Page 17 of 40-Yard Line

“Glenda? Glenda, I’m talking to you. Turn around.” She froze and turned with a glare that sent chills up the spines of every man. “You drove Butch to his death. You. I’ll prove it.”

“Listen carefully, Trevon. If you want anything to do with this league or any other, you will mind your fucking business, pack your shit, and get out of my clubhouse. Now.”

“You know, lady, you might want to watch what you say. Strange things happen to people who threaten our friends,” said Zeke.

She glared at the men, then turned to leave, running right into Trak. She let out a shriek, earning grins from all the men and chuckles from Trevon. Edging around him, she stormed from the room, leaving the men behind.

“Fucking sorry, man,” said Tailor.

“You know what? I’m not,” said Trevon. “I’m not even thirty-five, and my body feels like I’m ninety. I need a break. I don’t need the money. I’ve been smart with my money. Besides, your pretty wife offered me a job, and I just might accept it.” He smiled at Zeke, and Zeke smiled back.

“I know she’d like that, and I’d be happy knowing that you were around to watch out for her.”

He stepped off the table as it creaked beneath his weight. He turned his neck one way and then the other, a loud cracking echoing in the room. The men all chuckled, having done the same thing a time or two.

“Alright then. Let me shower and change, and you guys can give me a ride. I took the bus here.”

“You took the bus? Don’t you have a car?” asked Ian.

“Yes, sir. I just don’t like to drive if I don’t have to.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Knowing that the press would be hounding Trevon, they offered him Sor’s old cabin to use for a few weeks until everything died down. It also put him closer to Noelle and the team to help with the holiday decorations.

With him no longer a part of the team, Cait and Ashley had to make their proposal to the Fire on their own. They were both shocked when the coaching team gave a thumbs up.

“Do you need to check with your owner?” asked Cait.

“It would be best if we didn’t,” said Coach Osterhausen. “I make the decisions about the team. For now.”

With the green light, the team showed up the next morning early to walk through what they would be doing. The players seemed open to the idea but probably more because they wouldn’t have to run drills after their overtime win the day before.

“Dude, it fucking sucks what they did to Trevon,” said a big man seated on one of the yoga mats. “They didn’t give a shit about his contract or anything else. We’re nothing but meat for the Pinken family.”

“Contracts aren’t the same here as in the big leagues, man. They aren’t worth the paper they’re written on. It’s all for show,” said the lineman, Rossi.

“What do you mean?” said the deep bass voice behind them.

Rossi and the other man jumped a mile, gripping their chests as they turned to see the big indigenous man standing behind them. He was in loose-fitting yoga pants, a t-shirt that looked as if it were painted on him, and his feet were bare.

“Jesus! Who the fuck are you?” asked Rossi.

“I’m part of the training team here today. What do you mean the contracts don’t matter?” he asked again.

“Well, they just don’t. It’s all a show, really. We’re supposed to be prepping for the big leagues, but if you look at the numbers, maybe only five have ever moved up. Most of us know that, but we just want to play. The way the contracts are written, the owner has the right to let you go no matter what.”

“That’s why she was allowed to let Trevon go?” asked Trak.

“Yeah. Exactly. He was still at the top of his game. Shit, it wouldn’t have surprised me if she was the one that had the illegal hit put on him.”

“And Butch?”

“Butch was a different matter altogether. He was old as fuck, no offense,” he said, staring at Trak. Trak’s eyes bore into him, and he cleared his throat. “I mean, he was older. Anyway, he’d had a lot of injuries, especially concussions. Dude wasn’t all there anymore. Know what I mean?”

Trak turned from him, walking away as Cait stood in front of the large room. She was still stunning with her fiery red hair and porcelain skin. As she led the men through some breathing techniques and stretching, Trak and Noah walked the room between the rows of men. On occasion, the men would look up with appreciation at the physical specimens before them.

“Do you feel him here?” asked Trak.

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