Page 48 of Play the Last Card

What.

The.

Fuck.

Uncle Jeff?

Why the hell is she calling Coach, Uncle Jeff?

Are they related? Fuck, this is bad. This is so bad. How did I not know there is a connection between them?

Jeff has picture frame after picture frame of his family in his office. I remember studying them intently the day I flew into Boston to discuss terms of my deal with him. His assistant had let me wait in his office to avoid being seen and to avoid the news that I was chatting to other teams being leaked.

I waited for a full ten minutes for Coach and while I waited, I had nothing better to do other than study the photos that littered the large bookshelves lining his office.

Not one of those photos was of Ivy. Not one. I would remember.

At least, I think I would remember.

“I’m okay.” Her whisper down the phone breaks me from my mental spiral. “He’s still in surgery.”

Ivy’s gaze wanders upwards and locks with mine. Her eyes are red rimmed and watery. The blue is impossibly deep. Like the infinite depths of the middle of the ocean. A storm brews in the form of another waveof tears as she nods along with whatever Jeff is telling her on the other end of the line.

Slowly, she unravels herself and stands from the couch. The nerves in my body ripple and the limbs that were numb a moment ago are assaulted with the feeling of pins and needles. I ignore the feeling, my gaze watching Ivy as she paces from one end of the room to the other. She stares at her feet with the phone still pressed against her ear.

“Damn it,” she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “How did they find out?”

She’s silent again as she listens, her head tilting toward the ground as she tucks her chin and stares at the floor. As I watch, her eyes close and a few new tears roll down her cheeks. I move to the edge of the couch, stretching out my legs. Ivy nods her head again asking, “How long do you think until they surround the hospital?”

She lifts her head. Our gazes meet and she stares, an apology written all over her face. What the hell is she sorry for? What is Coach saying?

I almost lose my mind and tell her to put him on speaker. Instead, I clench my jaw and keep my mouth firmly shut.

“Okay, thank you for the heads up.” She sucks in a breath. “I will let you know as soon as I know. Thanks, Uncle Jeff.”

Uncle Jeff.

Again.

I wait for a beat before speaking. She tucks her phone back in her bag that sits on the floor and I use her momentary distraction to unclamp my jaw and swallow the lump in my throat. She straightens, turning back to me.

“Who was that?” I ask, feeling like an absolute dickhead for asking even though I know exactly who was on the other side on the line.

“My uncle. Well, he’s not really my uncle.” She crosses the room, coming to stop in front of my seat on the couch. Her foot taps mine. I open my legs a little further and she moves forward to stand between them.

“Not really your uncle?” I press. My hands land on her hips when she gets close enough and I can’t help but slip my fingers beneath the fabric of her sweatpants that cling to her hips.

“I have to tell you something.” She chews on her bottom lip. Her fingers lift to skim across my shoulders and an apology is written all over her face. Another time—one that isn’t plagued by this hospital trip and the fact my coach just rang her—I’ll remember to tease her about how easy she is to read.

“My family is sort of … football royalty.”

As if the sound is delayed, her words hit me late and my brain turns them over a few times. And then, it’s running a million miles an hour.

Shit.

“You’re … you’re what?” I ask her, my brain reeling from the football sized bomb just dropped. If she is ‘football royalty’ as she put it, how does she not know who I am? How could she possibly be oblivious to my job? My part in the team?

“My pops was a quarterback for the Broncos, years ago but he is kind of a legend. He’s been inducted into the hall of fame and everything. Billy Booker? I’m sure working for the team you’ve probably heard of him.” Her fingertips press into my shoulders, like she doesn’t want me to get up or leave her while she explains.

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