Page 15 of Final Down

“That was a lot, huh?” Bryce says, his lip tugging up in empathy.

I shrug, then hold my shoulders up for an extra second before letting them drop. That felt good, too.

“It’s all a lot,” I confess.

He nods with a tight, soft grin. I hold his gaze for a few seconds, mentally debating whether I really want to know what’s in his head. The tense grip this entire thing has on my chest is so strong that I decide I can’t have too many details, and maybe knowing more about the dirty underbelly of sports contract negotiations will arm me with the tools to help Wyatt come out of this unscathed.

“Be honest,” I say, lifting my chin a touch. My eyes dim on his. I doubt I need to say more.

“This is really happening, Peyt.” His chest rises with a deep inhale, and it may have been years since he was my boyfriend, and he may have been an adolescent idiot back then, but I still know his tells. There’s something he’s not saying.

“I don’t think we’d be here if there wasn’t something to this. But I’m not a fragile ego you have to dance around, Bryce.Neither is Wyatt. Tell me the truth—what are his chances? I know they drafted a quarterback. He’s young, and he was in the Heisman conversation. Is this all for show?”

I was old enough to understand some of the political games that were played during my dad’s final years when he met with certain coaches. Sometimes a visit is more about putting pressure on the other guy. And young players often need to be put in their place. I need to know if that’s what this is. It won’t matter, because I believe Wyatt will come out on top even if that’s not how they envision him here. But I’d like to know how hard my husband is going to have to battle so I can fight along with him.

“Whiskey is an easier sell, Peyt. I won’t lie. He’s a league minimum, and he’s better than a lot of the offensive line guys coming in. His injury profile is slim to none, and he’s stayed in pretty good shape for a big man. He’s not a huge risk for them. But?—”

I quirk a brow.

“But,” I echo.

Bryce glances over his shoulder, as if making sure we’re alone. We are, but since the elevator doors open just then, he waits for us to step in before finishing his words.

“Wyatt’s the one they wanted to see. Whiskey would not be here getting the look if I wasn’t bringing Wyatt along with him. He’s got some legitimate fans calling the shots.”

I hold Bryce’s gaze for a beat, the tightness easing a little in my chest. I also digest the things he didn’t say just now. While Wyatt has some fans, he also has some haters. He’s going to have to prove himself, but that’s never been a problem for him. And six years away from a serious game or not, there’s still nobody better than him behind the ball.

My focus drifts, and my eyes zero in on the elevator numbers. The four lights up, and before the elevator doors open to the executive suites, I turn to Bryce one last time.

“If you make this happen, you’re his guy for life. You know that, right?”

Bryce blinks, then offers a slight nod.

“I know, Peyt. I promise I’ll work my ass off for him.”

The ding of the elevator doesn’t faze me, my gaze fixed on Bryce’s face for every millisecond before the doors open and break this bubble of trust. And there is trust between us. I feel it. I see it in his eyes. He wants this for Wyatt, and I’m sure, selfishly, for himself. There’s nothing wrong with that. If he continues to have integrity, we’ll share this corner of our lives with him. He’s earned my benefit of the doubt. Now he needs to earn Wyatt’s.

Chapter Seven

I’ve always been better with coaches than the muckety-mucks. Thank God Jerry and Coach Elgin are coming to this dinner thing tonight. I’m not sure Michael “Mickey” Payne is a fan. To be fair, the Cyclones’ owner is a bit hard to read. He’s always been an enigma; at least, that’s what little background I was able to dig up on him between our brief meeting in his office during the tour and this dinner lends to.

He owns a chemical company, and he’s been sued a few times. Whiskey’s position is that most chemical companies have, and I’m sure he’s right. But it’s the way those lawsuits were dashed away with speed and tidiness that strikes me as, I don’t know, a yellow flag maybe? I’m not sure whether he loves football or the investment and name recognition this expansion team buys him. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

I wish Whiskey and Tasha were joining us for dinner, and the irony that I’m wishing for Tasha’s presence in a professional setting isn’t lost on me. She’s not known for being guarded with her language or her volume, but right about now, I’d take her welcome distraction. But Bryce made it clear that tonight isabout my future with the team, not Whiskey’s. I just feel bad that Whisk feels left out.

“Peyton, let me get your seat,” Jerry says, swooping in to scoot back my wife’s chair in the oddly empty dining room of this posh steakhouse. Everything in this joint is leather and wood, and the lighting is dim enough to make it appear that everyone is scowling, not just Michael Payne.

“Always the gentleman, Jerry,” Peyton says, batting her lashes. If Jerry weren’t her father’s age, I’d be hot with jealousy. Of course, as Peyton likes to point out from time to time when she walks me through one of the books she’s reading, age-gap is a very sexy thing. My wife is very good at turning double-standards around to bite me in the ass.

“So, how does a guy go from running seam routes in Detroit to the front office of a new expansion team?” I’ve been curious about Jerry’s role here. I get that he’s an investor, but his hands-on presence feels as if he’s more than that.

“To be fair, Wyatt, I bounced around a lot of things between Detroit and this dinner we’re having. It’s been a decade.” He chuckles as he pulls a pair of gold-rimmed glasses from his shirt pocket. He drops them down his nose as he peruses a wine list, but his gaze pops above the rims to meet my stare.

“I gave Mickey a few million. In exchange, I get to be involved in recruiting.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but the message behind his words is pretty clear. He’s the one who had his eyes on me. He’s the reason I’m here. I just hope those few million buy some decent sway when it comes to making final decisions.

“Sounds like a pretty cool way to retire,” I say, taking the wine list from him and immediately passing it to Peyt. I don’t have a clue about fine foods and wine and shit, so at this place, I plan on ordering whatever she tells me.

“Who knows, maybe I’ll be calling the shots on the field someday,” Jerry says, winking across the table at Coach Elgin.

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