Page 47 of Hart Breaker

“In the position this team has busted their asses to get to, I’m going to raise a yellow flag. I know most of you have celebrated, but that ends now. This isn’t a fucking party; this is your career. Every one of you Knights makes seven digits or more a year. Do not forget that. You’re not heading to Vegas to tap some ass, hire prostitutes, go to strip clubs—hell, I don’t even want you rolling the dice. You are Knights going into battle. A single battle is not a war, but each win is closer to taking the whole damn thing. So, listen up; I don’t know how you perceive me, but you all need to pack that shit right away for the foreseeable future.

“Let me reintroduce myself. I’m Lucas Links, the CFO of this team. My turn-ons are watching you bust your asses and triumph on the field, watching you run drills until you perfect them, and winning games. My turn-offs are losing.” He pauses and glares around the cabin of the plane. “From now until the end of the season, this game is your life. It’s not about the ass you’re chasing. It’s not about which one of you is the top player on that video game you all play together online that keeps you up all night.” Another pause as his eyes stall on those of us who partake. “If you think I sound like your mother or your partner, you’re wrong and not paying attention. Let me clear this up for you … I’m your fucking daddy, and you’re gonna win this shit.”

We exit the plane and board a coach bus that takes us to the hotel. At the hotel, the coaching staff hands us keys to our rooms on the tenth floor. Many of us immediately realize that we’re not in our own rooms on this trip.

“The fuck?” Grimes mumbles. “Who are you with?”

I hold up the card envelope. “Boone.”

He turns his envelope over and nods when he sees the name on his. “I’m with Voss?”

“Who’s Voss?” Boone asks.

“Oden Voss is flying in tonight. We just picked him up,” Coach Moore states as he passes by.

Oden Voss is a beast and recently became a free agent after leaving Minnesota. He was born in one of the Scandinavian countries and played for UCLA, and he plays the same position I do—wide receiver.

My eyes connect with Boone’s, and he looks down. I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking. Did they bring him here so they could sit my ass on the bench for the rest of my contract.

I’m so fucked.

“Catering has set up buffets on your floor,” Coach Cohen announces. “There’s a gym on your floor—use it if you need it. Tomorrow morning, at ten a.m., we head to UNLV to use their field for practice. Get some sleep, gentlemen.”

“Let’s head up,” Coach Cox says, directing us to the elevator banks.

I look around the hotel lobby to see if Jillian or Rome got the message I sent from my laptop on the plane. I explained that my phone stopped working and that I was pretty sure we were basically on lockdown. I asked them to pick one up for me and meet me in the lobby.

Rookie mistake. Why?

There’s no way fifty-three players, all over six feet tall and none weighing under two ten, don’t go unnoticed. Add the employees, staff, and owners who travel, and we’re over two hundred strong. It’s not unusual for a hotel to block off an area when a team arrives or to lock a floor down. This is something I did not consider.

I glance over to the roped-off area where security guards stand their posts, but I don’t see them. What I do see is a whole lot of Knoxville Knights merchandise on a whole lot of people who are booing us as we pass by.

“Fucking fan club’s here,” Logan Links says to Coach Cohen.

“Seeing more than fans. Seeing players who got traded, who shouldn’t be allowed on the field,” he snarls.

That’s when I see Jillian jumping up and down to catch my attention.

“Coach, my sister’s over there with my phone. You mind?—”

“The fuck are you thinking?” he snaps at me.

“I’m not sure I understand the question,” is my response, but I wonder if he’s talking about the phone or something altogether different.

Riley Mae Brooks … isn’t allowed in my fucking head right now.

“Chill, Trucker, I have London on it. Go ahead up; I’ll take the elevator with Hart.” Logan holds up a finger, telling me to wait as he talks to his wife, I assume.

He shoves his phone in his pocket. “London is getting in contact with Jillian. Try not to call attention to your family when these fucking assholes are around, yeah?”

“Didn’t even think of that.” I shake my head at myself. “Fucking stupid.”

“Shouldn’t have to think about it for that very reason. It’s bullshit.” He glares at them.

A few minutes later, London, her father, Brody, Jillian, and her boyfriend, Nour, are walking in from a different hallway. The hallway that is not currently littered with shit-wearing Knoxville Knights gear.

Both Brody and Nour step in front of the girls, shielding them from the crowd, which I completely get—they’re protecting what they cherish.

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