Page 3 of Risky Game

“Tell me how bad it is,” I barked, making both him and our trainer jump.

This season was starting off as a shitshow and if our quarterback, one of the best in the league, was out?

We were fucked.

Everything in my life was suddenly becoming absolutely fucked.

“Go home. Rest and ice and do everything Morgan and you discussed. We’ll figure this out.”

“Eden’s going to kick my ass. She made me swear not to get injured, and here I am… fucking hobbling around like a toddler.”

“Yeah, because Eden’s the concern here.”

Shit. I wasn’t this big of a jerk. Rarely anyway.

Cole flinched. “Yeah. Shit, sorry. I’m as pissed as you are, I swear. But it’s only a couple of weeks. I’ll be okay by game one.”

Three to six weeks’ maximum rest according to the physical therapist, and Cole was already knocking it down to two. I didn’t blame him. As far as injuries went, he got lucky, and if he weren’t so thick-headed and if I weren’t so distracted earlier at practice, I would have seen the way he was limping. As it was, I’d put him back on the field after he got hurt, a complete fluke when he rolled his ankle trying to escape the pocket and our defensive pressure. Which was about the only thing the team was doing right these days.

God. Was all this upheaval my fault? I’d shown up, respected the veterans, let them know I was there to work with them. I’d barely made adjustments to the plays they were used to. Nothing was new on the team except for me, a new kicking coach, and a handful of new players.

This last month should have been a cakewalk. Instead, we were all floundering. Cole Buchanan getting hurt was the absolute last thing this team needed.

“I’ll talk to Damien. See if I can watch some film with him over the next few days, point out where he’s been less than stellar.”

We’d lost Sam Crawford in the off-season, the former backup QB, but who could blame the guy? He’d gone to Detroit and was getting his chance at being a starter. That meant we’d drafted a rookie quarterback in the first round, and since I’d banked on Cole’s health, possibly the dumbest thing I could do, I’d spent most of our cap on defense.

Damien Hopper was good. But his nerves were getting the best of him, and the speed of the pro versus college was something he simply wasn’t adjusting to. He needed to get faster. Fast.

“That sounds good. And rest, Cole. Even if it kills you.”

We said our goodbyes and I headed to my office. I didn’t have time to spend watching more film, nor go over my notes of what we needed to work on tomorrow. I didn’t have time to meet with the other coaches to rant, again, at how we looked like a bunch of rusty rec league players trying to play a pick-up game twenty years past high school.

I needed to get a plan in place for Amelia.

She’d always come first, even before football.

Chapter 2

Ruby

“Aunny Ruby! Aunny Ruby! I a pirate! Grrr!”

A pint-sized, bubbly-legged pirate attacked me as soon as I stepped out of my Civic. Luke ran at me, foam sword in one hand, eye patch covering one eye. His platinum head of hair shone in the sunshine and his pirate growl made me bite my tongue to stop laughing.

“You certainly are!” I crouched down and swept him into my arms. I waited to stand until I was steady in my heels.

I’d had a hell of a day job hunting. Who knew interviews for cocktail waitressing positions in Nashville, where there were bars on every corner, would be so depressing and difficult. Fortunately, my nephew Luke could wipe it all away with his bare belly and sticky fingers. I lifted him above my head and blew a raspberry as he squealed.

“Stop! Stop!” A foam sword smacked my temple and I feigned a cry of pain.

“Oh. You got me.” I set him on the ground and rubbed my head. “I thought we were friends, Lukey.”

“We’re not friends.”

“We’re not?” My hand went to my chest. Ouch. “I thought we were besties.”

“I only friends if you have a sword.” His dusty blue eyes narrowed on me, daring me.

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