“Maddox. Coach wants you in his office pronto.”
I threw the shirt over my head and nodded at the assistant coach, fear welling up inside. It had been days since the fight with my father and the blow-up with Lucia. She wasn’t returning any of my calls, and I’d already filled up her voicemail to the point where it wouldn’t take any more. Every time I walked by her office, trying to act casual, the door was shut. I’d been too worried that she had a patient in there and hadn’t knocked. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen her, though. She had been on the sidelines during one of the practices with her father, talking and laughing like all was good in her world while I was in what seemed to be a state of limbo. Would she tell her father? She had evidence that could get me fired, and I wouldn’t hold her against her if she went to him with the playbook and got us all thrown off the team.
And now the coach wanted to see me in his office. That was not a good sign.
I walked as slowly as I possibly could, almost dragging my feet as I went. I entered the large space that housed all the coaches’ offices and passed a collection of desks, a bullpen of sorts with stacks of binders—no doubt filled with tactics and plays—piled up on every surface. I finally stood before the head coach’s private office. I knocked on the glass panel of the closed door, and two men raised their heads. I felt like the floor was about to cave in underneath me as I saw David Cortes, the owner and Lucia’s dad, seated at the desk beside Coach. Both their expressions were unreadable, blank as my paycheck would be after the meeting, I was sure of it.
I braced myself and entered the room as Coach gestured me in. What had Lucia told her father? Had she turned in the playbook? Were my dreams of becoming a starting quarterback again going to end right here? Damn Terrence and the rest of the guys.
“Jacob, sit down,” the coach said, pointing to the other chair in the room. I swallowed hard as I sat. Tiny beads of sweat prickled to the surface of my brow. I was about to lose everything—my career and the only woman that had truly given a damn about me.
“I’m sorry,” I started, trying to head them off. Maybe if I could tell my side of things, they would reconsider firing my ass. “I can explain everything, I swear.”
The coach looked at Mr. Cortes and then back at me. “What the hell are you talking about, son? Did you do something to Danny?”
“Danny?” I repeated, surprised. I had just seen Danny, our starting QB, only yesterday and his throws were as hot as ever. “What’s wrong with Danny?”
“It’s his shoulder. He tweaked his rotator cuff last night while lifting,” Coach explained.
“Left or right?” I asked, the seriousness of the situation dawning on me.
“Right.”
Fuck, that’s his throwing arm.
“We’re looking at four to six weeks recovery time if we’re lucky,” Coach continued. “He’s getting checked out right now, and they don’t think he’s torn anything, but if he did, well, who knows? It could be eight weeks or more before he’s tip-top again. And you’re probably guessing why you’re here now. We need you to step up to the plate, Jacob.”
Suddenly, the room got extremely small as I realized this was my big break, a chance to regain some of my former glory. This was what I had been hoping to have happen, not that I wanted Danny to get hurt, that is. He was a cool guy with three kids at home, so he needed to work. But a minimum of four weeks on the field would give me enough time to show them what I had.
“This is very serious, Jacob,” Mr. Cortes interjected. His features were hard to read, but his tone was stern—no nonsense. “I will not tolerate anything but stellar performances from my starters. One wrong move and you will be gone, you hear me? I don’t care how much I spent on you.”
“Y-yes, sir,” I replied, wondering if he was actually referring to football, or something or someone else. “I will give you the best I got, that I can promise.”
“See, Cortes, I told you he was ready.” Coach grinned, giving me a nod. “I’ll get Thomas to switch to Jacob, and I will work with him personally, too, get him up to speed. He’ll catch on quick.” Thomas was the quarterback coach, and we’d gotten along well since my arrival, but his time had always been primarily focused on Danny—as it should be, of course—but it was going to be good to get some proper attention from him.
“I won’t let either of you down,” I added as the owner rose from his chair.
“I need you focused, Jacob,” Coach continued as Mr. Cortes stood by the door, his arms crossed over his chest. “You seem a little preoccupied lately. Can you shake that off? Anything we can help with?”
“No, there’s no problem. Consider my head in the game,” I answered. My now practically non-existent relationship with Lucia would need to take a back burner, even though I knew deep down I hadn’t given up. It would just have to wait. Maybe it would be for the best anyway—give us both some time to cool off. After all, this was my career, my livelihood, and if I screwed this opportunity up, there certainly wouldn’t be another one any time soon.
“One more thing,” Coach said. “There’s some guy calling the stadium, the offices, every number he can get a hold of, it seems, claiming he’s your father and wanting his family ticket discount. I looked up his name and he’s not on your list.”
My jaw clenched. He was starting this shit again? I could see it now. It would be another repeat performance of his insane actions up in Minnesota. Fuck, it would just be like when I was a kid on my high school football team… I was going to kill the man. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone and get on with his own life?
“Marshall Maddox is nothing to me,” I replied evenly. “Don’t give him anything.”
“All right, I’ll make a note of it,” Coach said. Mr. Cortes eyed me carefully. He seemed to be attempting to read my mind; another moment passed without him saying anything.
“So, shall I go—”
“Jacob, if we need to get you some extra security for you, we can make that happen,” Mr. Cortes interrupted. “Just let me, Greg here, or one of the security staff know, and we’ll get it all set up. You shouldn’t have to worry about these things.”
I nodded, thinking it was pretty cool of him to offer. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if it comes to that.”
“Before I forget, this conversation is between us right now, Jacob,” Coach added as I stood to go. “We’ll make a formal announcement to the press about Danny’s injury and you taking the number one spot before the game, but I don’t want the press catching wind that you are the starter before then, okay?”
“Again, not a problem. My lips are sealed until you give the word,” I replied, anxious and ready to prove myself. My day had just taken a turn for the better, and though the problems with Lucia were still heavy on my mind, this was good. I think she would be proud to know that I was going to get my chance.
“Good. See you on the field,” he said, turning back to his paperwork. I walked past Lucia’s father and out into the corridor, my mind already reeling through all the things I needed to work on and to prepare to fully take advantage of the opportunity.
“Jacob, a moment.”
I turned and saw Mr. Cortes striding toward me, his stone-cold expression giving me pause. He sidled up to me and took my arm in a firm grip. “Stay the hell away from my daughter,” he said, his voice low. It felt like a bucket of ice had been dropped on me.
“She told you?” I stammered. Why on earth would she do such a thing? Surely it would be bad for her, too?
His eyes blazed with a look of triumph and fury. “Does it really matter who told me?”
“No, I guess not. Oh, fuck,” I muttered under my breath, but Mr. Cortes still heard it.
“Yeah, boy, you fucked up. I don’t know what you did to her, but if I catch you near her again I will can you without question. You’ll never play football again. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I replied, swallowing hard. Why on earth did she have to go tell him? No one else except Terrence knew, and he wasn’t about to snitch on us; it was in his own best interest not to.
My arm throbbed as he released me. There would be some pretty hefty indentations from where his grip had been, I thought. He nodded, satisfied that he’d put the fear of God into me and resumed walking down the corridor to the field, leaving me standing there with my thumb up my ass.