Page 82 of Final Down

Once the underclassmen make their way back to the middle of the field and finish throwing up or guzzling water, Reed orders the guys to all take a knee. That’s when I spot the familiar silver truck parked next to Reed’s and mine through the scaffolding of the bleachers. Bryce steps out of the driver’s side a second later.

“Hey, I’m gonna go catch up,” I say, nodding toward my one-time agent and semi-friend. Our relationship is weird, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a relationship. Somehow, I feel close to the guy.

“Go ahead. We’re gonna be here talking for a while,” Reed says, his sunglasses blocking the expression in his eyes. He’s pissed. He hates the way pot smells. Always has. When Buck smokes for his pain management, he makes his father go outside,wayoutside. That’s why the man usually sticks with the gummies.

I jog over to Bryce as he folds his arms along the fence between the bleachers and the track.

“Hey, man. It’s been a minute,” I say, holding out my hand. He grips it and we hug over the fence, slapping each other’s backs.

“I know. Things have gotten busy at the firm. I wanted to stop by a month ago to see the baby. I bet he’s getting big.”

My grin is automatic.

“Little guy is doubling every few weeks, I swear. He makes the cutest noises all damn day, and he’s a sleeper, thank God!”

Bryce laughs softly.

“That’s good. I bet Peyton’s happy about that, too. I can’t wait to see him. Maybe next weekend. I’ll be in town longer, I hope.”

I fight the urge to break out my phone and inundate him with photos of everything my son has done over the last ten days. I get the grandparent move now, the way they constantly want to brag and show off their grandkids. I would put Warner on a billboard and change it out every day just to show him off to the world.

“What’s got you in town today? You driving to Tucson for a Wildcat?” There’s a running back down there who set a ton of records last year. He’s only a junior, but I’ve heard he’s thinking of declaring for the draft.

“Maybe, if I’ve got time. I came here to see you.”

It takes my brain a second or two to catch up to my ears. Eventually, I shake myself out of the instant stupor and scrunch my brow. My stomach is tight suddenly, and I wish like hell Bryce would take his sunglasses off so I can read his eyes.

“I told you, I don’t want to be Chance Hickory’s babysitter.” I figure if Portland were to come back with any type of offer, that would be it.

Bryce shakes his head.

“Nah, that ain’t it.” He pulls his glasses off finally, tucking them in the collar of his polo shirt. His mouth rests in this faint smirk, like he’s got a secret, and his eyes lock onto mine with an intimidating level of focus.

And it hits me.

Fucker did it.

“Arizona,” I blurt out.

He nods.

“How long?”

“Three years, with the option for five.”

Fuck.

I squint one eye and brace myself, my pulse racing so fast I can feel it in my fingertips.

“Money?”

He chuckles and leans in, like there might be ears listening nearby.

“One-sixty guaranteed. We negotiate if they pick up for five. And they’ll pick up for five.”

My mouth drops open, and I blink slowly.

“Perfect fucking storm, man. You said that would change everything. Well?”

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