CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Cole
I should’ve let it go to voicemail.
I knew that the second I picked up.
My phone is still in my hand, screen dark now, but his voice lingers like it always does—dripping in disgust and impossible to ignore.
I haven’t seen one good thing from you all season. Not a single fucking shining moment. Aren’t you embarrassed about that? I know I am. Mediocre doesn’t cut it for a Valor. Go out there and fucking play like it.
I toss my phone into my stall harder than I need to and drag a hand over the back of my neck. Shake it off before it sticks, Cole.
Before it follows me out onto the field.
“Valor,” Coach’s voice cuts across the locker room.
When I look up, he waves me over and then disappears into his office. I follow and try not to make too much of it on the short walk there.
“What’s up, Coach?” I ask.
“Hale says you’ve been working hard in practice. Extra reps. Staying after.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod. “Gotta get out of this funk somehow.”
“Good. Good,” he says as he leans back in his chair. “And your head? It’s good?”
I hold his gaze. “Mental game is strong.”
He studies me for a beat longer than necessary, like he’s trying to decide whether he believes that. “You sure? Because we need you today.”
“I know.”
“This should be an easy win,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean shit if we walk in thinking it is.”
“Agreed.”
“A win keeps our playoff hopes alive.” His eyes flick down toward my hand before coming back up. Has he picked up on the tremble too? “Body feeling good?”
“Yes, sir.”
Now is not the time for my hand to tremble, but it does. Thank fuck it’s hidden behind the chair.
“Good. Good. The team needs you to lead today. There’s a lot of outside noise right now and I need the guys focused. I’m counting on you to bring them together and get the job done.”
“Will do.”
“Now, go get ready for the game.”
I move out of his office and glance at the large countdown clock on the other side of the room. The guys will be here by now. I’ll stop by and see them real quick before I lock it all down and focus completely on the game.
As is our routine. They’ve certainly loved the perks of their friend being in the NFL. Better snacks . . . apparently.
I chuckle. Idiots.
The hallway to the lounge is quiet but not empty. Staff moves through it—equipment guys, trainers, front office staff, a janitor pushing a cart at a snail’s pace as he quietly looks around.
It could be any of these people that put my life in a tailspin. How fucking weird is that?
And why am I thinking about it now?
Because I want my life back to normal. Back to the days when I didn’t wonder when the next shoe would drop. GIA’s new investigators are nice and all, but their microscope feels so different from Dublin’s.
But if your life is back to normal, Valor, that means Dublin’s back at her place.
The lounge is loud when I enter, and I welcome the distraction. The familiar chaos.
Malachi’s already talking shit with one of my wide receivers. Jaxon is showing Tristan a picture on his phone. On the other side of the room, my linebacker, Jamal, is arguing with his brother over a penalty he received last game that’s clearly still a sore spot.
In other words, it’s normal.
I drop onto the couch beside Malachi with a sigh.
“Look who finally made it,” Jaxon says and leans forward to fist bump me. The other two do the same.
“Had to take the call,” I say.
“Sorry, dude,” Tristan says. They know better than to ask why I pick up.
“A routine is a routine,” Malachi jokes. “I guess there’s that.”
I bark out a laugh. “Yes, there is definitely that.”
“You feeling good about today?” Tristan asks.
“Without a doubt,” I say. “They’ve got a shit record, but you know how that goes.”
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Jaxon says.
We all look at him like he’s crazy.
“Who are you?” Malachi asks. “An eighty-year-old woman?”
We all laugh as Jaxon rolls his eyes.
“Nah, their defense is brutal, but their offense is shit,” I say.
“So you’re going to get the shit end of the stick is what you’re saying?” Jaxon asks.
“What are you? A comedian?” Tristan asks.
“You’re all laughing and Cole gets to relax, so sure. I’ll take that,” Jaxon says. “But really? You’re feeling good? The arm’s in top form?”
“So far so good,” I murmur.
“What about the hand?” Malachi asks.
I glance down at it, flex once. “It’s . . .” I pause, rephrase what I was going to say. “It feels good.”
“Jax went on a date last night,” Malachi says, eyebrows lifted.
“Dude. Why are we picking on me? We’re here for Cole. Let’s focus on—”
“How was it?” I ask, cutting him off, happy to redirect the focus off me.
The conversation carries on. I’m half listening, half slowly getting my head into work mode. I lean back, when bit of a conversation across the room catches my ear.
“. . . I was just trying to help her understand the play,” one voice says.
“You told her that?” the other says. “Man—”
I glance over. It’s two guys, one a practice squad receiver and the other a staffer.
“I know, I know,” the staffer says. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Relax,” the receiver says. “No one knows what’s said in here. You’re fine.”
They both laugh it off and move on like it’s nothing.
But the conversation sticks in my head, especially the no one knows what’s said in here.
Except . . . what if someone does?
My gaze drifts to the door. To the hallway beyond. To the people moving in and out like they don’t matter. Like they’re invisible.
I sit with it for a bit while the guys fuck with each other. Is my logic flawed? Is what I’m about to do completely unwarranted?
“You need to get ready?” Jaxon asks when I stand.
“Yep. It’s time,” I say.
They say their good lucks and pat me on the back and just as they head for the door, that final piece snaps into place.
“Hey, Mal?” I say just before he clears the door.
“Yeah?” He turns back.