Page 110 of The Play

“Hey,” Riley said, shading his eyes from the late afternoon sun. “You got a minute?”

“Yeah,” Deacon said. Hating that he sounded like the world was this fucking close to ending. He was supposed to be happy. He was happy.

But it still felt like every day he was waiting for the bubble to burst. He and Grant repaired it, each and every time, because what else could they do? But that didn’t mean it didn’t suck.

Didn’t mean that every time the arrow came at them, Deacon wasn’t incredibly pissed off.

Pissed off and more than a little confused because Riley kept glancing over at Nate. Not him, who the world currently couldn’t shut up about, but Nate.

Then Riley looked over at him, worrying his bottom lip, and Deacon’s concern skyrocketed.

“What is it?” he asked flatly.

Riley looked over at Nate again. “I know you’re the defensive captain, and it’s your job to deal with players on your side of the ball.”

Deacon knew whatever was coming he was not going to like. Not one fucking bit.

“But you’re the quarterback. You lead this team,” Deacon said. Riley had gotten that from the moment he’d arrived, even as a last-minute signing. He’d stood up and led.

Most of the time, Deacon assumed that it came pretty easily and naturally to him, because he’d seen his older brother do it so effortlessly. But there were some days, some moments, when it really fucking sucked to be the one everyone looked to.

Deacon had a feeling this was one of those times.

“Yeah, I do.” Riley turned to Nate. Who was cringing now, like he knew what was coming, and that was even worse, as far as Deacon was concerned. “Were you even going to say anything? After you were so eager to run your mouth?”

Nate shrank under Riley’s tough—but still kind—gaze. “I guess I didn’t know it was such a big deal. I was defending Deac, after all.”

“What did he say?” Deacon said, forcing himself to stay calm, directing his question to Riley, not Nate.

The guy was a rookie. Jem would tell him Nate was very young and as a result, still very stupid. Jem would remind him of how young and stupid they’d been at one time. How there hadn’t been enough help to go around, to be any less stupid.

But still, the last guy Deacon had expected to run his mouth to the media was Nate.

“They just kept saying shit, and asking questions, like they knew, and I have to tell you, Deac, I didn’t like the tone they took. Or the way they were talkin’ about you or about Mr. G. So I just told them that your relationship was none of their fucking business.”

Deacon groaned softly and Riley shot him a knowing look.

“Next time,” Riley said firmly, “you tell them no comment. Repeat it with me, Nate. No comment.”

Nate looked ashamed, now. “No comment,” he said miserably. Then he turned to Deacon. “Deac, man, I am so sorry. I didn’t even realize, I didn’t even know—”

“I know,” Deacon said, before guilt could tug him any harder. “I know you didn’t mean to confirm everything, but you kinda did.”

Riley eyed him but didn’t say a word. Let him handle it.

“I just—”

“I get it. They’re fucking vultures, right? They just push and push and push . . .”

“Yeah. I didn’t even realize it was a thing until it was out of my mouth, and then I thought, well, maybe it won’t be a thing.”

So young, Deacon thought, and so stupid.

This was the biggest sports story on the planet right now. The reporter Nate had talked to probably thought he’d just won the fucking lottery.

“Next time, if you’re even a little bit worried it might be a thing, go to Riley. Come to me. Talk to us. We’ll figure out if it’s a big deal.”

It probably wouldn’t have mattered if he and Grant had known about this ahead of time. It still would’ve been the brief flame the story needed to really catch fire.

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