Page 3 of The Americana Playbook

The night before a game—no matter home or away—means lockdown. It means retiring to our rooms after a walk through, meetings, and dinner, only for our doors to be met with a knock thirty minutes later by staff to make sure we’re abiding by curfew.

“And what the hell is that?”

“Gift from the wifey.” Nick pushes past me, setting a basket on the table.

I scratch my head. “It’s after curfew. How did you even get up?”

“Me? I know people.”

I raise an eyebrow.

Nick drops his arms. “Fine. I’m staying one floor up. They really should put security for you guys on the stairs.”

“What’s with the Easter basket?” I ask.

“Some things to help you relax.”

I fold my arms. “So you’re telling me the whiskey I drank earlier won’t do the job?”

“Not funny, asshole.” Nick reaches for something. “Here.”

“Fuzzy socks?”

He hands me a small plastic bottle. “Put them on after you spray your feet with this.”

I look at the label. “Magnesium?”

“There’s lavender spray for your pillow and?—”

“Nick, there’s clearly one person in this hotel room who could use magnesium spray. And it’s not me.”

“Fitzy…”

I lift my head toward the ceiling and groan. I hate when people call me that. “Just say what you came here to say. I should’ve been in bed fifteen minutes ago.”

He presses his lips together and takes a deep breath. “I need you to separate yourself from Foller.”

I should’ve known this wasn’t about magnesium.

“Separate myself? I’m a franchise quarterback. He’s the head coach. That’s contractually impossible. And the guy is like a father to me.”

It was an easy role for him to step into, since my mother never remarried after my dad died when I was a kid. She didn’t have a clue how to jumpstart my football career out of high school and get me recruited. But James Foller, Thacher Prep’s guidance counselor and football coach, sure did.

“You’ve got to stop reminding people of that, alright?” Nick sits on the bed. “You don’t comment on legal matters. That’s it. Next question. No addingHe’s made me the man I am todayor theI owe everything to himbullshit with tears in your eyes.”

“I didn’tcry.”

“You did in your mind.” Nick rakes a hand over his curly blond hair before he waves me off. “All football guys are softies.”

I shove my hands into the pockets of my joggers. “Are we done here?”

Nick shakes his head. “I’m serious.”

“You’re serious because you don’t like him,” I remind Nick. “But he’s part of my team as much as you are.”

Nick stands. “He’s always piggybacked on your success.”

“Oh?” I challenge. “And who gets 2.5 percent right off the cuff of every deal I make?”

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