Page 45 of Final Down

“You take that photo, Chance? Or was one of your buddies trailing me in LA?” I slam my cubby door shut and saunter toward him. His friends quickly disappear toward the showers. Smart.

“Look, Wyatt Earp, I don’t know what you’re talking about?—”

I hook my foot under the front rung of his chair and lift, sending him tumbling backward. He braces his fall, straddling the fallen chair before kicking it to the side and stepping into me. Our chests nearly touch. I’ve got him by an inch, but sore elbow or not, his arms look as though they could choke me out. It would be worth it. I bump into his chest with my own, and he stumbles back a step, then comes right back at me. I take the hit like a champ.

“Come on, Wyatt Earp. Man up a little. Take a joke,” he says, his laugh sounding less sure this time.

“You keep calling me that, and I assume it’s about my age. But you know Wyatt Earp was the sheriff. And you need to have someone lay down the law with you.”

“Pfft, okay!Yeah, you go ahead. Lay down the law,” Chance mocks.

I catch him off guard with a quick slap to his jaw, and his eyes flash wide with shock when his head snaps back to face me.

“Don’t start shit with me. Not unless you’re willing to take it to the next level.”

I slap him again, then shove him back until his back is flat against his cubby. He pushes into the center of my chest with his fists, shoving me off him, but I come right back at him, pinning him to the door and staring into his wild eyes.

“I’m gonna tell you this, and I’m only going to tell you once. The woman in that photo is my wife. I think you know that, but you thought it was funny to disrespect her anyhow. And the thing is, Chance? I don’t let people make assumptions, spread stories, disparage, or threaten my wife. And what you did? What youlethappen? That was a direct attack on the woman I love. The mother of my child. Myunbornchild.

“Your young punk ass is too underdeveloped to grasp the gravity of being a man on the verge of becoming a dad. You can’t fathom the strength that comes from having a family of your own, of having something so precious in your life that you’re willing to throw away an NFL career defending them when they’re attacked. So you go ahead and snicker with your friends in the corner like some high school cafeteria bullshit all you want, but I swear . . . you ever take a photo, share a photo, fucking comment on a photo ofmywife again, I will make sure that sore elbow of yours hurts for the rest of your fucking life.”

I pound my fist against the wood paneling next to Chance’s head before I finally step back. His teeth are gritted and his breath ragged as his fists ball at his sides. I walk backwardslowly, almost taunting him to keep this up, to make a move and come at me. Peyton would be so mad if she were here. She’d tell me to put my caveman in check. Sometimes, though, the caveman gets shit done.

“We have a problem here?” Coach Phillips says as he steps into the room filled with obvious tension.

“We’re all good. I was just giving Chance some photography tips. You know, for his hobby.” I glare at Chance, noting the way his eyes flicker. I’m sure he’s thinking of what he can say to make sure he’s still Coach’s golden boy. Phillips will take his side no matter what, though. That’s the difference between us. I don’t give a shit what Phillips thinks. I’m still the better QB. And I’m a fucking way better man.

“Yeah, Wyatt was just giving me some tips.” Chance blinks a few times, his mouth stuck in a hard line.

“Anytime,” I say, turning my body to face my cubby.

“I don’t like drama, boys. Drop your shit at the door. If it shows up on my field?—”

“No drama here, Coach,” I say, not bothering to face him again as I finish stripping down for the shower. I wrap my towel around my waist and fling my cubby door shut, giving both Coach and Chance a wink as I pass.

Todd Stone would be proud.

Chance doesn’t seem to want to stick around to shower at the practice fields. I’m glad because my bravado fades under the hot water, and I am not ready to go another round with him. I think he got my point. If he decides to keep stirring shit up, he’s just a dick. And feeling threatened.

I’m stuffing my headphones and my dirty T-shirt into my duffle when my phone buzzes with a call. I palm it, then shut my cubby door before checking the name on the screen. My heart kicks like a teenager in love when I see my wife’s picture and name.

“Hey, babe. How’d you know I needed to hear your voice?”

She laughs softly.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I needed to hear yours, too.” She lets out an audible sigh.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more this morning,” I say, hating that I had to let her go after dropping such a huge bomb in her lap.

“It’s fine. It’s not like talking would have done much. If it helps, I’m a lot calmer now. In fact, I’m basically emotional putty. I’m not sure I can feel anything.”

My heart squeezes at her words. My truck’s the last one in the lot, other than some of the support staff and Coach Elgin’s SUV. I click the fob and climb in, putting Peyton on speaker before buckling up.

I want to tell her about my conversation with Chance, leaving out some of the details, of course, like the part about slapping him. And shoving him. But I don’t think she needs to take in anything new tonight.

“You talk to your dad yet?” I figure Reed’s seen the news. I’m a little worried about his reaction, for obvious protective-father-for-life reasons. But he’ll be as pissed as I am when I tell him about my chat with Chance. I have a feeling, given the opportunity, he’ll have a talk of his own.

“Not yet. I did get an earful from my sister, though. Apparently, I’ve ruined her life.”

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