Page 20 of Delay of Game (Norwalk Breakers #4)

TWENTY

ROB

A few reporters milled around the locker room, directing questions at any player dumb enough to look up from their locker. I glared at the ones who wandered too close, warning them off with a steely look.

Losing sucked. Missing the running back who scored the winning touchdown sucked worse. Hell, my performance sucked most of all. And having some moron with a microphone ask how I felt would only complete the circle of complete suckage.

I dressed in a hurry, ready to wash off the stench of failure and preparing to greet Mila with as much of a smile as I could manage. Which wouldn’t be much of one.

“Grant.” Coach Simmons popped his head into the locker room, scanning players until he found me. “My office.”

I swore under my breath.

Just what I fucking needed. A meeting with the head coach.

The defensive coordinator had only given me a pat on the back and a “better luck next time,” which was almost more annoying than a full-fledged ass chewing.

At least with an ass chewing, I knew where I stood with the team.

A half-hearted promise that it’d shake out better next time could mean just that…

or that the coaches were looking to make a switch at my position.

“You did what you could out there. You stuffed a ton of drives. This is on the offense,” Noa said under his breath, not daring to draw the ire of his teammates.

“It’s fine,” I lied. “Maybe they’ll bench me.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

I shook my head as if a meeting with the head coach after a loss meant nothing. And maybe it didn’t. But I had let a running back through on the last drive. That was on me.

Shoving my dirty clothes into my bag, I hefted it over my shoulder.

“Diego,” I called to our quarterback. “You’re doing the post-game interview, right?”

He nodded.

Good. With Mom absent, Mila would wait in the lobby with Cassie, and if Diego had the interview, I wouldn’t keep Cassie at the stadium any longer than necessary. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if Astrid was waiting out there. No, not wondered. Hoped.

I stifled that small spasm of optimism as I slipped out into the door leading to the coaching offices.

Coach Simmons sat at his desk, his mouth twisted into a frown at a piece of paper in his hand. He set it down when I knocked on the door frame.

“Rob, please come in.”

Coach Simmons leaned back in his seat, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the stadium illuminating this office.

We were the same age, or nearly anyway. But I carried those years in scars on my body while his appeared in stress marks on his face.

Early crow’s feet and wrinkles on his forehead. I didn’t exactly envy his position.

I took a seat on the chair opposite him. His frown eased, and he clasped his hands on the desk.

“So, not a great showing out there,” he began. I nodded as he leaned back in his seat. “We’re not going to make playoffs with that kind of performance, and I certainly hope, as captain, that’s not the direction you want our season to take.”

“Absolutely not.” Beyond my own fuck up in the final seconds of the game, I already had a laundry list in mind of issues that led to the loss.

“I wanted to give you a heads up.” He sighed, eyes cutting out to the window. “We’re going to shake up practice a bit. Take some of the free agents we signed this season and put them with the starting line, just to see what will happen.”

My jaw clenched, and I exhaled. “That’ll certainly shake things up.”

“Middle linebacker, too.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, nodding. “Fair enough.”

“Your starting position isn’t in danger,” he said, steepling his fingers on the desk as he leaned forward.

Yet. I could read between the lines, and I’d been on enough NFL teams to know that nothing was set in stone, even a captain’s starting position.

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded and stood up.

“I mean it, Rob. You’re vital to the team and our success.”

I wanted to be part of a Super Bowl win.

I wanted the ring. And more than that, I wanted the ring from a game I played.

I knew a laundry list of players who clung onto their spot only to win a Super Bowl playing garbage time football in the closing seconds of blow out games. I didn’t want my ring that way.

“I won’t fail you again, coach.” I didn’t wait for a dismissal, striding outside and passing Diego Salazar on his way to presumably get the same talk.

The loss stung, but getting called into the head coach’s office afterward? Humiliating.

I exhaled away my stress as I pushed open the door to the lobby.

“Daddy!” Mila collided into my knees, wrapping her arms around me like we’d actually won. “You sacked the quarterback so many times.”

I returned the hug before searching for Cassie to thank her for watching Mila only to find Astrid instead.

She gave me a lopsided smile. “I really enjoyed watching you play. Sorry you didn’t win. Are you okay?”

“Can’t win them all,” I mumbled, releasing Mila from my legs. “Can you thank Ms. Evans for taking you to the game today?”

Mila dutifully gave Astrid a hug and thanked her, even as every part of me wanted to get the hell out of the stadium. Away from my teammates and the staff. Away from Astrid.

Mila broke the hug. “I need to say bye to Cassie.”

She skipped off to the other side of the lobby. I raked a hand through my hair, avoiding Astrid’s gaze. My eyes skirted to the exit, unsure of what to say now left alone with her.

We had to talk about the day before, but I certainly wasn’t in the mood for it.

Before I could come up with something to say or slip out without saying a word, her palms slipped over my chest and around my shoulders.

She stood on her toes to pull me into a hug.

Her steady breath on my neck calmed my thumping heart as her warm body pressed against mine.

I returned the embrace, slipping my fingers around her waist and remembering the day before. I closed my eyes, my entire body relaxing into hers.

“Really, how are you?” she whispered, tilting her head up so her hair tickled my nose.

“Horrible.”

She laughed. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think it was your fault.” I splayed a palm on the small of her back.

“But it’s over.” She sighed. “You’ll do better next game.”

“If I’m still starting,” I muttered self-indulgently.

“Of course you’re still starting,” she tutted, her fingers drawing circles on the back of my neck and sending sparks shooting down my spine.

The urge to kiss her felt almost unbearable. My hand shifted, running up her spine until my fingers twisted in her hair, tilting her head up to look at me.

“That’s a really long hug.” Mila’s voice broke whatever spell had come over me.

Astrid leapt backward, nearly toppling over Mila. As they fumbled over each other, I caught Cassie staring at us, eyes wide. I shook my head once, and her shock melted into a grin. She shot me a thumbs up as Diego stalked into the lobby.

“This is fucking bullshit,” he swore.

Mila’s gasped as her head whipped toward him. “That’s a bad word.”

“He didn’t mean it,” Cassie called as she fell in beside Diego, tucking herself under his shoulder. “Rough interview?”

“Coach Simmons is considering a shake up,” Diego spat, his lip pulling into a sneer. “Which is complete bullshit.”

“That is bullshit,” Mila repeated solemnly.

Astrid sucked in a breath.

“Hey, Mila, baby? No swearing,” I warned her before turning to our quarterback. “And he’s just trying to scare everyone into playing better. No one’s losing their spot, especially not you.”

I, on the other hand, might. Still, Astrid’s hug calmed me down enough to talk Diego off the ledge rather than commiserate with him.

“I have a rhythm going. I don’t want anyone switched out.” He grew tense, shoulders taut and eyes narrowed to slits.

I shrugged. “There’s not much we can do. If Coach Simmons wants to shake up the starting lineup for a couple of days, that’s his right.”

“So, you’re just going to step aside while Fieste plays in your spot, huh?”

My body went rigid. “He’s at least two slots behind me. That won’t happen.”

“I hope, for your sake, that’s true,” Diego said, tipping his head back toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. I need to not think about the game of football for the next twenty-four hours.”

“Good luck with that,” I snorted.

Cassie waved goodbye as Diego led her out the door. I blew out a breath, envying Diego for having a partner at home.

“How are my stairs looking?” I asked Astrid as I tousled Mila’s hair.

“Not bad.”

“I should probably stop by and make sure the cement set like it should. Could I maybe come by later?”

She nodded, green eyes sparkling. “Sure. I’d like that.”

Inviting myself over was clearly a bad idea.

Removed from Astrid and the stadium and a million thoughts running through my head after a loss, I could see that a little more clearly now.

Did that stop me from accepting Mom’s offer to put Mila to bed and driving myself to Astrid’s house? Absolutely not.

The front porch light glowed as I pulled in front of her house.

The patched stairs took my weight just fine as I walked to the front door, knocking loudly before I lost my nerve.

I wiped my hands on my jeans. I should have brought something.

Maybe a bottle of wine or flowers. No. What the hell kind of message would that send?

Regardless of what had happened the night before, this wasn’t a date. I didn’t know what it was. Not a hook up. Not really a friendship, either. A mistake, for sure, but one I walked into willingly.

“Hey, you’re early!” She answered the door with a smile that left me breathless. She’d changed out of my jersey into a plain black tee and a pair of jeans that hugged her curves and made it damn near impossible for me to think about anything else.

“Yeah, too early?” I tucked my hands in my pockets, eyes skirting to the faded paint on the porch.

“No, not at all.” She shot me an inviting smile, stepping aside so I could come inside.

A stack of boxes littered the living room, piled under the bay window with labels like “donate” and “Mom” and “???” She’d cleared out a bunch of furniture, making room for flooring and sheets of drywall.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” I said, pointing to the pile.

“Yeah.” She planted a fist on her waist with a frown. “Time’s running out, isn’t it?”

There was a lot of work left to be done on the house before it would sell. For the first time, I had questions about what would come next. Where she’d go. If she’d stay. Questions that wouldn’t and shouldn’t affect me at all, but I couldn’t help wanting to know the answers to.

“And then…”

She shrugged. “And then I make whatever repairs we need to make sure it doesn’t go to some scummy house flipper.”

I bit back a grin. “No developers?”

“No developers. They’d gut the charm out of the house.”

And in her defense, the house had a ton of charm: old oak, bay windows, crown molding. Touches that suggested a level of craftsmanship no one offered anymore. The type that came along with faulty wiring and pockmarked drywall.

“Why don’t you keep it?” I asked.

She huffed out a laugh. “I wish, but it’s all part of Aunt Mercy’s estate, and that money goes to the memory care facility. I would have to buy the house outright, and with the property prices lately, a mortgage alone would take my entire salary.”

Her face twisted into a frown. I hated having caused it. And mixed with the poor showing on the field and the post-game talk with the head coach, a churning unhappiness roiled in my gut and a surge of crankiness ripped through me. I needed a distraction.

“Well, what’s next on the list? There’s got to be something easy we can knock out.”

She tilted her head, her green eyes gliding over my face. Her brow furrowed slightly. “How about we sit down for a bit? It’s been a busy day.”

Clearing a box balanced on the armrest, she sank into the faded floral blue couch, patting the spot next to her.

I cracked my knuckles, eyes roving the room for something to distract me. A project. A topic of conversation. Finding none, I sat down.

“You want to know one of my favorite memories with my Aunt Mercy?” Astrid pulled her legs onto the couch, crossing them and setting a throw pillow on top.

“Whenever I had a really shitty day. Like one of those days when nothing would go right, I’d put my head in her lap, and she’d rub my hair and tell me about her day. ”

I raised an eyebrow, and she laughed. “She wouldn’t really tell me about her day. But she’d just drone on about what she did until I fell asleep or felt better. ASMR before that was a thing you could find online.”

“I should really help fix this house, not beg for head rubs.”

She patted her lap. “You look awful, Rob. Lay down for a bit.”

I resisted. I had no business showing up at Astrid’s house. Being around her. Sucking up her sympathy when she had a classroom full of feral children and an aunt with Alzheimer’s.

But I couldn’t stop myself. Couldn’t resist being near her for even a second longer. I laid my head down on her lap, closing my eyes. Her fingers ran through my hair, massaging my scalp, and she told me about her day.