4. Biker Gang
4
Biker Gang
Anton - Now
“ A lright, gentlemen. Rest up. See you back here next week.” Our offensive coordinator dismisses us, and I stand and stretch my arms over my head, trying to work out the stiffness in my neck.
“Gotta love a bye week.” Del shoves his chair out and slaps me on the back.
I nod. My muscles are screaming at me from the practice we put in earlier today—and from the first half of the regular season. Our team, the Green Bay River Foxes, is playing well. Really well, actually. But it’s late November. We’re all a little dinged up. We had a regular week of practice, but now it’s Friday, and our coaches have given us off through Tuesday.
Granted, I’ve got scouting reports I’ll pore over and film of our next opponent queued up to watch during my downtime, but a bye week is still a luxury.
“Agreed. It’s like the heavens have opened and…do you hear that? The angels are singing!” TJ Wilson, the River Foxes’ star running back, folds his hand in prayer formation and makes a celestial Ahhhhh sound.
“You know, angels aren’t the cute, cuddly little half-dressed cherub creatures we’re used to seeing in art and Precious Moments figurines. They’re actually terrifying and powerful and something far beyond what the human brain can process—“ Lawrence Poe, our resident brainiac and tight end cuts himself off. “You guys don’t really care, do you?”
“Bates! ”
I turn at the sound of Coach’s voice.
“Yes, sir?”
“They need you to stop by Scott’s office after the Biker Brigade.”
I arch my brows. “What’s up?”
“No clue.” He shrugs. “Just passing along the message from the GM.”
I nod. “Sounds good.”
Scott, our team’s general manager, is a no-nonsense guy, but we get along well. It’s not unusual for me to be called into extra meetings. As the team’s quarterback, I’m often shown off as the face of the organization. I don’t mind it. I try to do everything I can to give back to the city and the team that’s become my home and my family.
Years of training to be in the public eye haven’t hurt my efforts either.
I catch up to Del, TJ, and Poe in time to hear TJ ask, “What are y’all up to this weekend?”
“I’m going to sit on my butt and watch other people play”—Del rubs his hands together—“while I eat chips and guac.”
“Original,” TJ mutters. “What about you, Poe?”
“I’ve been wanting to read the latest Nora Karl thriller since it came out last month. Going to binge it this weekend.”
“Could you guys be any more boring?“ TJ scoffs.
Poe sticks his nose up. “Well, what do you have planned, Teej?”
“I’ve got a date.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Del groans. “Tell me it’s not with another jersey chaser.”
“Hey, there is nothing wrong with a lady friend who appreciates my profession.”
“There is when she’s just using you,” Poe says dryly. “You’re better than that, man.”
TJ frowns. “It’s not my fault you guys prefer guacamole and books to a night out.”
Del rolls his eyes. “Let’s agree to disagree. What about you, Bates? ”
“I’ve got that thing in California.”
The “thing” being a charity gala that my mother demanded I attend. I didn’t have the energy to try to talk my way out of it. Sadly, that’s become a sort of pattern between her and me. She says jump, and even when I’d rather not, I do.
The guys start heckling me immediately. TJ is singing “California Gurls” by Katy Perry. Del breaks into the song by the same name by the Beach Boys.
Poe smirks. “You get to play prince for the weekend.”
“Yeah. My favorite thing to do.” I lace my voice with sarcasm. These guys get me. I love my teammates like brothers. They’ve become the type of close-knit family I always longed for but never had. They know I hate flaunting my royal title, which is really what my mother wants me to do out there. But they also know that, as the heir to the monarchy of a small island nation off the coast of Norway, I have certain hats I’m forced to wear.
I’ve been able to convince my mom, the queen, that I don’t need additional security and special treatment in my day-to-day life—at least not any more than what other pro-football players have. But when I go to events like this, where my royalty is what’s on display, I’m forced to have an entourage. I hate it.
Why didn’t I say no?
Because I can’t stand disappointing my mother. Because I feel like I’d come across as ungrateful for the silver-spoon life I’ve been allowed to live.
Because I do actually like giving back. Still, I’d rather stay close to home. I much prefer my job as Anton Bates, #4, starting quarterback for the Green Bay River Foxes over His Royal Highness Prince Anton Muriel Bates of Penwick.
“Don’t forget about us little guys when you get out there with all those famous people, eh?” TJ mimes tugging at invisible sleeves of a dress shirt.
“Need a date? I’ll come with you.” Del slings his arm over my shoulder .
“And take you away from your chips and guac? Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Del covers his heart with his hand. “That’s how I know you’re a real one, Bates. Always looking out for my best interests.”
“You know it.” I grin at Del, thoughts of my mother and my royal responsibilities falling away. I got traded to the River Foxes three years back, and Del followed this year, which worked out great for me. It takes a lot to get a quarterback and a center on the same page. Our history together has worked to the team’s advantage. The fact that he’s one of my best friends off the field is a cherry on top.
We follow the winding hallway that leads us to an exterior wing of the stadium. Several of our other teammates are walking this direction too. It’s a team tradition that on Fridays, we put on the Biker Brigade for our fans.
I don’t know who came up with the idea or why it has stuck, but young fans bring in their bikes, and then we, the players, ride them in a sort of parade. The kids get to run out and meet the player who’s on his or her bike. We sign autographs. Stand for pictures. All that jazz.
It’s cute.
Some of us think so more than others.
“I still can’t believe they make us do this,” Del grumbles as we round the corner and see the line-up of bikes for the day. “Don’t they realize I weigh two hundred and eighty-five pounds? I am not built for this madness.”
“Buck up, Delly-boy. This is what we do!” TJ takes off in a sprint toward the end of the bike line. “Dibs on the blue mountain bike!”
The rest of us follow on his heels, racing to claim a ride. You never want to be the guy who gets the smallest bike. The smaller the bike, the more uncomfortable it is to ride it. And there’s always the risk that you’ll break a pedal or bend some metal .
I run toward a solid, sturdy-looking Huffy, but before I can put my hand on it, Caleb, one of our linebackers snags it. “Sorry, 4. Ya snooze, ya lose.”
Blast it all. Rules are rules, and the first person to any given bike gets to ride it.
My teammates are like little mice, scattering to the bikes. If we can match this energy on the field for the rest of the season, we’ll be undefeated. A quick look around reveals that every other two-wheeled contraption is spoken for except a small purple one with glittery streamers coming off the handlebars and a white woven basket hanging from the front, complete with a brown plush teddy bear resting inside.
I stride over to it, resigned to my fate. I press down on the handle bars, testing the wheels to see if they have enough air in them and if the whole thing will be able to support my weight. When I’m satisfied that it’s not going to collapse under me, I swing my leg over and tentatively sit on the uncomfortable banana-shaped seat.
“Lookin’ good, Bates!” Poe rings the bell on his orange-and-black mountain bike, walking it forward.
“I can make anything look good.” I flick the handle bar streamers for good measure.
“Gentlemen, are we ready?” Ned Norbertson comes to stand in front of us. Ned is the team’s VP of Marketing and Fan Engagement. He’s sometimes referred to as “Nerdy Ned” behind his back, but honestly, I love the guy. He’s smart, super creative, and able to keep a bunch of raucous, oversized football players in line and organized during our weekly Biker Brigade.
We all give varying degrees of affirmative responses, and Ned presses the button on the garage door. It springs open, revealing a long access road that’s lined with screaming fans. They’re behind barricades and snow piles that have mercifully been plowed out of the way, leaving the quarter mile road we’ll pedal down mostly clear .
“Honestly, this is a safety hazard. We really do this all season?” Del rubs his hands over his arms, as if that’ll help him ward off the morning chill. “It’s freaking winter. There’re ice patches up in here.”
“That’s part of the fun, Delly.” Poe rings his bike bell again and takes off to the cheers of the fans.
“I’ll show you fun,” Del grumbles, pushing off and wobbling on his two-wheeler before straightening it out.
I’m next in line, and I’m mentally applauding myself for handling this lavender sparkly bike like a champion when a familiar face blinds me from the crowd.
No.
I blink.
There’s no way .
But…way.
Rose Kasper. In the flesh. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold. Her brown hair still holds its trademark wave. It’s cut to chin length. She’s three rows back in the line-up of fans, but like magnets, our gazes lock and hold.
I haven’t let myself think about Rose in years. She’s a memory I leave alone. Anytime a daydream has tried to wedge its way into my thoughts, I’ve shut it down faster than you can say heartbreak . My success rate is fifty-fifty. Maybe sixty-forty, if I’m being completely transparent. What I’m saying is, I’m fighting a losing battle. Rose Kasper is a bruise to my heart that’ll always be tender. Here, in the mid-day sunlight, I’m one hundred percent under her trance, and I can’t look away…
That is, until I ram my purple, sparkly bike straight into the snow bank and topple off of it into a heap of cold, slushy, wet snow.
The crowd gasps, and my teammates immediately latch on to my faux pax with a chorus of ribbings .
“Man down. Man DOWN!” TJ pedals up from where he was in line behind me. He makes obnoxious siren sounds, as if he’s a medic coming to my rescue.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our star QB.” Poe rings that dang bell again, circling around and schmoozing the fans. “Much more coordinated on the field than off of it, thank goodness.”
Everyone laughs as I get to my feet. I sweep my gaze to where I saw Rose, but she’s gone. Did I imagine her?
I grab the teddy bear that went flying and make a theatrical bow as the little girl whose bike I was riding runs forward and picks up her wheels.
“Sorry about that,” I tell her.
“It’s okay, mister. But momma says I gots ta watch where I’m going. You should try that too.”
My teammates burst out laughing, and I look down solemnly at this seven-year-old bearer of wisdom with a missing front tooth. I hand back her bear. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good. Keep winning this season, mmkay?”
I chuckle. “We’ll do our best.”
We line up for pictures with the kids, and after signing some autographs and doling out high fives and fist bumps, Ned shepherds us back into the facility.
“Dude.” Del shoves my shoulder after we get inside. “We don’t need you getting hypothermia.”
“What even was that?” Poe asks. “One minute, you’re pedaling like a pro, and the next minute, bam! Snowbank. It’s like you saw a ghost.”
“I thought I did,” I mumble.
I think the guys are too anxious about getting out of there to pay much attention to my admission—all except Del.
He falls into step with me, and we get on the elevator together. “You okay?” he asks.
I give my head a slight shake. “Rose Kasper was out there.”
“For real?” Del’s eyes bulge. “Why? ”
“No idea.”
“You still hung up on her?” he asks after a beat.
“No. I—“ I stop mid-sentence. I what? Am I going to lie to myself and to Del and say that I don’t still harbor feelings for Rose? No. But I’m also not going to dredge up the hurt and betrayal I associate with her. “I don’t know,” I admit. “Seeing her was…unexpected.”
Del has a contemplative expression on his bearded face. “You two were great together once upon a time. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
Two thoughts hit me in tandem in response to Del’s statement: I wish and Absolutely not . Call it self-preservation, but I’m leaning toward the latter. Shame on her if she fooled me once. But shame on me if she fools me twice, right?
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open, saving me from having to respond.
“This is me.” Del steps off and heads toward the locker room. “Don’t have too much fun in Cali without me.”
“You know I won’t. See you next week, man.”
He waves over his shoulder, and the elevator doors close. I ride up to the level of the executive suites. I walk into Scott’s office on autopilot. My head is spinning with thoughts of Rose—Sammy Rose, as I used to call her. Knowing she’s orbiting in the same space makes me sweat.
“Good, Bates. You made it.”
I blink and focus on Scott’s face. I nod at him before my gaze pings to Roger, the team’s VP of communications, who’s seated to Scott’s left.
Ned shuffles in the door behind me. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught up with the bikes and a fan who’s a taxidermist and wanted to show me some samples of her work. Said she could do up some legit river foxes for us to decorate the halls with.”
Ned catches sight of my horrified expression.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I let her down easy. ”
“That’s why we hired you, Ned,” Scott chuckles and waves us forward. “Gentlemen, take a seat.”
I step farther into the office, and Ned follows.
“Dude, you okay? You really ate it out there.” He looks me up and down as if assessing for injuries.
I hold my arms out wide. “Not even a scratch. You want me to get the door?” I ask Scott.
He shakes his head. “We’re waiting on one more, but we can get started.”
I settle into my seat and prepare to get my marching orders. It’s as I expected. Scott and Roger outline the plan for me to be the subject of an in-depth personal-interest piece for Sports Magazine .
“It’s been approved by your people,” Scott says.
I hold back my frown. He always says ‘your people’ in reference to my mother and the palace in Penwick. I don’t have anything against my mom and her royal team, but I also don’t really consider them my people. I’ve always had to act a certain way and put on a certain front where they’re concerned. My real people are my teammates and the friends I’ve made here in the United States. With them, I can be myself.
Rose’s smiling face pops back into my head. That’s annoying, but I guess it makes sense. There was a time when I would have considered her my person. My top person. She knew me better than anyone. We had the best kind of partnership, built on laughter and trust and loyalty and kindness…until it all went up in smoke.
There’s a brisk knock on the door jam.
“Good. You’re here. Come on in.” Scott waves the late arrival forward. “Babs has been getting the journalist that’s been selected for this assignment the proper badges for stadium access and security clearance,” Scott explains.
I turn to see Babette, the head of the team’s HR department. Trailing her is Rose Kasper .
All the oxygen is sucked out of the room. I swear it is. Because I can’t get a full breath in to save my life right now.
Rose’s gaze sweeps around, and her blue eyes settle on me.
I can’t look away.
“This is Rose Kasper.” Babette’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a tunnel.
Sammy Rose. A fierce competitor with a heart of gold. Not intimidated by much of anything. Gorgeous. Clever. Smart.
Yeah, that’s her.
“Dude, you sure you’re good?” Ned knocks his fist against my shoulder, and the contact snaps me out of my trance.
“What? Yeah. Fine.”
Rose is still looking at me, but she blinks and reaches out a hand to Scott.
“Happy to have you on board for this project, Ms. Kasper,” he says.
“It’s my pleasure.” Rose’s voice is low and as silky smooth as I remember. Where’s the nearest snow bank? I may as well go ram my head into it. Again. My entire body feels like it’s on fire…and not in a good way. How in the world am I ever going to handle this? And since when is Rose a journalist?
I guess a lot can change when you block a person out of your life for five years. Obviously she’s made good use of her time if she’s who the team is pulling in for this article. Writing for Sports Magazine is no small feat. And if she passed muster with the palace in Penwick, that’s saying something.
“Bates, here, is a pro, so I’m sure he’ll make your job as easy as possible. He’s been fully briefed on the scope of the article and given specific instructions that he’s to give you insight into all aspects of his life.” Roger shoots me a raised-eyebrow look. He’s waiting for me to confirm that I’m in agreement with all of this.
I mean, I was in agreement. But that was before I knew I’d be giving an all-access pass to Rose—the woman who had that once before and proceeded to take a hacksaw to it .
Rose looks as calm as can be. A classy professional. Like she’s totally unaffected by being in the same room as me. Makes sense. She’s the one who ended it between us. Why would she care if I’m her subject?
Meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking about how gosh darn good she looks in the red pantsuit she’s wearing. It screams power. She may as well be a Power Ranger, for crying out loud. All the power is on her side. In this moment, I don’t stand a chance.
I shove my chair back and rise to my full height. “Yep, fully briefed. I need to run, so…” I say something about circling back and my people being in touch with her people, all without making eye contact with Rose. Truthfully, I sound like I’m talking in gibberish, and I keep making indeterminate noises that are like a mix between a horse’s whinny and an automated answering machine.
Then I flee the room.