Page 6 of 40-Yard Line

“Well, you’re built for security, so if you ever want a career change, let us know,” said Miller.

“Maybe,” he nodded. “Ironically, I’m not a man of violence unless it’s on the field. I don’t own a weapon, I don’t know how to use one. Don’t laugh, but I’d love to do something with farming or gardening.”

“We would never laugh at that,” said Alec with a sober expression. “It’s honest, hard work, and we owe everything you see here to our farmers, fishermen, and cattlemen. Mama is a fanatic about her gardens, the crops we grow out back, all of it.”

“Trevon, honey, this is Noelle. Noelle owns a landscaping business and greenhouse. I thought you two should get to know one another,” smiled Mama Irene.

“How…”

“Don’t ask, brother. Just don’t,” smirked Miller. “Oh, and the grumpy bastard behind the beautiful Noelle is Zeke Wolfkill, her husband.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he snapped. “I mean, look at him. He’s young, good-looking, and big as a house.”

“Honey, I love you and you only. Trevon? Do you have time to talk about what we do?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she smiled. “I need help, and I’m getting too old to do all this on my own, in spite of what my handsome husband thinks.”

“You mean you did all these decorations? Alone!?” he yelled.

“Well, the others did help a bit. But this isn’t all of them, and we’re not done yet. If you’d like to learn more, we can take a drive around the property, and I, Zeke and I will show you around.”

“Man, y’all are the best,” said Trevon. “Yes, ma’am. I’m all in. Fellas, thanks for the lunch and the conversation. I feel better knowing y’all are looking into Butch. If you need me, just reach out.”

“We’ll be in touch, man.” They all shook his hand as he left with Zeke and Noelle. When Tailor stared at the faces around him, he frowned, shaking his head.

“Something is seriously fucked up about this.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Did Butch’s autopsy come back yet?” asked Glenda Pinken, the primary owner of the team.

“Nothing yet. We know that it will show damage from the concussions, but we’re not sure what else,” said Coach Kristopher Osterhausen.

“Kris, you’ve been with us a few years now and are doing a damn fine job. But we can’t have the press thinking we played a man who shouldn’t have been playing,” said Glenda in a condescending tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I play guys who are cleared by the medical team, Glenda. Your medical team, hand-picked by you. I don’t have any other choices. Butch should have been placed as inactive a long time ago and slowly worked out, but y’all wouldn’t let me do it.”

“Don’t blame me, Kris. I’m the owner, not a medical professional. I just spend my money so you can win games. Be careful of your language with me. Your own contract is coming up for renewal soon, and you wouldn’t want to have to go back out on the market at your age,” she said, glaring at him.

“You know, Glenda, your constant tone of intimidation and aggression could get you into trouble,” said Osterhausen, standing to leave her office. “Rumor has it the league is already looking into allegations of sexual harassment, discrimination, and a myriad of other issues. You don’t need the bad press. Don’t start with me. I’m not some stupid kid hoping to make it big.”

She glared at the man, slowly standing and pushing her desk chair back. She walked around the desk, leaning against the edge. At sixty-one, she was a good-looking woman and knew it. Of course, she had enough money to pay for the facelift, the breast implants, the tummy tuck, the liposuction, and her injections as needed. It also didn’t hurt that all that was wrapped in Armani and Chanel suits, her feet encased in Jimmy Choo and Christian Louboutin. This was a woman who understood fashion and the difference it could make in people’s impressions of her.

Although her siblings were involved in the team, they weren’t in charge. One worked in marketing, and the other worked in player relations, happy to be out of the spotlight.

“All of those claims are false, Kris, and I’ll prove it. I’ll come out on top just like I always do. Do you know why?”

“Why?” he scowled.

“Because I’m rich. Richer than rich. Filthy rich. A lawyer, or ten, will get me off with a slap on the wrist. The accusers will look guilty, I’ll be the poor old lady who has too much money tempting all those around me, and my world will be right.”

“I’m glad you can justify your actions, Glenda. Don’t fuck with this shit with Butch. Let it come to light, whatever it is, whatever happened. Just don’t screw with it. He deserves better.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“He has a daughter who deserves to know what her father was really like. I’m going to tell her.”

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