Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“And we’re thrilled,” Nadia says to me, her eyes narrowing. Not in anger—more in contemplation. “I honestly wasn’t sure we’d make it this year . . . for various reasons.” She’s not going to dive into team woes in front of Wilder, though I’m sure he can read between the lines. “But you’ve played great, Jason.”
Wilder turns to the guy by my side. “So have you, Beck. But I’m just surprised. I didn’t see this coming, and I’m pretty perceptive.”
Nadia rolls her eyes, stifling a scoff. “Oh, please.”
“What?” he asks.
“You didn’t have an inkling? Their chemistry is incredible,” she says.
I peek at Beck. He’s mostly stoic, but a smile slips through.
“I thought it was just . . . banter and trash talk. Like you and I have. We’re not a thing.”
“No kidding. I’m married!” she says, brandishing her baseball-sized diamond ring.
“But that’s my point, Nadia. People might say we have chemistry because of our rivalry, but we’re not together.”
“And our quarterbacks are together. Focus on that, Wilder. Not on your astonishing lack of radar. We have guys to take care of.”
Scolded, he returns his gaze to us. “What do you need from us?” The question is earnest and absolutely wonderful.
But I still have to ask a painful question. This has been my biggest fear of all. “Are you going to let me go?” I ask Nadia.
Beck turns to Wilder. “I kind of have the same question,” he says quietly.
Wilder barks out a laugh. “No. Not for this. I don’t let players go because of who they date.”
Nadia smiles, shaking her head. “I don’t either.”
“I let players go for other reasons. Like poor character. If we were talking DUI, rape, smacking your partner, hitting your kid, or selling drugs, among other abhorrent and illegal behavior, then yes, I would let you go without a second thought and happily watch you go to prison,” he says, cold as ice, as he should be. “But you can fall in love with whoever you want,” he says to Beck, warmth returning. I even detect a little wistfulness, as if he’s wishing for love he doesn’t have. “And I’d let you go if you stopped performing on the field. But that, evidently, isn’t a problem.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “Let’s talk about what sort of resources you need from us to support you when the fans find out. As for your teammates, all I can say is good luck.”
We’ll need it.
43
HEAVY LIFTING
Beck
After Jason takes off for practice, I leave, grab lunch at a nearby sandwich shop, and review my “homework” from Rosemary. I write down some notes outlining my thoughts and then the things I plan to say to my teammates.
Then I return to the facility and head to the weight rooms at the end of the east corridor, texting Carter to meet me there, adding, I have something to tell you.
His reply is swift. That sounds ominous!
When I reach the smallest and least busy of the weight rooms, I peer in the window first, assessing the situation.
Carter’s doing bench presses, and he’s the only one there. Good. Friends first.
I’m going to tackle this task one by one. I open the door and head to the weight bench, girding myself for another coming out. I got through the others; I’ll get through this.
“And . . . one thousand reps,” Carter says facetiously, then sets the dumbbell on the bar and sits up on the bench. “I am a beast.”
“Amazing that you can bench and text,” I say drily. Then I go serious as I stand next to him.
He studies my face. “What’s going on? You good after sitting out the auction? Oh! Sasha bid on me like you said. That was brilliant.”
“I’m glad things are going well with your woman. And thanks for understanding why I didn’t go.” I inhale and take the first baby step of my confession. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to be pissed at me for this, but I want you to be the first one to know.”
He frowns. “What’s going on?”
“I’m involved with Jason,” I say, then I add, “McKay.” Like I could mean any other Jason. “We’ve been seeing each other on and off most of the season.”
Carter doesn’t move. I’ve shocked him into statue-hood on the weight bench. Then, after an eternity, he chokes out, “For real?”
Shit. This is bad. But I’ve practiced, and I’m determined to push through this uncomfortable moment.
It won’t be as bad as I think.
“Yes. For real. He’s”—I stop to catch my breath because I’ve never said these words out loud to anyone—“my boyfriend.”
It’s like putting on a new pair of shoes that don’t quite fit at first. But soon, I’ll get used to them.
“Dude,” he says, his tone thick with disappointment.
My stomach craters. If he’s not on my side, I have no chance with the other guys. But I’ve dealt with being a loner before. I can do it again if I have to. My nerves settle. “I know it probably bothers you that I’m involved with a rival,” I say, taking my time to lay out the facts. “But I want to reassure you I’m not sharing the playbook with him. I don’t trade game secrets. I swear I’d never do that. My football loyalty is to the Renegades.”