Page 53 of Fumble

A collective chuckle ripples across the room.

“We all think about this moment. Being inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame is a big deal. I’m not here to take away from that, but today, I want to share something with you. Love the game. Enjoy every waking minute of it. Be humbled by how lucky you are to wake up every morning and do what you love most in this world. Do you have any idea how small the percentage of people who get to pursue their dream career is? It would sicken you to hear it.

“Let’s talk football, specifically. Every one of you played high school ball. Now expand that to the number of guys who were playing at high schools across the country. Only three percent… let that sink in… three percent of those guys even got the chance to play college football. Then, you get through four years of college ball, and if you’re one of the lucky ones, you can be declared eligible for the NFL. So, you get through high school, college, and achieve ‘eligible’ status. There’s still only a seven percent chance that you get drafted. I may not be a math wizard, but I know every one of you beat incredible odds to be here.

“It’s easy to get stuck in the day-to-day, rigorous training, traveling, and pushing your body to its peak. It’s hard, but it is worth every second. As the reigning champ for oldest guy to play this beautiful game, I can tell you it doesn’t matter how long a career you have, it will never feel like enough. Blowing my knee out just ended my career a few months earlier than the natural end that was coming, but it was still really difficult for me to wrap my head around.

“Now, I’m out talking to guys like you with your careers ahead of you and everything to look forward to.”

His gaze finds mine, transfixed on him.

“So, enjoy it. Don’t take it for granted. Because one day, you’ll wake up, and it will be over. Gone. A memory to keep you warm at night.”

The crowd falls silent. Hunter is completely off speech. I’ve read every talk he’s given or is planning to give on this tour. Something is wrong.

By the time Hunter finishes his speech, you could hear a pin drop in a room of hundreds. Every member of staff from the football stars to the janitors is here listening to a giant of the game.

Scanning the room, everyone is held captive by Hunter Vaughn. All except Malcolm. He gives me a knowing grin. He’s under no illusions as to why I was late to work. Or why it happened on the same day that Hunter didn’t arrive ahead of schedule. I quickly divert my gaze, but it’s too late. Hunter eyes me warily, flitting between Malcolm and myself. From a hundred and fifty yards away, he can tell something is wrong. His expression concerned as I move toward the door. I need some air. The walls are closing in, and so is the truth. I want to hold my ground, stare him down, but I can’t. I make a break for it, my pace quickening as I run out the door.

I roam the hall, checking doors until I find one that’s unlocked. Slipping inside, I take a long, shaky breath. I wasn’t prepared for how Malcolm would physically turn my stomach. His eyes devouring me with that knowing smirk.

A few minutes later, I hear my name echoing in the hallway.

“Faith? Where the fuck are you?” Why would Hunter come looking for me? Does he want all those reporters to know what’s going on? He thinks this is about us having sex last night. I scramble to my feet, my hand on the door handle when it flies open, almost knocking me off my feet.

“You have to go. No one can see you here. What the heck are you thinking?”

“What happened with Malcolm?”

“Nothing.”

“Something is going on. I saw the way he was looking at you. Then, you make a sharp exit. What’s wrong?”

“Can’t you just leave it be?” He slides his hands into my hair, pulling my mouth to within a whisper of his.

“With you… no.” Closing the distance, his lips crash down on mine, sending me into a tailspin. He backs me up against the wall before breaking our kiss. “What. Happened?”

“He knows. About you and me.”

“Bullshit.”

“He said some stuff on the plane yesterday. I was sitting by him, and he made it clear what he thinks of me.” His jaw clenches, muscles twitching.

“And what’s that?” His eyes darken, almost black as he stares me down.

“He thinks I’m whoring myself with you to get ahead.”

“You know that’s bullshit.”

“That’s not all.” He’s not prepared for this, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to say it out loud.

“What. Else?”

“He put his hand on me. Between my legs.” The sound of sheetrock obliterating rings in my ears as Hunter punches a hole clear through the wall.

“Son-of-a-motherfucker!”

“Feel better?”

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