Page 37 of Irresistibly Risky

“Do. You. Have. A. Sister?” I bite out. “A girl in your life as important to you as the blood in your veins?”

He clears his throat and shifts, trying for control when he has none since I have him good and pinned.

“Yes,” he finally grits out through clenched teeth. “I have three younger sisters.”

I press him harder into the locker, digging my elbows into his ribs until he grunts in discomfort. “Then you should know better than to open your idiotic mouth about Suzie. That girl was twenty-two. She was your age when she had a stroke and died in the shower. Imagine that for a moment. Imagine that’s your sister—someone you love like family—that you’re seeing cold and blue and dead on the bathroom floor while your brothers pump her chest and try to save her life.”

He blinks at me, his expression stricken as my words resonate.

“I don’t know what brought you in here this morning looking for a fight, but your pride needs to be checked at the door.” I lift him up until he’s forced onto his tiptoes. He might be seven years younger, but I’ve easily got twenty pounds of muscle on him. “I could list two-dozen quarterbacks who were drafted higher than you and burned out or couldn’t cut it in the pros and were gone within their first few years. Greatness isn’t born. It’s taught. It’s earned through hard work and dedication. You know the smartest thing you could do here, Rookie? Learn. Learn the game. Learn how to be a leader. And most of all, learn when to keep your mouth shut.”

I shove him, making sure he rattles the locker, and then I turn my back on him, going for my stuff that’s sitting on the bench. If he’s stupid enough to retaliate, he’ll be gone from this team. I pick up my stuff and walk toward the exit.

“I expect you dressed and on that field in the next ten minutes, ready to practice. You want my spot after this season? You’re gonna have to take it from me.”

With that, I head for the field, not looking over my shoulder once to see if the kid is coming. Instead, I get to work, running my drills and making sure my routes are solid. Eight minutes later, the rookie comes out, dressed and quiet. For once. I call the plays and make him tell me what they are, and then throw the route to Carlos, the assistant quarterback coach.

We don’t talk about what happened in the locker room.

We just continue to play ball until the field starts to fill up and Coach Cardone blows his whistle. Sunday is our first preseason game, and I won’t be in it. It’s not uncommon for starters not to play or to play very limited amounts during those games, but still, since the moment I was drafted to this team, I have never missed a game whether I was starting or not.

My insides roll over on themselves, and though I have forced myself not to think about all the kid said this morning, I know there is merit in his words. If he does a good job, when I return from this surgery—if I’m able to make a full recovery—there is a very solid chance I might not be the starter next year. And if that happens, I will likely either be traded or ask for a trade because I won’t ride the bench for the rest of my career.

And with that comes a whole new set of discord.

One, I am a Boston man, born and raised. This is my town. This is my team.

Second, I now have a son and a woman I want to make part of my life, and now their lives are here.

All that means is you’ll have to fight harder to come out on top.

Right. Except I’m sure we all know it’s never that easy. Just ask Rocky after he lost to Apollo Creed. The good guy doesn’t always get what he deserves.

“Damn. Will you check out the tits and legs on that one,” Ace, a wide receiver sitting two guys down from me says, and all at once our heads collectively turn. Instantly, I grit my teeth when I lock on Wynter, standing across the field talking with Dr. Horowitz, the team neurologist.

“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you,” I snap, losing my patience for the second time today. “That’s my… doctor.” Because I can’t call her anything else. Not in public at least. I stand, ready to drive my point home, only Coach Cardone beats me to it. He grabs Ace by the back of the jersey and hauls him up until he’s standing.

“You are to run every damn step in this stadium twice, and if I ever hear you disrespect Dr. Hathaway again, you will be fined and benched for two games. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Coach.” Ace looks as shocked as Leo did this morning when I slammed him into the locker. “I meant no disrespect.”

“Better not have. Now go!”

Ace throws all of us a quick parting glance and then takes off. I sit back down, and Ryder, my center, leans over and whispers in my ear, “What in the hell do you think is going on there?”

I shake my head. “No clue.” But it’s definitely something.

“If you hadn’t spoken up, I was gonna lob him upside the head for being a misogynistic ass, but Coach reacting that way?”

“I know.” Because it wasn’t about him being a misogynistic ass and how that’s unacceptable to any woman. It was about Wynter specifically.

“Do you think Coach and that new doctor are a thing?”

“What?” My head jerks his way, my expression hiding none of my revulsion. “No way. He’s old enough to be her father.” I’m about to say she hates him and does nothing to hide it when I get stuck on that last statement.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, man. That’s all I’m saying.” Ryder throws a hand up and then turns back to Coach, who is still talking. Only I can’t focus on anything he’s saying. When I looked her up, I glossed over her family history, but I do remember reading that she had a mom, and her stepfather was Gary Hathaway.

No mention of a biological father.

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