Page 43 of The Rookie's Sister

Pouring a bracing cup of coffee, I mentally slam closed that tantalizing door of possibility my drunken haze had cracked open. Time to focus.

After a quick shower to clear out the remaining cobwebs, I head to the team’s headquarters early. Better to throw myself into work than sit alone with my tangled thoughts.

Most of the building lies empty and dark this early on a Saturday. I flick on lights as I go, cursorily tidying stacks of papers and sports magazines left haphazardly on tables by the players yesterday.

Voices echo from the conference room down the hall—the coaching staff must be in early, too. I almost push open the half-closed door, intending to say hello. But the words make me freeze.

“...just don’t have the roster space,” the head coach is saying, massaging his temples wearily. “I get that he’s your friend, Xavier, but nepotism can’t factor here.”

Xavier leans forward, palms splayed on the polished table. “Jeff has raw talent. We all see it. He just needs guidance to reach his potential.”

My breath stutters in my throat. They’re talking about Jeff. Debating his place on the team. I should make my presence known, but shock roots me in place.

“I wish that were enough.” The coach shakes his head. “But his performance hasn’t improved these past weeks. O’Malley wants to bring in new blood.”

“So give us a little more time!” Xavier insists, an edge sharpening his tone. It’s the first time I’ve heard him anything less than perfectly composed. “The kid grew up watching me play, modeling his game after mine. Let me continue to work with him one-on-one. I can get him up to speed.”

The other staff members trade uncertain glances. “It’s not that we doubt you,” the offensive coordinator pipes up diplomatically. “We know you’ve taken an interest in mentoring him.”

He clears his throat, choosing his next words carefully. “But you’ve also been a bit...distracted lately. We have to consider what’s best for the team.”

Xavier’s jaw clenches, eyes flashing. I recognize that dangerous look—the coiled power of an athlete pushed to his limit. But the head coach speaks up before Xavier can retaliate.

“How about this? We’ll give it one more week. You work with Jeff daily, get his skills NFL-ready.” He holds up a hand to cut off Xavier’s protest. “But if he can’t prove himself ready by next week’s game, we’ll have to let him go. Those are O’Malley’s terms.”

Xavier’s shoulders slump in reluctant acceptance. I choose that moment to pull the door wider, rapping my knuckles against it politely as if I hadn’t overheard everything.

“Sorry to interrupt—”

Xavier’s gaze crashes into mine, his expression morphing from frustration to something softer. Caught off guard, he just nods tightly in greeting.

The head coach claps his hands together, forcibly brightening the mood. “Emma, perfect timing. We were just wrapping up a staff meeting.”

I keep my face neutral through sheer force of will. “Of course, sorry to barge in. I’ll get out of your hair.”

As I turn to go, I feel Xavier’s presence behind me. He catches my arm in the hallway.

“Emma...”

I halt but don’t turn around, afraid he’ll read the truth on my face. His fingers remain curled gently around my elbow, but I wish he would let go. It’s too hard to think clearly when he’s touching me.

“I tried to buy us more time,” he says quietly. “Your brother’s got potential, but this business is cutthroat.”

I steel myself with a deep breath before facing him. “You knew about Jeff’s getting cut all this time, didn’t you?” When he doesn’t object, I continue, “It’s fine. Thank you for going to bat for him.” I force a tight smile. “Jeff will prove himself. I know it.”

Xavier searches my face, reading volumes in what I leave unsaid. But he just squeezes my arm lightly and lets me escape down the hall on shaky legs. I duck into my office before he can glimpse just how much his reassurances really affected me.

Because I know now, any attraction between us has to go on the back burner. Jeff’s career hangs by the finest thread. He’s worked his whole life for a shot in the big leagues. I can’t—I won’t—let him lose it because of my divided focus.

For Dad’s sake, and for Jeff’s future, my priorities have to be realigned. No more distractions or entanglements, no matter how beguiling. I have a job to do—saving my little brother’s career.

I sit at my desk, staring sightlessly at the paperwork piled before me. My fingers twist and untwist a pen compulsively. Everything rests on the next week’s performance. One chance for Jeff to prove himself, or lose his place on the team that was his childhood dream.

Bile burns in my throat at the thought of telling Dad or facing Jeff’s crestfallen eyes. He’s worked so hard for so long. I hoped stepping in for Dad could ensure Jeff’s success, but now it feels like I failed.

I sag back in my chair, dizzy from the emotional whiplash. Jeff’s last chance, Xavier staking himself for us, and the burden of responsibility resting squarely on my shoulders. No pressure.

Worry gnaws at my gut as I mentally tally the long preparation checklist for next Sunday’s game. So much depends on how Jeff performs under the scrutiny of the coaches and the team owner. It’ll take every resource I have to get him ready in time.

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