Page 14 of The Play

Grant nodded in agreement. “I taught you. And you’ll have to teach me, some, this time around. But I’m sure I can give you something, too. We’ll be partners, instead.” He held out his hand towards Deacon, this time. “How about it?”

Deacon looked at his hand. Slim and capable, but undeniably strong.

They’d touched, briefly, during their handshake only fifteen or so minutes ago.

But it felt so different from this touch when Deacon reached back and clasped that hand in his own.

Maybe it was the way Deacon gripped his hand and never wanted to let it go.

Didn’t let it go.

He watched as Grant inhaled, his eyes dilating further in the dusk, and it was so tempting to take a step closer and then another.

See if it was only he who’d thought about this, during the last twelve years.

But you can’t. Not anymore. He might’ve said you’re partners, but he’s really your boss now. And even worse, with all the bullshit from last year’s Condors, the last thing either of them needed to do was give the media or the team or even the NFL any reason to believe anything inappropriate was going on.

Including a team owner fucking a player.

Disappointment flashed through Deacon, even as he felt a surprisingly strong surge of hope.

“Partners,” Grant said with a sharp nod and removed his hand, stepping away.

Right back to safety.

Maybe it had just been him, but Deacon didn’t think so.

Doesn’t matter. This is how it is, now.

Chapter 3

July

Once Deacon had made the decision to come back, he’d done two things.

One, he’d convinced his favorite partner-in-crime and fellow defensive end, Jem Knight, to join him for one last year.

Jem hadn’t really been ready to retire, anyway. He’d said he was, but considering how easy it had been to convince him to play one more year now that the team was under new ownership and management, Deacon had known the truth.

He’d wanted this, just as much as Deacon realized he had.

Two, he’d decided to spend the summer back at home, with his younger sister and her family, down at the lake. His parents, whom he’d grown apart from over the years, had even come down for a few weeks.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be hands-on while Grant gutted the team. He did, but there was a part of him that wasn’t entirely convinced.

He’d known the Grant Green of twelve years ago.

He didn’t know this Grant Green. The self-assured man who’d made a billion dollars since they’d last seen each other. The technology he’d revolutionized had been part of it, but every article and interview Deacon had ever read about Grant had made it clear that it wasn’t just the software he’d developed. It was the way it was deployed. It was the way Grant navigated the business end of it.

Less than a year after starting the company, he’d bought out his initial investor and proceeded to run the company the way he wanted to run it. Deacon, preparing for his first year in the NFL, had followed along, because he hadn’t been able to help himself.

A lot of people had predicted that Grant would fail. That he wouldn’t have the business acumen to handle himself.

He’d proven them all wrong.

But that didn’t mean Grant could fix the Condors.

He’d built InTech from the ground up; he’d never had to excise rotten tissue, carefully saving the good while getting rid of the bad.

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