Chapter 3
Knox
“K-Brad? What the…” It’s a week later, I’m back home from my trip to the Bahamas leaning forward on the bench in the workout room, reading the words on the screen. “Nobody calls me K-Brad.”
The story is one of those TMI recaps of whatever buzzy hot take everyone’s talking about this week.
In this case, it basically summarizes the transcript of some sports podcast under an enormous headline in all-capital, black letters with four exclamation points reading, “K-brAD NUKES THE PLAYOFFS!!!!”
“I didn’t nuke the playoffs. I played my best.”
“You did throw that last pass straight to the defensive back.” My left tackle, Gill Mixon huffs under his breath as he curls the bar.
A flash of anger heats my neck. “I was about to get sacked.” I push off my legs, walking to grab a bottle of Gatorade. “I had no choice but to throw it away. Where was my coverage? Is anybody talking about that?”
My chest is tight, and I can’t seem to unclench my jaw. It was a tough first season. I thought I was ready to step into the spotlight, lead this team, but I wasn’t ready for every good play to have half the life of every mistake.
Rather than noting how we made it all the way to the fucking playoffs for the first time since the infamous Number 9 retired from the team, all I hear is “WWDD?” I’m haunted by a ghost who never goes away, and now I know it’s all fueled by this “Quarterback Princess,” this Melody Dunne and her Girl’s Got Game podcast.
“If you wanna talk turkey, Jeff Dupree’s not doing us any favors.” Alfonso “The Fonz” Spears steps up beside me.
He’s the best right guard I’ve ever played with, and I couldn’t agree more. Protection around me is weak, but our defensive line is shit. Any armchair quarterback will tell you, offense can be top rate, but without a strong defense, we’re never going to make it to the Big Game.
“At least they’re talking about you.” Fonz taps me on the shoulder, grinning as he heads for the showers. “We’ll get ‘em next year.”
“Next year, I want Baker downfield.” Recruitment season is still a few months away, but I’m doing my best to lobby the coaches for my wide receiver, best friend from college to join the team.
Baker always found an opening and he never missed a pass.
We’re wrapping up for the long break between February and July, and usually I look forward to the time off to recharge, visit family, relax. This year, I’m frustrated and ready to get to work right now.
Fonz is right. We accomplished a lot this year, but I wanted it all. I wanted to come out swinging and take us all the way to the top, like that Cincinnati kid did a few years ago.
Much like that guy, I haven’t had great coverage either. I suppose I should be glad I also haven’t sustained a career-ending injury, but this nonstop criticism from the gallery is getting me down.
Kimmie
Are you done yet? You’re needed in LA for a cousin emergency.
Frowning at the text from my big sister in Newhope, I momentarily forget my frustration on the field. Los Angeles is where the hockey players in the Bradford line have gone, and where my best cousin, my wingman, and the keeper of all my secrets Maverick Murphy is living.
He’s a few years older than me, so he’s had more time to get on billboards. I’ll catch up with him, though.
Knox
What kind of emergency?
Kimmie
Maverick has a new house guest, and he’s having trouble forming sentences.
I snort a laugh, knowing exactly what that means.
Knox
Dove is living with Mav? How did that happen?
My cocky, star-center cousin might be the shit in LA, but he loses his cool any time our childhood friend Dove Rhodes is around. How anyone could pine so long for a girl without making it happen is beyond me.
Kimmie
As usual, he’s friend-zoning himself. You need to get out there and give him a push. No, make that a shove. A big, hard shove, or we’ll never unite this family.
Knox
IDK, I’ve always thought Dove was pretty hot. If Mav can’t ruin the friendship, maybe I’ll take a shot…
Kimmie
I’m going to need you to focus.
I actually laugh out loud at her reply. Kim knows me better than that, although it’s not a bad idea.
Jerking Mav’s chain is one of my all-time favorite pastimes, and it’s possible flirting with Dove might just be the shove my sister is requesting. I can see the smoke coming out of his ears already, and it has me laughing and forgetting my football frustrations.
Knox
Leave it to me.
Kimmie
Thx… Love you, lil B. You’ll get your ring next year, don’t worry.
All the shit, all the annoying, humiliating, fucking shit that’s been burning up my insides melts away at those few words.
A smile curls my lips and I wipe a hand across my mouth. Kimmie was nine years old when I was born, and my earliest memories are of her smiling face holding out her hands to me and telling me I could do it.
I took my first steps into her arms. I said my first words to her big brown eyes and exaggerated pronunciations. She would cheer and hug me and bounce me around on her hip.
I’m a grown-ass man, but I won’t lie, when my big sister says I can do it, I believe her.
Knox
Thanks, sis.
She sends me her usual string of emojis as a sign off. A heart, a hug, a confetti bomb, and a little mermaid. I start a new text, only this time it’s to my big brother.
Knox
Do you have a few days off? Mav needs us in LA, and I need to talk to you.
I put my phone on the shelf, changing quickly into clean clothes and tossing my sweaty workout gear into my bag. I’m halfway to my car when my phone buzzes with his reply.
Austin
You’re in luck.
I’m feeling better already as I book the flight and send him my travel information.
* * *
“I really thought I had what it took to go all the way.” I’m walking through the LA grocery store with Austin and Edward, pulling a liter of tequila off the shelf and putting it in the cart. “I thought we’d get our rings.”
We’re on a supply run. Mav’s clearly happy to have us all visiting him—he told me to come on—but he didn’t know I was also bringing Austin and our “cousin” Edward with me, and we’re big eaters. And drinkers.
“In NFL history, no rookie quarterback has ever started a Super Bowl,” Edward notes in his usual, matter-of-fact way.
Actually, Edward is our aunt Rachel’s little brother, but he was our age when she married Uncle Zane, so we’ve always thought of him as a cousin. He and Austin are best friends, so to me, he’s more like another big brother.
“Hang on.” I stop walking, halting the cart, and both of them pause to look at me. “I thought the Bengals went—”
“Second year.” Austin grunts as he lifts a suitcase of Dos Equis Amber and puts it in the cart. “This should last our visit.”
I hesitate in the aisle, doing the math in my head. “Hell,” I hiss. “You’re right. How did I lose a whole year?”
“The lockdown fucked with everybody’s timeline,” my brother notes.
“It’s a common thing for dates to blur during times of extreme stress.” Edward talks like a computer. He’s neurodivergent and one of the smartest and best guys I know.
The weight in my chest lightens. “There hasn’t been a single rookie quarterback starting the Super Bowl? In all NFL history?”
“Not even me.” Austin punches my upper arm playfully, a gleam in his eye. He’s fucking with me, but I’m feeling a lot better now that I know I had it wrong. “Stop beating yourself up about it and focus on how you can improve next year.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” I look up at him. “How can I improve? You watched all the games. You’re taking over for Dad as head coach in Newhope. Give me your feedback.”
His lips purse, and he glances at Edward, whose expression is neutral as always.
“You need a better wide receiver.” The nice thing about Edward is he doesn’t leave you guessing about what he thinks. “Your offensive line is weak. Your defense needs work as well, but focusing on you, you’re not going to win a passing game without more of a pocket.”
Austin grins warmly, like he always does when Edward lays it all out there in a way even a toddler could understand.
“That.” He nods at Edward.
“Hey Eddie, ever considered coaching pro ball?” I can’t resist.
Edward’s lips press into a thin line, and he considers my question. “I’m not proficient in that level of interpersonal communication. I have considered consulting, however.”
“When you’re ready to make the leap, let me know. I’ll be your agent. We’ll make a killing.”
His brow furrows, and he studies me. “Have you ever worked as an agent?”
“No, but trust me. I can sell what you’ve got all week and twice on Sunday.”
He doesn’t agree, and I know he’s doing the math, sizing up my experience versus my charming personality, while Austin pays for the alcohol. “Edward’s coming back to Newhope with me. I want him on my coaching staff at the high school.”
He blinks at my brother. “You never asked me to be on your coaching staff.”
“I’m asking you now.” Austin straightens, crossing his arms. “What do you say?”
His brow is furrowed, and he blinks slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
As much as he’ll lay it all out for you and not leave you hanging, he never makes personal decisions without a great deal of thought.
Everybody should be like Edward. Life would be so straightforward, no games, no politics, just simple math. Either it adds up or it doesn’t.
Austin leads us out to the truck. “You’ll get your ring in the next year or two, mark my words.”
“I’m not getting that ring until somebody listens to Fast Eddie over here.” I hook a thumb at Edward as I help unload the bevs into the bed of our rental truck. “He’s absolutely right.”
“We’ll throw some passes after dinner tonight.” Austin lets me drive back to Mav’s Los Feliz bungalow. “Even if Edward’s right, you need to stay tight.”
“Nice rhyme. Who are you? Don King?”
“As far as you’re concerned, I’m Don Shula.”
Staying with Mav turns out to be just the distraction I need. Hockey is a crazy-ass, rough as hell game, and I’ve always loved watching my cousin play. It’s insane to me how fast he moves on that ice, and when those guys start wailing on each other…
It still blows my mind how they fight.
The only thing that blows my mind more is how he can be such a boss on the rink, and such a pushover when we’re at the house with Dove.
She’s a mystery as well. She seems to be completely oblivious, entirely focused on her studies. She sits on that couch with her silky blonde hair up in a ponytail, sliding her finger down a column of text in a massive book then typing frantically on her laptop like some adorable lady scientist.
If she’d only glance up once, she’d see Mav leaning against the door frame gazing at her like she’s Mount Everest, needing to climb her because, well, there she is.
Preparing to head home, I can confidently say I did my best to shake up the awkwardness and make Mav get the girl.
I challenged him at every turn. I flirted with Dove a ridiculous amount. He nearly punched me in the face after one exceptionally well-planned moment. I gotta give myself props for that one. I shared some of my poetry with Dove, and I asked her to tell me her favorite poem and why.
She was totally into it, blinking those long lashes over her pretty blue eyes. Ladies love a guy who rhymes, and Mav was like a cartoon character turning red and shooting fire from the top of his head.
We’re basically the same size, but he was lifting me off the floor and growling in my face. I did my best not to laugh, and thankfully my big brother was there to break it up in time.
It only took a low, “Maverick, don’t kill your cousin,” from Austin for him to let me down.
Mav did make me promise to stop flirting with Dove, which I agreed to do…
Give me a break. I should get a job doing this shit. I’m like that movie where Will Smith is a date doctor, Hitch.
My work here is done. Maverick is so fired up, he’s going to pull the trigger or bust. My big sister will be happy, and I can get back to New Orleans and get back to training for next season.
I’m sitting on the couch waiting for our rideshare, when my phone lights up with a text from my boy Alphonso.
Fonz
Don’t look now, but she’s at it again.
My brow tightens, and I don’t even know if I want to see. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I tap the link he sent.
It opens another page with one of those stupid, all-caps, black headlines with too many exclamation points. “INSTEAD OF TRAINING, K-brAD IS M.I.A. IN LA!!!!”
Jeez-um. That doesn’t even make fucking sense. How can I be MIA if they know that I’m in LA?
“Get a life.” Air blasts through my lips, and I shake my head. “Do some people just have too much time on their hands?”
“Like you’d react any better if the tables were turned,” Mav snaps at me, and I look up.
Everyone is glaring at me, and I realize they were having some conversation and think I’m talking to him.
“No, man, it’s this effing sports podcaster.” I’ve had to tone down the F-bombs because my cousin Gina’s little girl is always running around. “I’m out here with my family, and she’s trying to say I should be training already.”
“Don’t you football players get to lie around until July?” Mav tries to taunt me, but his hockey schedule is literally… from Hell.
No worries. I’m ready for him. “Jealous?”
“Hell no, I don’t want to lie around.” He grins, catching my hand as we’re headed out the door, and I know it’s the truth.
Dove might have his heart, but hockey is his soul, and I’ve got to hand it to him, I have no idea how he’s going to bring those two worlds together.
As it is, our rideshare to the airport is here. We say our goodbyes, exchanging hugs and making promises to see each other soon. I hope we’ll actually keep them.
We pile into the Uber Black SUV, and it takes me back to a time not so long ago when I nearly missed my flight in one of these things.
“You know they don’t vet Uber drivers,” I say quietly to Austin and Edward. “Anyone with a car and a license can do this, whether they know their way around the city or not.”
“You don’t have to know a city to drive people around.” Austin almost sounds like Edward.
“If you’re going to make your living giving rides to people, you should. I almost missed my flight because of one of these… drivers.” I don’t want to go too harsh and ruin Austin’s rating.
On top of almost making me miss my flight, that Uber person gave me a one-star review and filed a complaint about me being an “aggressive backseat driver.” I was so pissed, I nearly drove to Uber HQ to work it out.
Is that even a thing? I have no idea. Lesson learned. I’ll never not take the car service again.