Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was a perfect summer night. With the setting sun close to the horizon, orange streaks cut across the purple sky. His dad’s backyard smelled of barbecue and fresh-mown grass.
Decker stood near the edge of the patio, one shoulder against the siding, watching his brothers mess with each other at the grill.
“Give that to me.” Jude plucked the tongs from Boone’s hand.
“What’s your problem?” Boone demanded.
“You’re harassing the meat.”
“I’m rotating it, so it cooks evenly, Brain Trust.”
Their dad pulled beers from the cooler. “If you two ruin dinner, I’m gonna be pissed.”
Boone caught the cold one his dad tossed. “Your son thinks because he’s married now, he’s suddenly a domestic goddess.”
“Being married has nothing to do with barbecue skills.” Jude lifted the lid and inspected the rack. “And if you keep flipping them over direct heat, you’re going to dry them out.”
“Who do you think’s the grill master at the station?” Boone asked. “Trust me, I know my meat.”
“I’m sure you do.” Wyatt grabbed his crotch. “But right now, we’re discussing ribs.”
Boone barked a laugh. “I walked into that one.”
Jude moved the rack to the cooler side of the grill. “They need indirect heat. Let’s the fat render without scorching the outside.”
“Yeah, and the fat’s going to start a fire,” Boone said.
“Listen to him,” Wyatt said. “He wears a hard hat and carries a big hose.”
As if on cue, a bead of fat slipped from the edge of the rib and hit the heat shield below. A sharp hiss followed, then a tongue of flame shot up between the grates.
“Well, would you look at that?” Boone said triumphantly. “Good thing you’ve got a firefighter on call. Maybe you should let me man the grill.”
“I’m fixing your mess,” Jude shot back. “You had them sitting over the burner on high.”
The flame licked higher as more fat dripped down.
Boone lunged forward and snapped the lid shut to choke the oxygen. “That’s how you handle a flare-up.”
“It’s a propane grill, Smokey,” Wyatt said dryly. “Not a forest fire.”
Boone reclaimed the tongs with a quick twist of his wrist. “When the grease ignites and takes your eyebrows with it, don’t call me.”
Jude rolled his eyes and adjusted the knobs down a notch. “We’re finishing them low and slow. We’ll add sauce at the end so it caramelizes instead of turning into charcoal.”
“Okay, Chef.” Boone folded his arms. “But if they’re dry, it’s on you.”
“And if they’re burnt, it’s on you.”
Their dad took a long pull from his beer. “I’m ordering a pizza.”
Decker found himself smiling. It was ridiculous. They’d had versions of this argument since they were kids—over fishing lines, snow shovels, and who got to drive Dad’s truck.
He’d been an outsider for a very long time, and right then, he didn’t want to be one in his own family. As he stepped into the circle, his dad reached back into the cooler. “Beer?”
“Can’t. Training camp.”
“When’re you heading back?” Jude asked.
“Holding off as long as I can.” It wasn’t like he’d be the first. Veteran starters skipped the start of camp all the time—contract stuff, “business decisions.” Showed up right before preseason, took a handful of reps, and still ran the offense in week one.
Birdie toddled past the patio at that exact moment, waving long strips of pink and white ribbon. “Yook, I a fairy!”
“A fairy, huh?” Decker smiled.
Cody slouched along after her, halfheartedly shaking the ribbons. “This is dumb.”
“But you’re playing with your cousin, so you can do fairies now and something of your choice later, yeah?” Jude asked, one hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“And what do you want to do?” Jude asked.
“I want to play on the swing set.”
“Then, you’ll do that next, okay?” Jude asked.
“Okay.” Spirits raised, Cody dashed off, catching up with the little girl.
Birdie needed this—his family. He’d bring her back as often as he could.
But what about Willa? When would he see her? Once she locked into her next case, she wouldn’t be traveling anywhere.
Well, if they both wanted it to work, then it would.
It has to.
He headed over to the shade of the pine trees where she and Finlay sat side by side in Adirondack chairs, hands wrapped around glasses of iced tea. Sunlight filtered through the branches.
“Did you meet with Claire?” he heard Finlay ask as he approached.
“Yeah. She’s great. She’s done an amazing job with the Reliquary Museum.” Willa smiled warmly. “Half the pieces came from my family. And we’ve got a whole attic with even more stuff, so she’s going to come over and look through it.”
“Are you going to hire her?”
“No. It won’t work. Running a small museum is nothing like an inn. Hospitality is people. It’s chaos and payroll. It’s middle-of-the-night calls when a pipe bursts or a guest needs an extra blanket.”
“Oh, no.” Finlay sounded worried. “What’re you going to do? How much more time can you take off?”
“Well, that’s the thing.” Willa exhaled. “Am I crazy to think maybe I should just stay and run it myself?”
The word landed like a clean snap.
Stay.
He felt it in his pulse.
What if this was his life?
Sunday barbecues. Kids running around. Hanging out with his brothers.
A fierce wave of yearning crashed over him—only this time, it wasn’t scary. It wasn’t overwhelming.
It didn’t hurt.
It was a signal of the life he wanted.
A life he could have.
And what a revelation that was. As a kid, he had no control. He’d had to suck it up.
But I’m an adult now. I can take care of myself.
I don’t have to yearn—I can build whatever I want.
The idea that it was all so simple, so obvious, that he could be this happy, made him lightheaded. He had to get out of the sunlight. Away from the laughter, the banter, and the sexy hand that had the same grip on the glass that it often had on his cock.
He walked into the house before he did something stupid, like throw her over his shoulder and march her up to his bedroom. He felt wild, out of control.
Free.
You think being the franchise quarterback of an NFL team is empowering?
Try falling in love.
Having a family.
He got it. The life Jude chose—going from loner to family man overnight—he finally got it.
The kitchen was cool and held the scent of smoke and citrus cleaner. He braced his hands on the counter and tried to calm the surge of adrenaline. They’d left the TV on, and he recognized the voice of Drive Time’s host.
“There’s no question McKenna changes the temperature of that building,” Matt Hollis said. “When he walks into camp, practices get sharper. The tempo rises. You can see it on tape. He’s not just their quarterback—he’s the tone-setter.”
Hearing his name snapped him out of his thoughts. He stepped into the game room and turned up the volume.
“And the guys respond to him,” his co-host said. “That’s not something you coach.”
“But while McKenna continues rehabbing away from the facility, Jenkins has taken all the first-team reps this week,” Hollis said.
Decker flinched.
On the screen, his backup took a clean snap and drove the ball on rhythm. Compact release. Balanced base.
That’s fine. Every team needs a good backup.
It’s fine.
“Now, that doesn’t mean anything dramatic,” Hollis continued. “Reps are reps. But when we’re coming up on August, it takes on a different meaning.”
The co-host gave a half shrug. “And sometimes, when a leader isn’t physically there, someone else grows into the space.”
Grows into the space? What space? I’ve missed a few weeks. That’s it.
What the fuck are they talking about?
He wasn’t in a boot. He wasn’t limping. He’d been cleared to start increasing the workload on his ankle three days ago. His sprint tolerance was trending up. Swelling down nearly thirty percent from day three.
The analyst leaned back, calm as a man discussing weather patterns. “This is how smart franchises operate. You don’t wait for decline. You prepare for every outcome.”
What outcome?
Replacing me?
His sports psychologist would tell him to focus on what he can do, not on the threat. But he couldn’t do anything until his ankle was fully healed. Yes, he could go back to his team, but he couldn’t play. Not yet.
But damn. To be so easily discarded?
Twenty-four fourth-quarter comebacks.
Nine game-winning drives last season.
Career passer rating north of one hundred.
Pressure rating barely dipping under duress.
Meanwhile, Jenkins had started three training-camp practices.
Three.
Jenkins’s yards per attempt dropped against the blitz. His pocket drift widened under interior pressure. His anticipation wasn’t instinctive yet; it was learned.
That wasn’t his ego talking. It was the film.
Decker grabbed his phone without taking his eyes off the screen and dialed Coach Larson.
The call connected quickly.
“I’m watching Drive Time,” Decker said. “They’re talking about preparing for outcomes.”
A quiet exhale on the other end. “Yeah.”
“I’m not the first QB to miss the start of camp.” He kept his voice even, but his pulse hammered. “I haven’t even been gone three weeks.”
“It’s July,” Coach said. “Air has to get filled.”
“That’s not air. Exclusive reps isn’t air.”
Coach didn’t answer immediately. Decker could hear background noise—a door shutting, muted voices.
“You’re not here,” Coach said finally. “We don’t freeze development because you’re rehabbing.”
“I’m ahead of schedule,” Decker said. “I’m not sidelined for the season.”
“I know you’re not.” Coach’s tone softened. “But this is your second high-ankle sprain. When the ligament stretches, it doesn’t reset like new. Defensive coordinators see it on tape, circle it, test it. We have to think bigger than the next two weeks.”
Ah, there it was. The worry that had been tickling the back of his mind ever since he’d heard the pop. No one had said a thing about it, so he’d pretended like there was nothing to worry about.
Okay, so this wasn’t speculation. This was risk assessment.
“Have you heard something from the doctor I haven’t?” Decker hated the slight edge in his voice.
“No new damage,” Coach said. “MRI was clean. Structurally, you’re fine. This isn’t about that.”
“Then what’s it about?”
“It’s about stability,” Coach answered. “I need my starter to be able to move without hesitation. I need to know, when we game-plan in August, we’re building around something that holds.”
Decker set his hand on the cool leather couch. “I’ve taken every snap for this team for four years. I’m working out, throwing footballs. I’m right on track to hit the field running in a few days. And you think I’m suddenly unstable?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what’re you saying?”
Coach’s voice remained level. “I’m saying if you’re not ready to take full-speed first-team reps by Monday, then Jenkins is taking your snaps with the starters.” He paused. “Which means he’ll start preseason.”
At the start of college, he’d been cocky.
He’d risen quickly in the football world.
Got a lot of accolades. Thought he was hot shit.
One day, he had thirty seconds on the clock to get the ball into his receiver’s hands for a touchdown.
The magic moment happened when the field cleared, when his guy was open, and he knew he’d won the game.
Instead, Andrew Lowell, the three-hundred-pound wall of muscle from Michigan, sacked him so hard his helmet flew off.
That’s what it feels like right now.
Play on Monday or be replaced.
He had to catch his breath before he could answer.
The laughter from outside drifted through the open window. Birdie’s giggles, his brother’s boom of laughter, the rush of wind through the trees.
He’d always imagined leaving on his terms. He’d dreamed of a long career like Zach Callahan. Hell, he practically followed the same regimen as his mentor.
So to find out everything he’d worked for could be taken away with the snap of two beefy fingers?
Fuck that.
“I’ll be there.”