Page 42 of The Show

Jupiter stopped dead, and it took me a second to realize. I turned round to find him staring, confused. “What?”

I wiped away the sweat from my brow. “I own The Lions. It hasn’t been announced yet, so no one knows.”

“You bought them? I didn’t even know they were for sale.”

“No, my grandfather did a couple months ago, and he gave them to me. Apparently Franklin Maypole was in financial difficulty, and Grandpa got them cheap.”

“Yeah, I bet he did.” We started jogging again. “Why are you telling me this?”

Here goes nothing. Or everything.

“I want you to come to New York and play for The Lions.”

He stopped again, but only because he was laughing so hard he was having trouble breathing.

“Fuck, no.” I waited until he stopped laughing, looking up from where he’d bent over double. “No! No fucking chance.”

“Reeves, The Lions are terrible, everyone knows that, but I’ve spent the better part of three months studying them, and they’re not hopeless. I want you to come. I’m going to build the best team that’s ever played, and I want you to lead them.”

He lifted his aviators and squinted at me, though I couldn’t tell if that was because of the sun or he was really trying to understand what I was saying. I schooled my expression to convey myself as best I could.

“Oh, Shepherd, no. You’re serious? Jesus, you are. You’re actually fucking serious! How many times have I said no to you? For fuck’s sake, dude.” He took off running again.

This time Iwasstruggling to keep up, my words punching out in between breaths. “You said no to The Yankees, not New York. And not my club. Come on, Jupe, think about it. You’ve done everything you can at The Dodgers. Take on a new challenge before you retire.”

“I don’t want a new challenge, thank you very much. I like my life just…” he stopped talking.

“Just what?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head then pushed ahead again, and all I could do was follow until my lungs screamed.

He didn’t say another word and neither did I, mostly because I couldn’t, but I knew he was thinking about something from the way he’d slowed his gait for the rest of the run. An hour later we got back to the steps in the rock, and I breathlessly followed him up. By my calculation, I reckon we’d run ten miles, but I wasn’t about to ask.

“You can shower in the gym. Meet you in the kitchen in twenty minutes. You hungry?”

“Starving,” I replied. “And… where exactly is the kitchen?”

He smirked, then pointed across the pool courtyard toward a double height wooden arch. “Through there, follow the corridor down to the end.”

“Got it, see you in twenty.” I took off back to the gym, where I’d have indulged in a sauna if I wasn’t pressed for time, or on a mission to persuade Jupiter to come to New York. Seeing where he lived, however, meant I needed to step up my game.

I loved New York, loved the chaos and the energy. But if you lived your life here and tranquility is what you returned home to after being on the road, I could understand how hard it would be to leave. Plus there was the sunshine three hundred and sixty-five days a year…

Still, there was something to be said for seasons. And we had all four of those.

I followed the way he’d directed, along a path of polished concrete which continued into the house. Inside was much more Californian, with its lime-washed plastered walls; domed archways separated the open-plan living space with different sections of huge couches, and the further I walked, the slower my steps became. Floor to ceiling shelves of books filled the central space I passed through, framed pictures dotted between them, and even from this distance, I could see a couple of Emerson, Drew, and their kids next to pictures of him holding the Commissioner’s Trophy. And then, holy fuck, the actual trophy... Or a very good replica.

I bit down the urge to walk over and touch it.

The view in this room mirrored the view from the pool; straight out onto the ocean where a school of dolphins was now playing in the distance. Behind a pillar I could see a telescope pointed up to the sky, resting on huge tripod. I was willing to bet he hadn’t bought it off Amazon. No, it looked like one you’d be able to spot the Star Trek Enterprise with on a cloudy night. For some reason, I had a feeling he spent a lot of time out here.

Huh. Didn’t picture him as a stargazer, though it did explain a couple of his tattoos I’d noticed. I mean, it was hard not to notice them. His love for body art only rivaled Rafe’s.

I finally found him where he said he’d be; sitting at the end of a kitchen island, reading through a stack of papers.

I pulled out the stool in front of the spare place setting, pointing to a cup of green froth.

“What’s this?”

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