Page 9 of Offside Devil

I shove more pizza in my mouth and keep right on scowling.

“What the hell are you eating? It sounds like I’m talking to a garbage disposal.”

“Cheat day pizza.”

Six days out of seven, it’s boiled cod, brown rice, and veggies—but for one blessed day each week, I order the biggest pie Marco’s Pizzeria makes and eat the entire thing by myself.

“You’re addicted,” Jace laughs. “I’m going to warn Owen.”

“Owen is my NA sponsor. Last I checked, pizza isn’t a narcotic.”

“No, I guess it isn’t,” he agrees. “You might throw up on your run tomorrow, but I’ve seen you a lot worse off.”

For the second time today, the years shrink and I’m curled on the floor of my bathroom while Jace breaks down the door from the outside. Paige had been there with me that night, but she left at some point after I passed out. The only reason I didn’t overdose next to my toilet is because Jace drove me to the ER where they pumped me full of Narcan.

“You’ve come a long way, man,” Jace says quietly. “If it was up to me, I’d choose you over Carson.”

We’re verging on sentimental, so I’m relieved when my phone beeps and my assistant’s name flashes on the screen. “Hanna is calling. Gotta go.”

“You’ve got captain in the bag,” Jace says. “But only because I’m not an option.”

“Screw you,” I laugh just as I dismiss his call and answer Hanna’s. “Hey.”

“Did the pizza make it there safe and sound?” she asks. “Do you like the loaded breadsticks? I know how much you like bacon, so I went with the bacon and cheese filling.”

I frown and scan the counter. The marble top is bare except for the one nearly-empty box of pizza. “I didn’t get breadsticks.”

“What?!” I can hear the horror in her voice. “They should be there! I tipped that delivery driver fifty percent to rush everything over.”

“It’s fine. The pizza is enough.”

“But I wanted to celebrate your news,” she mutters. “Our news, really. I’m going to be the personal assistant to the captain of the Phoenix Angels. It feels like a promotion for both of us.”

Hanna has been my P.A. for the last two years. I never had one before I got sober, but I quickly realized the only way I could force myself to sit down and fill in a weekly planner is if I was high out of my mind. Without the option of a mind-altering substance, I settled on Hanna. She’s been organizing my life ever since.

“It’s not a done deal. Coach hasn’t made his decision yet.”

“Coach Popov isn’t an idiot. You’re the only man for the job. You’re incredible, Zane. He knows that.”

I clear my throat. “Were you just calling to check on the pizza or do you need something?”

“Oh, right. Well, now, I need to call Marco’s and get your money back, but that’s not why I called.” She chuckles. “I know you wanted me to clear your schedule for tonight, but what about tomorrow morning?”

“Do I have something tomorrow morning?”

“It’s just that brunch with the reporter from Phoenix Mag. For the piece about the role of athletics in addiction recovery. I cleared it with the PR director for the team, so that’s not an issue. But I didn’t know if you were still interested.”

I planned to cancel. But what better way to show Coach—and anyone else who doubts me—that I’ve turned over a new leaf than with some good press?

“Fuck it. Might as well,” I tell her. “It’ll help with the whole captain thing.”

“Not that you need the help,” Hanna chimes in warmly.

Someone knocks on the door, saving me from needing to respond. “I gotta go.”

“Is someone at the door?” she guesses. “Maybe it’s the breadsticks! If it is, let me know. Otherwise, I’m calling in fifteen minutes to get a full refund.”

“Roger that.”

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