Page 21 of The Play

“You gotta give them time. They’re . . .” Deacon took a deep breath. “You know what they’re used to. You also know how long trust can take to build, especially after it’s been not only damaged, but trampled all over.”

“You trust me, right?”

Grant’s eyes were wide and very green—the light leaf green of spring. Deacon understood exactly why the sales and marketing department hadn’t wanted to tell him the truth, because disappointing him wasn’t easy.

For a split second, Deacon did consider lying.

But they’d agreed to be partners. To be truthful with each other.

Well. About everything else, anyway.

It would be pointless to tell Grant how many times Deacon had fantasized about him, and Deacon tried hard not to be a masochist.

“I do trust you. Now.”

Grant’s eyes widened even further, and Deacon plowed ahead.

“Not at first, though. I wouldn’t have trusted anyone. Not after what we’d been through. Not after the old owners told me they were gonna give me a good contract and then they turned around and gave it to Taylor, instead. All that guaranteed money.”

“That we’re still paying,” Grant grumbled.

“That’s what I’m saying. I wasn’t going to trust anyone after that. But it became pretty clear, pretty quick, that you were different. Then there’s the fact that you and me . . .we’ve got a shared past. An experience together that didn’t have anything to do with this football team. And we’re uh . . .closer than you are to the sales and marketing department. It was easier for me to trust you, because of that. So, just give them some more time. They’ll come around. You’re doing all the right things. If you weren’t—”

“You’d tell me,” Grant finished for him, his tone dry. “And I’d sure as hell expect you to.”

“Exactly. This is why I trust you.”

“I did talk to them. Explained my point of view. Didn’t lose my temper, even.”

“That’s why you came up here.”

Deacon wouldn’t have needed to become friends with Grant Green to know he wouldn’t ever lose his temper on his employees just because he could.

Grant nodded. “Some days, just . . .ugh.”

“I felt that way, every single day, before. Every time you don’t think you’re making a difference . . .think about that, okay?”

“Okay.”

Grant was quiet for a long time before he turned to Deacon. “So, if we’re sharing, why are you up here?”

“Not ’cause of frustration or anger or anything like that. Just . . .getting my head on straight. Gettin’ ready for the season. First day of practice is always overwhelming.”

“I can imagine. I caught some . . .uh . . .moments. From my office.”

So those prickles on the back of his neck hadn’t been Deacon’s imagination, after all. He hadn’t thought so, since he wasn’t a particularly fanciful guy.

Except in one case.

“It’s just the first day, but I feel good about it,” Deacon said. “Don’t want you to think I don’t.”

“How about this.” Grant paused. “Based on what I saw today, and what I’ve felt since he showed up here, two months back, I think you were one hundred percent right about Jonathan Kelley.”

Deacon grinned. “Where’s Darcy with her little recorder thing when you need her? I want to record that for posterity. Press play every time you’re contrary and don’t listen to me.”

Grant rolled his eyes. “Hilarious.”

“Listen, I might not be that big dumb football player, but you’re still brilliant, so much smarter than I could ever imagine being. So you sayin’ I was right about Coach K? Feels damn good.”

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