Page 44 of False Start

The air rushed out of my lungs, and although I’d promised myself just one drink, I gratefully took the second. “You sure you don’t want to know something else? I’ve met a bunch of douchey celebrities. I’ll spill all their secrets.”

She tipped her head back and laughed, a throaty giggle that made her cheeks rosy and her eyes light. “That’s tempting, but in my heart, I know you’re the biggest douchey celebrity I’ll ever meet. I want to hear about Phoenix.”

Unlike earlier, my stomach didn’t twist, and my palms stayed dry. I sighed. “It was week 18, last week of regular play, right after New Year.”

She rested her chin on a balled fist, sipping her rum and Coke. “Did you make a bad New Year's decision?”

I nodded. “I flew out to New York City to watch the ball drop when I should have stayed in Norwalk. Luke, he’s our kicker, owns a bunch of bars, and he opened a nightclub. Most of theteam stayed in town to attend the grand opening. I flew ten of my ‘friends’ out with me. Just an overnight thing. I had practice the day after.”

“At first, it was fine. We drank, partied. And then, I don’t really know what happened.” I shrugged and took a sip from my drink. “The night got away from me. We stayed out until dawn, and I was having such a good time, I just wanted to stay. So, we crashed at the hotel until late and went back out.”

I sucked in a breath, still mad at myself. “By the time I got back to Norwalk, I’d missed two days of practice. They couldn’t bench me. Not with a wildcard slot on the line. You’ll hate me for saying it, but on the team, I’m untouchable.”

For a split second, Kit’s stony look faltered into a faint smile. “I do hate you for saying it. So, what’d he do?”

“It’s not important.” I rubbed the back of my neck, a sudden burst of self-consciousness rushing through me.

“Yeah, probably,” she urged me on. “I still want to know. Come on, you owe me.”

“I came back the day before the team left for Phoenix. I knew everyone would be pissed, so I made sure my flight came in after practice. Coach Simmons, the head coach, was in the lobby of my apartment. Just sitting there with a magazine, waiting. As soon as he spotted me, he stood up and told me to follow him. He drove me to the practice field.”

Kit’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, that was my reaction. I said I’m untouchable, but right then, I wondered if I actually was. He told me to get dressed for practice. He wouldn’t run me, not right before a game, and certainly not hard. I got onto the field, and he had a 40-meter dash set up, stopwatch in hand.”

“Why a 40-meter dash?”

“Do you know how many NFL players can run a sub-four-point-three second forty-meter dash?”

She shook her head.

“Eleven, and most of them could do it for a couple of seasons before they slowed down. I’ve never slowed down. Not a single season. I hit a sub-four-point-three forty-meter dash in the combine, and I’ve only gotten faster. Until this year.”

“You were hungover,” she pointed out.

“I was slow. Four-point-three-six seconds. So, I did it again, after Phoenix. Four-point-three-nine. And again. Four-point-three-two. And again. Four-point-three-five.” I sighed, my stomach twisting. “And when I bobbled that catch in Phoenix, Coach Simmons came right up to my face and told me I was crashing. In a year, with my declining talent and attitude, I wouldn’t have anywhere to go. Free agent wouldn’t help me.”

“He sounds like a dick.”

“He is a dick, but he’s right.” I sighed, pushing the still-full drink across the bar. “I’m fucking up my career, my livelihood.”

“So, you stayed in Norwalk so you don’t get in trouble?”

I nodded with a rueful smile. “And now you’ve dragged me out of Norwalk.”

Kit finished her drink, signaling to the bartender for the check. She slid her elbow onto the bar top, cocking her head with an earnest stare. “You’ll get it back. You’re only a little bit of a fuckup.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I chuckled.

“Well, don’t get used to it.” She handed me the tab and stood. “I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Try not to leave without me.”

FIFTEEN

KIT

A brisk morningchill smacked me in the face as I walked out of the motel, cupping my hands around a cup of warm, watery coffee I’d brewed in my room. I took a sip and flinched. Every slammed door and drunken conversation floated through the paper-thin walls of the motel room after the adrenaline from the first day had worn off, and this crappy cup of coffee didn’t have nearly enough caffeine to get me through the morning.

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