Page 69 of Plays Well With Others

A long run through the fog the next morning works wonders at putting the loss behind me.

It gives me something else to focus on—peeling off miles.

So does the word of the day.Endemic.

It means growing or existing in a certain place or region. As I run, I turn it over in my head to take my mind off yesterday.

Like fog is endemic to San Francisco, like ups and downs are endemic to the game I play for a living, like Monday morning quarterbacking is endemic to, well, Mondays in the NFL.

After six miles, I shower, then head to work. Along the way, I stop by Cafferty’s home nearby. He lives with his husband, Jason, the rival quarterback for the city’s other football team. During his first season with us, he was sneaking around seeing McKay on the down-low. When he finally fessed up to me, I wasn’t pissed he was dating a rival. At the time, I was pissed he’d kept it from me for a whole season, since we’re buds. But I don’t hold grudges. Life’s too short for that.

Besides, I like to give him a hard time for other things. Like the fact that heneverwants to drive.

“Didn’t you get a car once upon a time for this very reason?” I ask when he gets into my ride.

He smirks. “Why drive when I have a driver?”

I shake my head, amused. This is good, this chitchat. It helps distract me too.

But as I weave through traffic, I go quiet for a bit, still stuck in my mood, till Cafferty clears his throat. “So, Jason wanted me to invite you to our Halloween party.”

That pulls me out of my head. “Aww, was it hard for you to say the wordparty, Caff?”

He grumbles a “no.”

“Sounded hard to say,” I tease, since he’s not the most social cat.

“It wasn’t,” he says.

“You hate parties,” I say.

He sighs. “I don’thatethem.”

“You hate them a little.”

“No, seriously. I don’t mind them,” he says, but he sounds a little like he’s protesting too much.

I slow at the light. “Why don’t you just tell your hubs you don’t like parties?”

He shoots me a deadpan look. “It wasmyidea to have the party. He likes parties. I said we should do it.”

Ahh, that makes sense. He’s not annoyed about the event. He’s rising to the occasion. Wanting to do something for his guy.

“Then I am definitely making you a T-shirt that says…Mister Compromise.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly before he adds, “You can bring someone. Obviously.”

The only person I’d want to bring is my best friend. “Thanks, Caff. I’ll ask Rachel,” I say, but then I’m quiet once again. Even the thought of seeing her tonight isn’t lifting my mood. My bad mood is endemic.

I say nothing the rest of the drive. When we reach the facility, he stops me before I get out of the car with a firm “Hendrix.”

I turn to him. “Yeah?”

“I’ve done what you’re doing. It’s hard, man. But don’t let yesterday get to you. It was one game,” he says.

The fucker knows me too well.

“Thanks,” I say, appreciating his pep talk.

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