Page 41 of Tumbling the Cornerback

Practice had been rough but ultimately good, all of us exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Preseason would be starting soon. Like every team in the league, we had our eyes on the ultimate prize. The Superbowl. Yeah, yeah, a solid season would be great too, but The Superbowl... I sent a few texts to Lucas during the day, asking him what we'd do to celebrate when it happened.

Nothing. Not even a teasing comment about my huge head or keep dreaming.

Nothing when I asked how his day was going.

Not even a blip when I asked if he wanted me to pick up dinner. We'd spent last night at his place, so tonight we were at mine. When his sister returned from visiting family up north, we'd have to sort something else out but for now, this worked.

Why not just ask him to move in with you?

Welp, hello impulsive thought that bore looking into later...

But no, really? Why not? You've spent every night together for over a week now. And you know in your gu—he's the one. Or he could be, anyway...

I closed my eyes, scolding myself. One week was not enough time. But it had been more than that, really. Almost two years of pining, and now almost a month of whatever we were, even before the sleepovers.

I tapped my phone against my palm, leaning against my locker as I tried to decide whether or not I should freak out. One more try, I decided. Then I'd really worry.

Me: Hey, just wanted to check before heading out. How do you feel about Thai? I have zero desire to cook. HBU?

Not even a bouncing gray dot telling me he was starting and stopping a response.

"You good?" Matty asked, pausing mid-stride as he headed for the door. "You look constipated."

"Gross, man."

"I'm just saying some fiber would clear that look right up." Grinning, he gave my arm a backhanded slap. "Seriously, though. You good?"

"Yeah, just... long day, you know?"

Matty eyed me with suspicion but slowly nodded. "Sure, man. I get it. If you need to talk or something, you know how to find me, right?"

"Of course. Yeah, yeah." I smiled, knowing it didn't reach my eyes. But Matty gave me another nod and, after a brief pause, thumped my arm with his fist again. "Later." He trailed out of the locker room with a few of the other guys.

Lucas didn't answer when I called. He didn't answer when I texted again. And then when I decided I would come off as desperate but didn't care, he didn't answer an email.

I thought about contacting Liesel, asking if he was working with the nonprofit today, if I'd missed a meeting. Maybe I could call the studio, I mused, getting into my truck, but dismissed that idea quickly.

If I threw our personal life out in the open like that, Lucas would never forgive me. I owed it to him to keep things quiet for as long as we could, to protect both our careers and reputations.

Hell, I owed it to myself, too, but those needs felt like a distant second to ensuring Lucas was okay, that he was thriving. With a sigh, I backed out of my spot and headed back towards my place across town, half-hoping Lucas would already be there but knowing he wouldn't.

I was so wrapped up in worry about him I almost ignored Phil's call. Instead, one ring before the call went to voicemail, I hit the button on my steering wheel to send it to the speakers. "Hey, man, what's up?"

Phil's sigh filled the cab. "Shit has hit the fan in a major way. You got a minute?"

"I'm heading back to my place. What's going on? It can't be the team—I just left those guys, and no one was up to shady shit as far as I know. And I'm not a free agent, and it's not trade season."

"Just stop yammering for a sec, man. You talk to Lucas today?"

I pulled over onto the shoulder of MoPac, ignoring the blaring horns from the people behind me. Setting the brake and flipping on my hazards, I answered. "No. What happened? Is he okay? Why are you calling me about him? You don't rep him. Phil?—"

"Stop. Talking. Let me finish," he huffed. "Cass, the squad's PR lead, called me because she doesn't have your direct contact info. She and Liesel decided I'm the best person to talk to you about what's going on."

"Oh my god..." There'd been an accident. He'd fallen. Or one of those horror stories of undiagnosed heart problems just like his brother-in-law, a vibrant light snuffed out by some quiet little defects you think happens to someone else, somewhere else.

"Get it together," he ordered sharply, pulling out his old quarterback voice. "Lucas is... fine, as far as I know. No injuries or anything. The problem is Jameson Creel. He went public about having dated Lucas and claimed some... let's just say unflattering things about him. Normally, it wouldn't be a huge deal, and the squad would handle it quietly. But Creel made it look like Lucas was up to some manipulative tactic." He paused, heaved a heavy, tired sigh. "Long and short of it, management views this as a violation of a few clauses in his contract. Cass assured me Dani—the cheer coach—and her team are working with management to clear things up, but..."

"But Lucas is toast," I groaned, eyes prickling. "Goddammit."

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