’s view when you hit him in the balls.
All they have is the shouting and the back and forth, but it’s a story, and they’ll run with it. ”
“At least they didn’t have the incriminating stuff.” Technically, I assaulted someone while I was at work, and I could get in trouble for that.
“I know why you did it, and I can’t argue with you about it,” Dad continues. “That doesn’t mean the league won’t take action if they decide to investigate, which they might.”
I hiss a curse. “Can I do anything so that doesn’t happen?”
Dad shakes his head. “No, but I’ll talk to them about it and see what magic I can work.”
“What is Russel even doing here?” Mason barks, dragging his hands through his short hair. He drops back against a counter and leans his weight into it.
My dad’s eyes hold mine as he says, “He wants to be traded back here.”
“Fuck that!” Crew snaps.
“Why now?” I ask calmly, even as something is hitting me.
“His father is Rhett Jones.”
My eyes close and my lungs empty. Jesus. A sardonic laugh slips past my lungs. Of course he is. The coach. That’s what Russel said. And both of their last names are Jones. How did I not see it sooner?
“Did you know?” Mason asks me.
I shake my head and slowly open my eyes, hoping my features don’t betray the rave I have going on inside me.
“I had no clue,” I admit. “Russel never talked about his dad, and whenever I’d mention it, he wouldn’t say much at all other than he didn’t talk to him.
He told me once that he was a former player, but that was it.
I never knew a name, and Russel hated talking about him.
” I swallow audibly and ask the question I need answers to. “Does Rhett know I dated him?”
“Yes,” Dad answers. “I told him on Monday.”
Wow. So he’s known for five days and didn’t say anything to me. Then again, he hasn’t talked to me all week either, has he?
“Dallas’s GM reached out to me about a possible trade. They want a first-round draft pick and another player, but it’d be a three-way trade with Minnesota.”
“Are you negotiating this?” Crew is incredulous.
“I’ve pushed off Dallas’s GM since Monday morning so nothing has been discussed in detail. I had no idea Russel was coming here, which isn’t a good look for anything. Not for Dallas and not for us.”
“He can’t play on our team, Dad. He has a horrible reputation. He’s a selfish player and gets in trouble on and off the field. Obviously since the piece of shit showed up here uninvited.”
“Crew, take a breath. This is a professional team. You’re not always going to like the guys you share a locker room with, but you’re always going to be a team player. That’s how this works.”
“I can’t believe you’re considering this.” Mason shakes his head.
My dad holds up a hand, stopping this before it gets out of hand. “I haven’t spoken to Russel. I haven’t met with him. I haven’t worked out anything with Dallas. You’re getting ahead of yourselves. I haven’t agreed to anything, but I know he wants out of Dallas, and I know he wants to play here.”
“Will he make the team better?” I ask, even though my voice doesn’t carry.
No one speaks. Russel is talented. He always has been. This game is the most important thing to him, and so is winning. Something he hasn’t done yet, but this team has—two years after he left as a matter of fact. I have no clue about Russel’s reputation because I don’t follow him at all.
“It doesn’t matter, Quinn,” Crew says. “He hurt you, and I don’t—”
“I don’t care,” I cut him off as I hop off the bench and pull my shorts away from the backs of my thighs, where they were sticking.
“What?” everyone asks at once.
“I don’t care. He was four years ago. I’m over it and over him. I have been for a very long time.”
“Is that why you kneed him in the balls?”
I grin. “That was for fun and because he was stupid enough to taunt me. But honestly, he’s not worth broken hands or fines or suspensions.
I love you both for standing up for me. I can’t tell you what knowing you always have my back feels like.
I’m the luckiest sister in the world to have that.
But on the flip side, I have to protect you too and the team you play for.
Russel Jones isn’t worth it. He’s not someone you need to give two fucks about because I don’t.
If you think he’ll help the team win and won’t be a negative distraction, then bring him on.
It won’t impact me unless he gets hurt, because then I can’t guarantee I won’t slip and cut something vital. Other than that, fuck him.”
Mason’s brow pinches skeptically. “You don’t mean that.”
I shrug at him. “I do, though. Truly. He broke up with me. It hurt, but I’ve moved on.”
“You’re being an ice queen.”
I smirk at my father. “That’s Mom. They call me Yang, and I’m fine with it if that’s what I am.” Hell, I’ll wear it as a badge of honor. That chick was cold and ruthless, yes, but she was also a brilliant badass. Men didn’t control her, and they won’t control me. Neither father nor son.
“Exactly, fuck him.” Crew stands. “Why should we bring him back? He doesn’t deserve it. And whether you care or not, I don’t want him near you. I don’t trust him.”
“He picked his sport over me. If it had been reversed…” I trail off. I don’t know what I would have done if I had gotten a residency or job elsewhere instead of here.
Whatever. Honestly, I’m more hurt that Rhett knew and didn’t tell me, which feels ridiculous, but it’s also not.
I had sex with my ex-boyfriend’s father.
More than once if you count our video call, but more than that, there were feelings involved.
Months and months of us talking. He called me his girlfriend.
It’s about as messed up as it gets.
“This is your business,” I say to them, redirecting myself. “Take me out of the equation.”
Rhett said he wished he had a better relationship with his son. That he’s tried over the years. It’d mean a lot for him to have Russel here, and I want that for him because I stupidly care about him.
I brush past my dad and head out of the room. The three of them need to talk, and right now, my head’s spinning too fast to manage it.
I walk down the hall, needing to move, needing space, except as I round the corner, I see Rhett coming out of the locker room where the players must be. He doesn’t see me, but before I can demand answers from him, Russel intercepts him.
“What the hell made you show up here today?”
Russel has a bag of ice on his nose and a white cloth stained in red.
“Nice to see you too, Dad.”
“Don’t pull that shit on me. This is not what we discussed. We were going to talk this weekend about everything, and if you still wanted to play here, we were going to go through the proper channels.”
Russel shifts his weight. “I took an earlier flight and went to the hospital.”
Rhett’s hands go to his hips, and he’s gripping them so hard I wonder if he’ll bruise.
I didn’t know that. That’s not what Russel told me. He said he called my office, but he went to find me there instead. Hell.
“Why?” Rhett asks, his tone tight.
“I wanted to talk to her before I saw you. Before we worked all this out, if it even can be worked out. The office she works for told me I could find her here. You didn’t tell me she was the team doctor.”
“We never talked about her. Hell, I didn’t know about her until Asher told me. You mentioned her to me the other night for the first time, and no, I didn’t tell you she was here.”
“Why?” Russel plants his free hand into the wall and holds himself up with it.
Rhett grunts and shifts his weight, his hands on his hips, before he redirects the conversation. “Is she why you want to play here?”
Russel shrugs. “I want to play for this team. I want to play for you. She’s… well… I fucked up with her. I was young and selfish, and I never should have left her the way I did. I don’t know if men get a second chance with someone like her.”
I spin on my heels and leave the building. I don’t want to hear anymore.
The staff is slowly exiting a conference room, and I fall in behind them.
“Are you okay?” Beau, one of the trainers, asks.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
He gives me a questioning look.
“Just some old drama there, that’s all.”
“There are rumors going around that you used to date Russel Jones.” He pauses. “And that he’s the coach’s son.”
“For once the rumors are correct.”
He bobs his head and leaves it at that.
By some miracle, practice resumes. I don’t know how the conversation ended between my brothers and my father, but the boys are on the field, and so is their coach. They’re working hard. Everyone is.
I stand off to the side and keep my eyes on the field and nowhere else.
I don’t look to see if Russel is stupid enough to be hanging around.
Practice goes on and on, and the longer it goes on, the more annoyed I am with everything.
With this assignment and the fact that Russel wants to return to the Rebels and how he showed up unannounced and uninvited after calling me all week.
How Rhett is the head coach and my ex’s father.
The fact that he didn’t tell me that, and I had to find out the way I did.
Now my brothers are in the middle of this as well as my father.
Russel has a lot of goddamn nerve. Like an epic amount.
By the time practice ends, I’m on fire. Rhett and I talked almost every night for four months, and all of that ended with one two-minute conversation.
Not to mention, he realized that same day that his son is my ex and he said nothing about it.
Even after he knew that Russel wanted back on the team.
Shitty! It’s fucking shitty!
On top of that, he was at my bar last night. That’s my neighborhood. I live there. I work there. It’s mine! I don’t even care if I sound like a five-year-old.
All the players including my brothers, head to the locker room after Coach’s big speech—blah, boring, who cares? The training staff takes off, as do the independent neurologist and team doctor.
I linger. I shouldn’t. I know that. I should call him or text him, but I want an explanation, and I feel owed a better face-to-face than our shocked moment downstairs on Monday.
The coaches’ offices are in an administration building that’s adjacent to the stadium, and I take the tunnel that leads there. I swipe my badge and head inside, winding my way up. I know this place by heart. This was my father’s old office, and I’ve spent a lot of time in it over the years.
My dad played until I was six or seven, and when he retired, the team made him the quarterbacks coach. It didn’t take long before he became head coach, and it seemed like the most natural transition in the world.
He is Asher Reyes after all.
Boston born and raised, beloved former boy bander with Central Square, and a multi-Super Bowl-winning quarterback.
Rhett’s got some big shoes to fill, and I nearly trip up a step when I remember asking him who the greatest football player of all time was, and he said my dad. I mean, he wasn’t wrong statistically, but he had interviewed for the coach position that day, and I fucked him that night.
More rage.
I reach the third floor of the building and storm down the hall. It’s quiet. It’s Friday afternoon, and all the staff have gone home for the weekend. Practice went an hour longer than it was supposed to because of my fuckface ex showing up.
But really, how amazing are my brothers?
They’re men goals. They’re what saved me—along with my girls—after Russel broke my heart. I was an admitted basket case for a long time. I had trouble reconciling the years of relationship, love, and trust with what he did and how he did it. Not having any real sense of closure didn’t help that.
But I came out stronger on the other end. And as a woman who is no longer willing to suffer the bullshit of men, I pound on the head coach’s office door.
He doesn’t answer, and I wonder if I missed him.
I bang again, and this time I hear a noise beyond the wood. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I twist the knob, and the door unlatches since it’s not locked.
The door closes behind me, and here I am in Rhett’s office, but there’s no Rhett to be found.
That is, until his bathroom door opens, and he steps out, wearing nothing but a towel.