Page 33 of 40-Yard Line

“I promise you that we can do this in private. You tell me when you can get away, and I’ll tell you where to meet us. It would be outside of the city, in a little area in the country.”

“Okay,” he said, finally speaking. “Okay. I can get away tomorrow morning early.”

“I’ll send you a text with the address of a diner. No one will recognize you out here. I promise.”

At six a.m., Trevon, Ghost, and Nine were seated in the café at the front of the property. They’d directed Glen to the café, assuring him that no one would see him or recognize him. The moment he left his gated community, the comms boys had him in their sights.

“Do you think he’ll show?” asked Nine.

“I hope so. This is awful early for me,” grinned Trevon. Nine and Ghost laughed, shaking their heads.

“We’ve spent years waking at 0500 or earlier. You learn as SEALs to operate on little to no sleep and be ready to go at any moment. It’s been hard as we became semi-retired to learn to sleep in, but a beautiful wife will help convince you to do that.”

“Y’all definitely have beautiful wives, respectfully, sirs.” Nine and Ghost laughed, nodding again. “I hope to have that one day. And if you don’t mind me saying so, this doesn’t feel like retirement at all. Y’all work every bit as hard as the others here.”

“We appreciate that but don’t tell our wives. We promised to slow down and take less risks. That hasn’t exactly worked out for us,” smirked Ghost.

“I can see why that would be hard. I mean, playing football, playing a game, doesn’t compare to risking your life for others, but I can only imagine what the adrenaline rush must feel like.” In the dark winter morning, headlights shone through the front windows of the café as a car parked outside.

“Nice car,” said Nine.

“Yeah, I think the team actually paid for it,” frowned Trevon. The bell above the door rang as the man walked in wearing a black hoodie and black sweatpants. Trevon smiled, standing to greet him.

“Trevon,” he nodded.

“It’s okay, Mr. Pinken. This isn’t a covert operation,” he smiled.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, looking at Ghost and Nine. “Are they former players? I don’t recognize them.”

“No, sir, they’re not. They’re good friends who I’m working with now. Please, have a seat.” Nine waved over Jackie, the morning manager of the café.

“Coffee?” Pinken nodded, and Jackie poured everyone fresh, hot coffee. “I strongly recommend the cinnamon rolls.”

“Sure. Why not,” said Pinken. “I really do need to make this fast.”

“Alright,” said Ghost. “We know that your sister is hiding the medical histories of these players and, in fact, attempted to bury, literally, the information on several players and their suspected CTE results. Top that with the fact that your facility is loaded with asbestos, and you’re sitting on a massive lawsuit.”

Glen sat back in the seat, staring at his coffee cup. Jackie placed the cinnamon roll in front of him, and he cut a piece, letting it melt in his mouth. The gooiness of the caramel and cinnamon warmed his insides as he took a sip of the coffee.

Nine watched him carefully. This was a man who wanted to run but was unfortunately trapped in the booth with Trevon next to him.

“Did you know?” asked Trevon.

“No. Not all of it. We suspected that some of the players were more injured than was let on, but she never allowed anyone to see the medical reports, and as you know, the league doesn’t require us to publish them.”

“And the stadium and facility?” asked Ghost.

“That I knew about,” he frowned. “Listen, it’s not an excuse, but it is fact. My sister is a viper. A killer of the worst kind. She hides, she stalks, she plays people against one another.”

“What do you mean?” asked Trevon.

“Butch knew that you were seeing Lara.” Trevon’s face fell in shock. He stared at Glen, then at the men across the table.

“How did you know about that?” he frowned.

“I knew because my sister paid Lara to have an affair with you and then told Butch about it. I think Butch knew what she was trying to do, keep him distracted and unable to play at the highest level.”

“Lara played me?” frowned Trevon.

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