Page 14 of Necessary Roughness

What the hell? I had thought that Brett would at least be sorry for trash-talking me while I was within earshot. Or maybe that he’d still be embarrassed about blaming me for Leonard’s balloon yesterday.

But no. There he was, smug and sarcastic as ever.

I started to realize that there was no separation between public Brett and private Brett. They were both the same person. Rude, vulgar, and mean. Just plain spiteful.

“Brett…” I started, but I couldn’t quite figure out the right approach to avoid sounding like a lunatic who was frothing at the mouth. “From my front porch, I can hear you recording your podcast.”

He didn’t reply.

Evidently, I would need to carry this entire conversation.

“I don’t want to hear your comments about me in real-time,” I added.

He scoffed, appearing indignant. “Maybe if you had listened to the media’s criticisms sooner, you wouldn’t have been forced to retire.”

There were no words in the English language that could convey how much hatred coursed through my veins with every word Brett uttered.

“Forcedto retire?” I asked, mustering a fake laugh to hide my fury. “Ichoseto retire after a record-breaking career.”

“That’s what most players say,” Brett responded, matter-of-factly, “when they’reforcedto retire.”

My hands started shaking. I had no idea why I was defending myself to this asshole. He clearly didn’t care about facts, and he was unbothered by the damage he caused with his callous words.

He was a monster.

“Do you have a fucking parrot?”

Brett froze and his facial expression changed. For a moment, it looked like he was embarrassed.

He glanced behind himself to find out how much I could see inside the house from my vantage point at the front door.

“How did you know that?” he asked, apparently flustered by this new line of questioning.

“Your shitty podcast isn’t the only thing I heard,” I retorted.

I had started to cross the line into unprofessional. I knew I needed to tread carefully.

No matter what—no matter how much of an asshole he was, no matter how much hate he threw at me—I couldn’t take the bait. If word got around that an NFL player knocked on a journalist’s front door and chewed him out, I could forget about signing any major endorsements. Brands wouldn’t want to touch me with a ten-foot pole if I was seen as a maniac who randomly antagonized sports journalists.

But the thing was, this wasn’t random. Brett had been targeting me. Attacking me.

I could only take so much.

Brett rolled his eyes. “It’s notmyparrot. She belongs to my boss.”

In the background, I heard the parrot squawking again. I couldn’t make out any distinct words, but whatever she had said sent a pained look across Brett’s face.

I had no idea why he was being so cagey and defensive about a bird.

He was, evidently, a master of keeping his thoughts to himself. Except when they could be used to publicly humiliate me.

“I really have to go!” Brett exclaimed, way too nervously. “This podcast isn’t going to record itself.”

“Squawk! Will you marry me?”

My eyes widened. “What did that bird just say?”

Brett’s attention darted back and forth between me and the living room.

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