I stretched my arms over my head until my knuckles gave a satisfying crack. My mom hated the sound. She would have given me a lecture on the pseudo-science behind the dangers of knuckle-cracking. Or just told me to quit it.
I flopped down in a chair, let out a gusty sigh and listened to the guys seated around the table.
"Can you believe the timing?" Abraham 'Bam' Clinton sat to my left. He was shorter than me and not quite as big, but the intensity in his expression made him formidable on the field and off.
I shrugged. "It is what it is." Losing the head coach near the end of the preseason was bullshit. It would throw off our game if we let it. So, we wouldn't let it. Simple as that.
I turned to face the team, hands behind my head as though I wasn't as rattled as they were.
"Coach Franks had no choice but to take care of his family," I said. "Coach Quinn has been with the Commanders for almost as long. He'll do fine."
I wish I was just as sure as I sounded. Wayne Quinn had been offensive coordinator for longer than I had been with the Commanders, but he and I hadn't always seen eye to eye. As leader of the defensive team, I didn't always have to, but now we'd need to find common ground, for the good of the team.
"He better," Bam muttered. "This is our year. I can feel it."
"You feel it every year," Chase Murdoch said. As wide receiver, he was tall and lean. His usual expression was a smile. Sometimes because he was joking and sometimes because he was waiting for someone to fall for a practical joke he'd set up. When you knew him well enough, you could tell which smile was which. This time, it was a genuine tease, laced with hope. Of course, who didn't want to win the Super-bowl?
"And every year we get better and closer," Bam said calmly. "So, this year, we kick ass." He nodded around the table at us.
I jerked my head toward him. "What he said. There's no reason we can't win this year. We have the best coaching team there is and the best players."
"Not to mention the best quarterback, eh Hawk?" Chase elbowed me on the arm.
"Absolutely," I agreed. At least they had one who worked his butt off to get better and stay focused. I had my off days, like anyone, but I did my best not to let it get the better of me. The Commanders couldn't afford to have me slip up too badly. Not just for the sake of winning, but because of the bad publicity that would come with it. The press was like a bunch of circling sharks, ready to pounce on a morsel for the right story. That was why I did interviews as often as I had time for. If you keep the press on your side, you might be lucky and avoid them turning on you when you slipped up. Yeah, okay, I'm not that naive, but it didn't hurt to have good publicity out there to balance the bullshit the tabloids served out. If you believed a word they said, I'd slept with half the women in Norfolk, especially the married ones. That kind of publicity was irritating, but I guess it didn't do me much harm. Most people are smart enough to look past that kind of crap. Right?
"And the most humble," Chase said.
I gave him a smirk. "You're just jealous you're not nicknamed God's Gift." I nodded down the table at Ollie Parker. Recruited in his first year in college, he was tall and burly, with dark hair and bright blue eyes that apparently women found appealing. If he wasn't playing pro ball, he'd probably be in the movies. When he'd first been drafted for the offensive team, he'd been so shy he spent most of the time looking at his shoelaces. These days he was too busy fending off women's panties and marriage proposals.
Parker grimaced in my direction. "Worse. Nickname. Ever."
"Because you're a heathen," Chase teased.
"Exactly," Parker said. "I'll leave the praying for a win to Bam. I'll work my ass off instead."
Bam shrugged. "No reason we can't do both. Cover all the bases, so to speak." He fingered the cross tattooed to his neck.
"Wrong ball game." Chase grinned as he stood.
Bam rolled his eyes. "No shit, really?"
"Really." Chase pretended he missed Bam's sarcasm. "That's not a bat you have in your hand every night before you go to sleep." He shot Bam a sly grin.
"It's probably a bible," Parker said. He looked surprised he'd actually gotten in a dig.
"At least I can read," Bam retorted.
Parker's mouth moved, but nothing else came out.
I smirked at them and followed them out of the meeting room. They always razzed each other, but on the field, we came together like the stereotypical well-oiled machine. Last season, we could have used more grease, but we did okay. The problem was, I wanted to do better than okay. I hated losing more than I hated just about anything else. Second on that list was being thrown a curve ball, like the head coach quitting suddenly. Or my mom…
Focus, I told myself. The day was far from over. I had an interview with a reporter from the National Daily to get through yet. Strange, the woman had the same name as a girl I knew in high school. Were they related? It was probably just a coincidence. Rebecca Anderson was a pretty common name. Whatever happened to that girl? I hadn't given her much thought in years.
Truthfully, when I left high school, I wanted nothing more than to put those days behind me. The memories were fuzzy now and that's how I liked it. Gone would be better, but there were times things came flooding back…
I gritted my teeth and shoved them firmly out of my mind. I had to put my game face on, so to speak, and keep it firmly in place.
Mister Congenial. Mister Nice Guy. Mister Approachable, as long as I was on the clock. Who was I kidding? I was always on the clock. Whether I was playing, or buying pizza with my kid sister, or cousin and her family. I had to assume someone was watching, wherever I went.
I exhaled through my nose and headed toward the stairs that led to the lower levels of the Commander's HQ. The upper sections contained offices for staff and team meetings. The lower was for press conferences and a large room was set up for watching plays. The basement contained a gym. Wide doors led to the locker rooms and out to the field.
I looked longingly in that direction. I was living the life I'd wanted since I was a kid, but no one told young Conrad how much time he'd spend talking, and sitting in meetings.
I trotted down the stairs. I preferred to use them, not just for the exercise, but because I hated the confined space inside the elevators. Those were third on my list of dislikes, right above expired yoghurt. Anyone who is okay with expired dairy products probably needs to seek help from an exorcist. As for hating elevators, that's a totally rational fear, as far as I'm concerned.
"Hey, Conny."
I grimaced. Mary from the front desk was the only living human who got away with calling me that. I used to worry it would catch on, but it hadn't.
Yet.
"Hey Mare." I gave her a nod. "How's the family?"
"Same old, same old," she replied as she always did. "Bob still hasn't learned to put down the toilet seat."
"The true battle of the sexes," I said with a grin.
"Ain't it though?" she agreed. "I even put a sign up about the toilet, saying, 'If you pee, put it down.' Y'know what he did? He crossed out the last three words and scribbled 'leave it up' on there in red crayon."
I chuckled. Mary and Bob had the happiest marriage of any couple I knew. In spite of their running bathroom battles, they were tight. When I saw them in public, they were usually holding hands and snuggling. All that after thirty years together.
"Hashtag, couple goals," I said with a laugh.
"Yeah, as a kid, I dreamed of a guy who writes in red crayon," she said with a shake of her head.
I scratched my chin. "Is that what I'd doing wrong? I'll have to stop by the store on the way home for a packet of them."
"Bah!" She waved a hand at me. "You're barely out of diapers. You have years to enjoy yourself before you surrender to the daily tortures of marriage."
"If I find someone half as good as you, I'll be a lucky man," I said sincerely.
"Conny Florence, are you flirting with me?" she teased.
My eyes widened. "I wouldn't dare. Bob might come after me with his second best rolling pin." A baker by trade, Bob was at least a foot shorter than me, thirty years older and a hell of a lot slower.
"He might at that," Mary said, a glint of humor in her eyes. "He's more likely to trip you than chase you these days. Besides, it would be his third best rolling pin. He wouldn't want to break the first two on your hard head."
"I'll keep an eye out for tripping hazards," I assured her. I couldn't deny having a hard head. I'd hit it enough times, or been hit in it, it was miraculous my brains were still more or less intact.
Her expression turned serious. "You guys must be sad to hear about Fred quitting."
"Word travels fast," I said. If Mary didn't know what was going on around here, it wasn't worth knowing. She'd probably heard Coach Franks was leaving before I did.
"It sucks, but he's gotta do what he's gotta do. I hope Lori pulls through. Cancer is a bitch." I pressed my lips together and averted my eyes.
"Yeah, it is," Mary said softly. "With everyone praying and hoping, she'll pull through. She's tough. She'd have to be to live with Fred all these years."
"And to marry him, divorce him and remarry him," I said. Apparently, no one who knew them back then was surprised when they tied the knot a second time. Some folks were just meant to be.
"That too," Mary agreed. "No one tougher than Lori Jones-Franks."
I had a feeling she had more to say, but I didn't ask. If she wanted me to know, she would tell me. Mary wasn't backward in coming forward. I suspected that whatever it was, simply wasn't her news to tell. I would respect that.
"Has the reporter chick arrived yet?" I asked. I knew Mary didn't like it when women were referred to as anything but women, so I did it to tease. It got her every time.
She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "The young woman in question seems to be running late." Mary didn't like tardiness either. "Hopefully she'll be along shortly. Fred is holding a press conference later and he'll expect you to be there."
I nodded. Oh goodie, more press. I could hardly contain my excitement.
I sighed loudly. "Okay, I'll be there." I glanced at my watch. The reporter wasn't that late, not yet, but if she didn't hurry her, hopefully cute little ass, she'd run out of time and be shit outta luck. I had better places to be than waiting for her.
"Of course you will." Mary gave me a smile and hurried back to her chair at the front of the building.
I cast another longing look toward the field and stepped into one of the small press rooms to wait, butt on a table, boots on a chair, arms over my chest.