Page 5 of Crossing Lines

Making the last-minute decision to come to Quincy’s charity event just might be the best decision I’ve made in a long time.

I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time to overhear Hunter tell his offensive teammates during their workout at the team gym that Nina would take his place tonight.

With one generous donation, I secured my spot—right next to her.

Nina pointedly looks anywhere but at me as she sips her champagne while Elodie gets pulled into a conversation with Quincy and his wife, Nora, when they arrive at the table. Quincy’s the center, one of Hunter’s best friends, and a real asset to the team.

Minutes later, Jake, the quarterback and team captain, and Trey, the left tackle, arrive and settle into their own seats.

“Trey!” Nina says with far too much excitement for my liking. “Elodie showed me a picture of the penguin you sewed, and I’m obsessed. I need one in my life.”

Trey chuckles. “What if I sewed you two instead?”

“Now you’re talking,” Nina says, almost bouncing in her seat.

I’m bewildered. Trey, who’s six-six, over three hundred pounds, and a fierce player, is into…sewing?

“And what about me?” Jake asks Trey. “You going to make me something too?”

“Depends,” Trey drawls. “Are you going to work on your footwork, or do I need to sew a pillow for you to nap on during practice?”

“Evren doesn’t pay me to run around,” Jake says, smirking, “but to make game-winning throws.”

“I pay you to do both,” I deadpan.

Trey laughs and Nina huffs. I glance at her in surprise. Was that a huff or more? I can’t tell, not when she’s focused on the others and not on me. She sometimes acts like I’m invisible, and that’s probably for the best. She has no idea how much easier it is to maintain control when she’snotlooking at me. This pull I feel toward her gets stronger every time I see her, but it’s not like it can go anywhere. She’s too young, too vibrant—too everything I’m not supposed to want. There’s no point anyway, not when I plan to leave Skyrise at the end of this upcoming season.

But even knowing all of that doesn’t stop me from looking. Or from craving her presence, like some part ofme is waiting for—anticipating—the next time she steps into my space, like she belongs there.

“Evren.” A hand claps me on the shoulder, and I turn to face Harold, the old team owner. He perpetually wears a kind smile that frames a round, weathered face. At seventy-two, he looks every bit of his age. Even if he left behind a mess, he helped me speed up the approval process from the NFL board to buy the team. For that, I’m thankful.

I stand and shake his hand. “Nice to see you.”

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“I couldn’t pass up the chance to support something that matters.”

“Yes.” He glances at the team members who are unnaturally quiet. “Well, I’m not here to crash your table. I just wanted to congratulate you all on your Super Bowl win.” He focuses back on me. “It’s an impressive accomplishment for your first year. I guess you could say I gave you a head start.” He chuckles, his tone playful.“Now let’s see what you can do on your own.”

“Thank you,” I say, not sure how to respond to his statement. I hate small talk, and when I don’t say anything else, the silence grows awkward.

“All right,” he says, “I’ll get out of your hair, but if you ever want to meet up or need advice, I’m around. Retirement is more boring than I expected, and I’d be happy to support in any way I can. My years of experience and friendship with all the key players shouldn’t go to waste.”

“I’d like that. Let’s meet for drinks soon?”

Harold agrees, and once he’s gone, Jake whistles. “What a douche.”

“Right?” Trey says. “I hate that guy.”

“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious. This is the first I’m hearing about any of this.

Quincy, Trey, and Jake all look at one another before Trey says, “He never listened, and would always brush aside our concerns like they didn’t matter.”

“You saw the facilities,” Jake says. “He wouldn’t invest in upgrades and it made us all wonder if Harold even cared about having a winning team.”

“Thankfully,” Quincy says, “it’s different with you.”

The praise sits uncomfortably on my shoulders. The team’s dislike for Harold only amplifies the weight of responsibility I have as an owner. When I took over the team last year, it was the most impulsive decision I’ve ever made. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I bought it, but I made a promise to myself—two years. Two years to turn this franchise into the best damn team in the league, to prove I’m not just a one-hit wonder in business. After that, I plan to sell it for a profit. No exceptions. Success or nothing. This time around, I’m relying only on myself to accomplish everything. Trusting anyone else only leads to disaster, and unfortunately, I learned that lesson the hard way.

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