Page 33 of Play Maker

“All right, party people.” Remington claps his hands together and continues, “You got choices, but TBH, not many, ’cause Ava’s not wrong—you’re all under contract. Facts are, you walk, you lose. You take a contract with Vegas or LA”—he pauses and scans the room—“so it’s easier to fuck around on your wives or girlfriends, that’s your choice. You wanna trust the Zon to manage your home security for ten bucks a month instead of paying a few hundred to a company that’s got a room full of trained security staring at your gate with a direct line to the cops, that’s a choice. You wanna suck it up and play it safe, understand that we’re moving our guys from The Stables until we have answers.”

“What about the rest of us?” someone asks.

Remington fights an eye roll. “Anyone not living there already has people out there patrolling. And before one of you gets pissed about that, remember what Ava said.” He looks at Lucas, Dad, and Uncle Alex. “I handed in my wish list for the draft. I got no problem going over possible trades.”

“We all need to remember we’re all the same name,” Uncle Lucas states. “Tensions high, and that shit happens in families. You fight through it, and we are a family. I got nothing but love for each and every one of you and”—he taps his chest—“I feel yours, too. You all give everything that you have on that field and this shit we’re dealing with”—he shakes his head—“it’s nothing but a moment, and we will get through it.”

“That being said,” Aunt Tessa says, “the boys have not received a single text from anyone on the team giving them even the tiniest fires to put out. And just as your concern is real for your families”—she flattens her hand on her stomach—“I’d rather have mine extinguish flames than battle infernos.”

I see some looks being exchanged between players who’ve got each other’s secrets simmering, and then catch Kolby looking at me.

“Lo,” Jackson calls, drawing my attention from Kolby. “Could you turn on the TVs? I’d like to see who the hell we’re playing next week.”

“Shit, yeah, of course.” I rush to the remotes and start hitting power buttons, and they all light up.

“Well, shit.” Someone laughs, and then all their attention is on the screens.

There’s a fight on the TV.

“Well, shit.” I giggle. “Last time I saw so many flags flying was at that fourth of July parade when?—”

“When that skunk tried to join our color guard line!” Riley laughs.

Chapter7

Relocated

Kolby

With one minute left, the game is a brutal back-and-forth—blown coverages, last-minute flags that don’t look right, and the ticking down of a quarter in which neither team can hold a lead.

Vegas ties it again with just under a minute left.

Outriders burn the clock with two quick sideline passes and a QB scramble that slips through a missed tackle. They set it at the 36, tying it up, and Vegas calls their last timeout.

“Rookie kicker,” Jackson Brooks says as he settles into the empty chair beside me, “who always chokes in the clutch.” He grumbles, “Fifty-three yards, all but guarantees we’re playing Vegas.”

I nod. Just enough to pass for agreement. Inside? I’m hoping the kid blows it. Not because I’ve got anything against him. I don’t. But because I don’t want to play the Outriders. Not withhimon that roster. The one guy on Earth who knows everything I buried.

Everyone else at this table who wants a shot at them says so out loud.

“Let’s take the damn Outriders,” Skinner mutters beside me. “They’re soft in the slot and are cockier than they deserve to be.”

I keep my mouth shut, even though my gut’s already turning.

The kicker lines up. Ball’s snapped. Hold’s clean. And somehow—somehow—the kid drills it. Dead center. Fifty-three yards. Ice in his veins.

The bar erupts. Chairs scrape, voices rise, and hands slap the table.

I don’t move. Because after that speech, the battle I’ve been fighting since I saw that message—Lo saw that message—doesn’t seem like much compared to the other battle I’ll be going into, playing a position I haven’t since college.

After everyone is sufficiently celebrating, having forgotten they’re pissed off about the lockdown turned confinement, Trucker whistles. “All right, tomorrow’s practice is going to have a late start. At one o’clock, we’ll be in the conference room with some insight and new plays to win the division. Tonight, we’ve got places for The Stable residents to sleep. In the morning, we’ll know better what we’re looking at and get the things you need if we need to stay relocated for a bit longer.

“Jade and Ryan have four empty bedrooms. Alex and Phobe have four, as well. Tessa and I have our guest house, two bedrooms, and the main house with four. Hart has room for four, and Boone and Syd have one with two beds. Grimes and Skinner, you’ll be with them. The rest of you, listen for your house and your names. We’ll all ride out together.”

“I’m Gryffindor,” Skinner yells.

A few of them laugh. Me? I have no idea what he’s yammering on about.

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