Page 4 of Second Down Fake

I’d just signed a five-year contract. Getting rid of me would be a financial nightmare, not to mention a logistical one. With my four seasons in the NFL, I was still fresh blood. No offense to my backup, but he’d played in the league for nearly a decade before I went pro. Our third string was just out of college and didn’t have the chops. Not now, anyway. Sure, being a starting quarterback never came with a guarantee, but my position was pretty damn close.

“You heard me.” He set his mouth in a firm line.

“Listen, the Zoey situation sucks. I get that. If I can get in touch with her, I’ll smooth it over.” The vague swell of panic morphed into a tide as the pressure behind my eyes pounded against my brain. “But it’s a misunderstanding. It’ll blow over. And you can’t be serious. I just signed a contract.”

“I’d break it.”

I pitched forward in my seat, panic gripping my throat. “You can’t do that. That would be up to the owner and the shareholders.”

Coach Simmons crossed his arms. His eyes narrowed. “I have their full support. This is my team and I’ll run it as I see fit. If you want to be an irreplaceable player, join another team.”

I looked at James. His eyes narrowed. Probably adding up his cut of my buyout and a contract with a new team. But I didn’t want another team. I wanted the Breakers.

“Understood.” I ground the word out.

“I hope so. I’m serious, Diego. You’re a great player, an excellent leader, but you aren’t the only person on this team. You aren’t even the most important person. I’m not dealing with bad press and drama all season. Get your shit together.”

He nodded, dismissing me. I pushed myself up and stalked out the door.

TWO

CASSANDRA

I carefully pulled the diploma off the wall of my sister’s office. Her former office. Daylight glinted off the frame, and I pursed my lips, setting it with the other diplomas in a cardboard box.

“Are you sure this is okay?” I asked for about the millionth time. “Squatting in your apartment for the next couple of months, I mean.”

“Absolutely,” Becca said from underneath the sturdy oak desk, disentangling a bundle of cords. “Cal tried to sweet talk the property manager into letting us break the lease. Since that didn’t work, we’re paying for the next few months, regardless. Besides, the Patriots are putting us up in a furnished apartment. You’re saving us storage fees.”

I wasn’t saving Becca anything. She had her entire life in order: hot boyfriend, amazing job, two apartments. My older sister was a model of success while I rambled around the country, taking odd jobs, and moving from state to state, depending on my mood. Which I loved, but made my family believe that I’d end up in a van under a bridge by my thirties.

What future did a twenty-four-year-old with no degree and no career actually have? Not much of one, at least according to them.

“I’m taking up space, but I appreciate it.”

“We’ll come back for the rest of my stuff before Thanksgiving, so if you plan on staying through the end of the year, you’ll need furniture and a job. I can call a couple of people that I know. I can get you some interviews…” I winced, and she paused. “Isn’t that your plan?”

Bumming around my sister’s former apartment until the lease ran out in a brand-new city seemed like a complete plan with or without furniture. Becca disagreed.

I shrugged. “My plan was to pick up some odd jobs so I can buy groceries and cover the electric bill and hope I have my shit in order by the new year.”

She bit her lip, her exasperation palpable. “Okay. Just, you can call me if you need anything.”

After losing my apartment in Boston, I’d had the “time to grow up chat” with my parents. I didn’t need Becca piling on.

“Other than an apartment?”

“Money, groceries, someone to talk to?”

My eyes misted. My older sister wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type but an apartment, money, conversation? She may as well have wrapped me in a bear hug.

To prevent myself from actually wrapping her in a bear hug, I fought back tears and rolled my eyes.

“Gross. I’m taking this box out to the car before you try to hug me.” I interlocked the flaps of the box I’d filled with physical therapy books, diplomas, and various desk accessories and hefted it up.

“Are you sure you can find your way back to the car?” Becca asked, eyebrows raised.

“Absolutely,” I lied.

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