Chapter 26 – RHETT
RHETT
We lost today. Our first loss of the season, and I’m not happy about it. Mainly because it’s my fault. Instead of sleeping last night, I was thinking about the girl and the situation I can’t seem to find a real solution to. And because my focus was diverted from the one reason I’m here, we lost.
“Coach, can you tell us what happened out there today? Was the heat a factor in your loss?”
“The guys played a good, hard game against a tough opponent under grueling conditions. I wish a few more plays had gone in our direction, and that falls on me.”
“So you’re taking responsibility for this loss?” the reporter persists. “Can you elaborate on that?”
Yeah, I’m falling in love with a woman who will tear my world apart, and I’m having a bitch of a time focusing on anything other than her and that.
“It’s my job to lead our team to victories, and that starts with better play-calling and better mental preparedness in the form of coaching.
I’m not one who skirts blame or doesn’t take responsibility for my actions.
Losses happen in this game, and we have to learn from them and do better next time. ”
Tamira stands, and I inwardly groan. Here we go. “Coach, do you have any comment on Russel’s injury? He came out of the locker room at halftime with his left calf taped up.”
“It didn’t seem to impact him, and it was ruled a minor strain.”
“By Dr. Quinn Reyes, his girlfriend? Do you feel she’s capable of being an impartial part of the medical staff?”
She’s not his girlfriend. She’s fucking mine. I just have to figure out a way to make that happen without ruining everyone’s lives and careers.
“Dr. Reyes is an outstanding physician and takes her job and dedication to patient care as seriously as anyone I’ve seen.”
“But you’re not denying their relationship.”
“This is football, Tamira, not a reality TV show, and my players’ love lives aren’t what I’m here to discuss.”
She scowls, and that’ll likely come back to bite me in the ass, but I’m sick of her shit with that.
I field two more questions and leave the podium.
Mason is up next, and when I enter the back hallway, he’s chatting with Quinn.
He spots me, squeezes her shoulder, gives me a head nod, and heads in for his turn.
I look around, but it’s quiet back here. Everyone is either still in the locker room or in that press room. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she says. “Thanks for that in there. You didn’t need to do that, but I appreciate it.”
“I did need to do that.”
She shrugs. “Sorry about the loss today, Coach.”
I step into her and slide my hand around her back, needing to touch her. “We have to talk.”
“Yes,” she agrees, her green eyes on me. “Last night was great. But—”
“Don’t do that,” I cut her off.
“What?”
“Don’t back out on me. Don’t say but and whatever else was going to follow it.”
This surprises her. “Isn’t that what you want me to do? What we should do?”
“No,” comes too easily from my lips. “That’s the last thing I want.”
Her brows pinch tighter. “Whenever someone says we have to talk, it never ends well.”
“We need time. Time to see what we could be. If it’s real and lasting and worth the risk.
Time to figure everything else out when we conclude that it is.
But I don’t want you running every time we cross the line because it’s safer and easier.
I want to be with you. Even if we’re the only two people who know about it for a while. ”
Her eyes are round, and her lips are parted.
She wasn’t expecting this from me, and it’s part of what kept me up last night.
We talk, we touch, we flirt, then we run.
But as I lay there alone in bed last night, the smell of her on my skin and pillow, I don’t want football to be the only thing I have.
I don’t want to be eighty and alone and loaded with regrets because I pushed the woman I could see myself loving for the rest of my life out the door.
But that doesn’t mean I’m jumping into this hastily or lightly either.
Before she can respond, her phone vibrates in her pocket between us. She steps back and pulls it out before she flips it around for me to see. My insides drop.
“You still sure that’s what you want, Coach?”
Russel: Sit beside me on the plane on the way home? I miss you. I want to spend time with you.
I hold her gaze steady, letting her know the choice is hers. Noting this, she smirks and begins to type, and of course, because I’m a man with no willpower when it comes to her, I read above her.
Quinn: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
In fact, I realized this morning I haven’t been clear enough with you.
I have to do what’s best for me, and getting back together with you is not it.
That will never change. No matter what. That’s how it has to be.
It’s how I want it to be. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you were hoping for, but I’m also positive you’ll be able to move on without this hurting you in the slightest. If you’re serious about being friends, I will consider that, but never as a means to anything more.
I release a tremulous breath, unsure how I feel about that. “You told him over text.”
“Simply keeping up with past precedent. I think he also needed to see it in writing so he can’t misinterpret my words.”
I suppose that’s fair, and I suppose he deserves it. “You didn’t mention the girl you saw him with.”
She peers up at me. “That’s not why I told him it’ll never happen again.”
I lick my dry lips, my heart starting to pound. “It’s not?”
“Coach, we’re ready to start heading out to the buses,” one of the handlers says. “Oh, sorry,” he continues when he notes Quinn standing there. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Not a problem,” I tell him. “We should get going the moment Mason is done. I know everyone is anxious to get home.”
Mason steps out not even two seconds later and tosses his arm around Quinn. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
“Sure.”
“Hey, Coach?”
“Yeah?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says in no uncertain terms. “It was a team loss. That’s how we do it, right?”
I can’t help but smile at my quarterback and give him a fist pound. “You did throw that pick early in the third quarter.”
He laughs. “Oh, believe me, I know.”
The three of us follow the handler and climb onto the buses, followed by the plane.
Once we’re in the air, I walk through the aisle searching until I find him.
Russel is at the back, sitting beside a few other offensive players, shooting the shit and laughing.
If he’s upset about Quinn’s text, he isn’t letting on.
Still, despite what I said to her, if he’s serious and making a real play for her, I’m not sure what to do about that other than the right thing and bow out.
“Hey,” I say to him. I haven’t talked to him off the field in a week. He hasn’t returned my calls, and his texts have been evasive.
“Hey,” he replies.
“Hey, Coach.” The two other players smile but clearly sense I want a moment alone with my son and excuse themselves.
I sit beside him, and I can tell he’s not thrilled with this when he asks, “What’s up?”
“I heard you had a woman in your room last night after curfew.”
He tenses and glances around, making sure no one heard. “Who told you that?”
“Were they lying?”
He glowers. “None of your business.”
“Except you’re a player and we have rules. You were slow out there today. Tired. I get you strained your calf, but I’m not sure that would have happened if you’d been a hundred percent on your game.”
It’s true, and shockingly, he doesn’t try to deny it. “Did they say who they saw me with? Was it Crew or Mason who saw?”
My brow furrows. “No and no. Who was it?”
He grunts, but there’s a little too much relief in his features.
“Just a random girl. She was outside my room waiting for me. I know you won’t believe me, but it won’t happen again.
I don’t know who came to you or what they said, but I know better.
I’m trying to clean myself up, and I keep slipping back into old habits.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let you or the team down. ”
Well then. That’s a tough one to argue. “Okay then.” I smack his shoulder and get up to leave, only to pause and stop myself. I came to him as a coach, but I also have to know. “Is that because you’re serious about Quinn?”
He lowers his head and his voice. “I need Quinn.”
I squint at the way he says that. “You do? How?” Because it’s not the tone of a man in love or even desperate for a woman. It’s something else. A different sort of desperation. Almost a fear.
He lifts his chin. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Are you in trouble or is this—”
“I’m fine, Dad,” he cuts me off. “I always am. I never needed you to fight my battles for me before, and I definitely don’t now.”
That’s a hit to the chest. He only needs me when he actually needs something from me.
It used to be money—like his mother—or game tickets or brand-new gaming systems or whatever cool thing the teenager in him wanted.
In college, I hardly existed to him until he decided he wanted Denver.
But when that fell through, I became even less to him.
Until he decided to be on my team because Dallas was fed up with him.
I gave him a chance and Asher did as well as a favor to me.
I wanted my son to play for me and believed that a fresh start on a new team would be just the thing for him.
I suppose as parents we’re always chasing our children, and they’re always running from us.
I was hoping that this time he’d let me catch him.
That we’d be able to develop a real relationship.
One I never had with him and always felt cheated out of.
That doesn’t seem to be the case.
The sad part? We could have had an incredible relationship. I tried. I tried so hard. It’s been a source of constant heartache and disappointment for me. What’s worse is I feel used, and I hate that.
I stand and leave him, not sure what else to say or do with him. He wants me to treat him only as a player, fine. At least it’s something.
I head up the aisle toward the restrooms, needing a minute when I spot Quinn going in the same direction. Without thinking about anything but her, I come in behind her in the narrow hallway, and my fingers connect with hers. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t turn her head over her shoulder.
She knows it’s me.
There are people all around us on the plane, and even though we’re tucked into the small alcove between a wall and the bathrooms, anyone could come over here at any time and see us.
My mouth lowers to her ear, my hot breath fanning against her sensitive skin, and goose bumps erupt. My cock pulses, and I breathe in, catching her fragrance and holding it in my lungs.
My entire life has been about sacrifice. And I was fine with it. Never thought twice about it. I’d do it all over again if I had to, no questions asked. But would it be the worst thing in the world if I were selfish like everyone else? Just with this one thing?
My body heats, warming me all over. “Come to my house tonight. I’ll make you dinner and eat you for dessert.”
Her breath hitches, and I reach into my pocket to pull out my keys. I untwist my house key from my car key and slip it into her pocket. I have some things to do when we land, but I want her there when I come home.
My fingers caress hers one more time, and I feel that touch like a bolt of static electricity.
It’s sharp and tingly, and I never want it to stop.
Without another word, with my demand still hot in her ear, I go back to the seating area.
My hand flexes at the memory of how she feels, and a thrill runs through me.
It’s the thrill of a woman I already can’t get enough of. The thrill of sneaking around and having a secret. A secret that’s as alluring as it is dangerous.