Page 4 of Necessary Roughness

Claire paused, eyeing me up and down. “If I remember correctly, you said quite a few things about him. ‘Luke calls it retirement, but I call it running away from a career that was already in free fall.’”

“Dammit, Claire! Did you memorize the entire fucking piece?”

Again, Stacy mimicked me with a squawk. “If Luke spent as much time training to be a great player as he did purchasing new sports cars, maybe he wouldn’t need to retire.”

Claire couldn’t hold back her laughter as I raised my hands in a plea for her to stop. “Claire, you’re no longer allowed to read my column. And you’re fired as my best friend!”

She chuckled. “Luke is just a regular human being, Brett. If you had millions of dollars, wouldn’t you buy your dream car and drive it? He can’t help it if the paparazzi follow him around like parasites. He’s famous, and the paparazzi want his picture because they can sell it for thousands of dollars. It’s not a crime to have a cool car.”

I rolled my eyes.

She just didn’t get it. Claire essentially worked for herself as a realtor. She got to decide when to show houses and which clients to work with.

It wasn’t so straightforward for me. Immense pressure was applied to me from the top brass at Pinnacle Network to provide insightful, biting commentary. The fans loved it, which kept the readership and viewership numbers high. When the numbers are high, advertisers pay more money to Pinnacle, which makes my bosses happy.

Simple economics.

Claire was fortunate enough to not have to deal with the intricacies of modern sports journalism. I had to stand out and make a name for myself if I wanted to have a career in this industry.

2

LUKE

This house was way more than I needed.

Single, no kids, eight thousand square feet. I was never going to let my agent reserve a house for me again.

Frank, always the upbeat agent, had obviously misunderstood me when I’d told him I wanted a simple, cozy cottage by the beach to get away from it all. Because instead, he’d put me in a giant ass mansion.

When you’re a wealthy, recognizable NFL player, people assume you want something over-the-top.

The mansion was situated on a long stretch of beach in Malibu. A sleek combination of steel, glass, and natural stone. The exterior featured large, floor-to-ceiling windows which allowed for breathtaking, uninterrupted views of the ocean. It was a beautiful property, just too much space for me. Unfortunately, even though the houses were massive, they were crammed right next to each other, which didn’t allow for much privacy. Especially for me, since most of the walls were glass. Hopefully, I wouldn’t spend all summer baking like a pie during the day.

Oh well, I thought as I strolled through the living room.The house is already paid for, so let’s just enjoy it.

My assistant, Kate, had already stopped by the house the previous day to decorate and get everything ready for my stay. Even though the house came partially furnished, she’d added some of my framed memorabilia to the walls, stocked the kitchen, and included a few other warm touches to make it feel like home. I was grateful to have an assistant like Kate, especially when it felt like most of the sports world had turned on me.

To ensure my safety, Kate always researched the homes around wherever I stayed. Luckily, she’d said the house on one side was empty for the summer, so I knew it would be nice and quiet there.

The house on the other side was owned by Leonard Worthington, an eccentric man in his late sixties. He’d earned his wealth decades ago by patenting some special formula used in modern shampoos. Before that, he’d been a professor. Now, he was a retired rich guy spending his days wandering around his mansion and meandering around the neighborhood.

I walked up to the massive window, making the space feel more like an observatory than a living room. This place certainly wasn’t great for privacy. My new neighbor, or worse, the paparazzi, would have no trouble seeing straight into my home. Exactly the opposite of what I had told my agent I wanted.

Sure enough, as I looked over at the house next door, there was Leonard, tinkering with something in his front yard. He made a dramatic first impression. Tall, slender, and gangly, his appearance matched his rumored eccentricity. He had thin, white hair that was pulled back into a tiny ponytail. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts with too many pockets, and sandals with mismatched socks.

The man was quite a character.

And was that… acape?

Yep, it was definitely a cape.

I immediately knew I was in for a wild summer.

I studied him closely, watching as he fumbled with some sort of contraption before finally realizing that it was a hot air balloon.

Leonard Worthington was assembling—orattemptingto assemble—a hot air balloon near the beach.

Before I could turn away, Leonard looked up and noticed me. Smiling, he offered a wave.

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