Page 12 of Play the Last Card
My fingers flex around the metal bar, elbows locking with the weight as the bar reaches full height and I grunt through the resistance coursing through my muscles. With every rep, the bar gets heavier and the weight of Ivy’s admission—i hate football—is the culprit.
It’s playing on my mind. Running through my head. Taking over my thoughts.
How am I supposed to get her wearing my number if she doesn’t want to look at the jersey!
“You good, man?” Flynn’s hands hover under the bar, floating up and down with every press, ready to catch it if I fail.
I only grunt in response, mind still on the shy smile and pretty hair that I desperately want to touch. My muscles release, arms failing, and the bar drops dangerously close to my chest.
Fuck.
Flynn catches the bar and we rack the weights. I heave myself into a sitting position as Flynn walks around and sits on the bench across from me.
“I know Boston isn’t your favorite place in the world but hey …” Flynn gestures around the state-of-the-art weight room. This training gym is easily one of the nicest I’ve ever been to. “We made it. All those dreams we had back in college … going pro, playing on the same team, getting those championship rings together. This is the place to do it. You made the right choice.”
I only nod.
Have I?
Sure, the Broncos were almost unstoppable last year. They got a new head coach, Jeff Brady who switched up their game and got them to the playoffs. They were so close to the Super Bowl. It should have been an easy acceptance. Would have been for anyone else. Not me though. I vowed to never step foot in Boston unless for an away game. Even then, I preferred to pay for my own flight out early if the team was lingering.I’ve been fined for it before but I continue to do it. Boston isn’t the place for me.
“I’ll get over it.”
“You should come out with us; me and the guys. You need to bond with the team.”
I shake my head. I can’t think of anything worse than going ‘out’ in Boston. Not when my past is somewhere in this city.
I know what it looks like, what she looks like.
I know her name. Where she lives. Even where she works.
The odds of running into her are slim but I’d rather not chance it.
I took a chance coming here. I made a promise to myself that coming to Boston won’t drag a past I want nothing to do with, into my future.
Football players, professional football players, draw attention. But I’m only here to play ball. To build something. My contract is for one season and I’m here for Flynn, here to get the ring. Attention isn’t part of the deal.
Unless it’s Ivy’s it seems.
It’s the offseason. The team's players are spread across the country with families on vacation, taking time for themselves before preseason starts. I wanted to put off moving as long as I could and had been planning to wait until just before camp but Flynn returned from his Europe trip early—thanks to the nasty breakup with his girl of the month in Greece—and begged me to come to Boston before I originally intended.
I begrudgingly agreed and here I am.
Pre-season begins in a month. I’ll be back on the road and playing football. That’s going to be my focus, not worrying about bumping into a past that I’m rather keen on avoiding.
Didsheeven know who I’d grown up to be? I doubt it.
Did I wantherto find out? Absolutely fucking not.
Boston has been off limits ever since the adoption records became public. I tracked her down, of course, but I have no desire to meet her. I want to keep it that way. A one-year contract means a one-year contract.I didn’t even bother to sell my house in LA. I packed a few boxes and some suitcases.
I’m here to play football. That’s it.
Although now that I’ve met her, I can’t say no to a little bit of a distraction while I’m here.
A distraction with endless blue eyes, and hair that changes in the light, and a smile set out to physically hurt if I stare at it too long. I could use something to fill in my sparse free time. Something smart, witty, fun. Something—someone—like Ivy.
So no, I can’t be bothered to go anywhere with the other guys on the team but I can be bothered to go and sit myself at Pats across the road from the stadium and pray to whoever is above that Ivy walks in today. Then, if I’m lucky, she’ll smile at me and I can fall asleep thinking about her instead of my past, or the season, or the pressure. Just … her.