“You’ll make the playoffs,” I tell him. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His smile is tilted and wry and fades fast. “I’m proud of you, Chester.”

I don’t feel anything but a need to cling, a weakness I don’t want or like.

Our conversation comes to an abrupt halt when Jake strolls into our quiet spot. “Manny. Copperpot. Why are you two hiding back here?” He glances between us, noting the distance. “I’d approve if someone had a hand in someone else’s clothes, but no way am I letting you guys get away with trying to escape the stuffed shirts.”

“Did you just call me Copperpot?”

Jake is all innocence. “What? Me? No. Who?” He hooks my arm over his elbow. “Now, come with me. The guys want an official ruling on whose dick is the biggest.”

I laugh, as Finn pushes himself off from the wall and glares. “I will kick your ass, Ryder.”

“You’ll have to catch me first, and we both know I’m way faster.”

Jake leads me way, with Finn following. And I don’t protest. It’s a relief walking into the crowded, noisy party where I don’t have to think.

Just be. Just be. I can do that. I have to.

 

* * *

 

Finn

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I look fucking sharp in this suit.” Woodson runs a hand down the front of his tux. “I’m getting laid tonight.”

You have to love Woodson’s cornfed, Iowa boy brand of optimism and child-like honesty. I laugh as he waggles his brows with hopeful glee.

“You’re married, aren’t you?” North asks him with a look that clearly states he’s skeptical of Woodson getting any play.

“Cynicism is a bitter taste that rests on the tongue and destroys the appetite,” Woodson intones.

North snorts. “You read that in a fortune cookie.”

“Did not.” Woodson grins. “I saw it on the side of a bus.”

“No way.”

“Believe what you will, bitter boy. I, on the other hand, am going to hunt down my wife. Convince her to get an early start.”

North and I groan, and I wave Woodson off. “Those who talk too much do too little.”

“Let me guess,” Woodson says. “Fortune cookie?”

“No, a simple Finn Mannus truth.”

Woodson scoffs and then goes in search of his woman. He trudges over the grass toward the house, leaving Woodson and I sitting on a low stone wall that edges the pool area. Up in the distance, I catch a glimpse of Chess’s dress. She’s talking to Meghan, our PR director.

“Ten bucks says she’ll have a headache,” North says.

I flinch, thinking he’s talking about Chess, but then I realize he means Woodson’s wife. “You really are a cynic.”

“I prefer realist.” North turns my way. “So how about you, Manny? You ready to buckle down and finish out this season with some wins?”

It’s my turn to snort. “Is this some sort of pep talk?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” North rests an elbow on his knees and gives me a look. For a bizarre second I have the image of The Thinker coming to life to get me a lecture. Weirdly, that image doesn’t die when North speaks again. “We win these last two games and we’re in the playoffs.”

“I know this well.” I dream about it. Have nightmares about it. Who the fuck on our team doesn’t know this?

“You seem distracted, is all.”

I stare at North. And he stares back.

“I heard you talking to your girl earlier.”

I rub a hand over my face. “Fucking hell.”

He merely shrugs. “Don’t talk in public places if you don’t want to be overheard.”

I’m thinking about who else could have heard. The prospects aren’t pleasant. “You’re a nosy fucker, you know that?”

“I like you, kid.”

“Kid? You’re only five years older than me.”

His smile is thin. “It’s not the years. It’s the mileage.”

“Jesus, don’t quote Indiana Jones. I beg you.”

North laughs. And for one shining moment, I think I’m clear. But he quickly sobers. “Look, these are the years that define your career.”

“Oh, hell…”

“If you don’t make your mark now, give it your all, then you’re done. The next college hot shot is just around the corner, waiting to take your place.” North points a long, bony finger at me. “Don’t fuck this chance up by dividing your attention between football and a woman. Love is great, and you think it means forever, but it’s not worth risking everything you’ve worked for.”

“I’m not trying to fuck it up. I’m trying to have it all.”

“Impossible. Something has to give. You want a woman? Find one who wants to be a player’s wife. The kind of girl who’s will give you babies, put you first, and never complain when you’re gone. The kind who will be there when you come home. Otherwise, it’s going to fuck with your head. Put that shit aside and focus on your career for now. Once you’re established and a few rings on your fingers then worry about women.”

I glance at the gaudy as fuck Super Bowl ring on North’s hand. He doesn’t usually wear it, but I’m guessing it’s a go-to accessory for galas, a nice piece of bragging rights. It’s a weird bit of irony that football players dream of wearing a ring better suited to sit on some Vegas pimp’s finger. But we do. We all want those ugly ass rings.

North stands and looks down at me. “Tell me this, what occupies your thoughts more? Football or the girl?”

My jaw ticks.

“Here’s a hint.” North leans in. “The answer should be football.”

A true football player lives, breathes, and dreams of the game. I’ve had that pounded into me since I put on my first Pee Wee helmet. Anything less that total devotion to the sport and you’re an amateur.

North’s voice cuts through the thick haze that’s settled over me. “Besides, you do well. I do well. And I want to kick ass this year.”

I cut him a look. “I’m glad we had this talk. We should do it again sometimes.”