Page 26 of Hart Breaker

“What are you doing?” I scowl at him.

“Saving you from being added to a watchlist.”

“It’s not that bad,” I defend my fucking choice of music.

“It’s bad.” He shakes his head and arches a brow. “It’s the kind of music you don’t even have to go through the effort of finding the vinyl recording so you can play it backward to get the message. It’s just right there, waiting to suck your soul out and bring it straight to hell.”

What the fuck? I laugh, but to myself.

He opens the door, doing the whole sign of the cross as he slides out.

“It’s Korn,” I yell after him.

“He’s called by many names, Hart.” He turns and faces me as he shuts the door and whispers, “Many.”

After checking in with medical and assuring them that my legs are good, hamstrings loose, and ankles strong, I head to the locker room to check in with Warren. It’s part of his game day routine and has now become mine.

He tosses me a few passes, making sure we’re connected. We are; have been since senior year in college. Next, we hit pregame warmups with our offensive coordinator, Coach Cox, focusing on running routes and catching passes while Cody finetunes his timing. Boone steps in with Warren, and I do a few agility drills, making sure my footwork is on point. It is.

After warmups, we hit the showers and grab lunch before heading to the conference center, where Coach Cohen is pacing back and forth in front of the room.

Once everyone is inside and seated, he clears his throat. “Everybody stand up, turn around, and face the back wall.”

We all do what he asks, and it’s clear I’m not the only one who’s a little bit confused as to why. But when the screen lights up, I see where this is going.

“Bricks, what does the top one say?”

“1989, last playoff win.”

Cohens nods. “Decker, what does the next one say?”

Deck reads, “1992, last division championship game.”

Cohen continues, “Hart, the next line?”

“1974, last league championship.”

“Good, go ahead and have a seat, men.”

Feeling like shit, which is the intention, we do as asked.

“You’re not here just to play a fucking game. You’re here because the owners and coaching staff decided they wanted you beside them as we build our legacy. We build it now. We are in a position, with this team, to do just that, but everything is about setting ourselves up for that to continue happening. We want ’22 to be at least what ’92 was. We don’t want a fucking wild card; we want the division championship to be a home game. We want them to have to go through us to get to the big game. That right there will be celebrated like a fucking Super Bowl win in this town, by the owners, by the true fans, by this staff, and by you. If we gotta go somewhere else to get that W, fine, we’ll go through them on their field. But the time is now. The vision for this team was always to build a legacy, and that starts now!”

We all cheer because we feel it. We feel the truth in our being chosen for this.

“How do you feel about our team having a record of five to two going into our final nine games?” When we start to reply, he holds his hand up, stopping us. “I don’t want you to tell me in words; I want you to show me on the fucking field. I want you to show the fucking Eagles that no matter how high they’re flying, the fucking New York Knights can take him down. Now hit the locker rooms and gear up.”

As we exit, we’re greeted as we are every home game—the walls from the conference room all the way to the locker room are lined with the owners. Today, going down the hall as they each take the time to shake our hands and tell us good luck, I’m pretty damn sure it’s every one of them. And at the end of the line, I see two who I didn’t know were part of the co-op of owners. I was pretty damn sure Ryan and Jade Brooks owned the construction company that built Mom’s place. Not once did they say they owned part of the team.

Jade, a gorgeous brunette, like her daughters, shakes my hand. “So glad you’re part of the family.”

I know it’s meant to make me feel good like I’m part of something, but all I can think is I basically fucked my sister and am currently lusting after the other one.

Ryan grips my shoulder. “You good, Hart?”

“Yeah.” I scrub my hand over my head. “Yeah, just thinking family.” I tap my fist to my chest. “That’s deep.”

I notice Jade elbow Ryan, who expels a harsh breath through his nose before looking from her to me. “The day you were drafted, my little girl?—”

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