Page 40

I nod and pull my pack of gum from my pocket, unwrapping a piece and popping it in my mouth. I offer Reed one, and he takes two.

“Thanks. Coffee makes my breath stink.”

I consider how many cups I had to get myself moving today and decide I should add another dose of mint, too.

The upperclassmen trickle out to the field, and a few of them remark about the stench in the locker room. When one of them dares to make a joke, Reed sends him on a lap around the school. And when he asks if Reed is joking, he doubles his assignment. Nobody cracks a joke after that.

Once the underclassmen make their way back to the middle of the field and finish throwing up or guzzling water, Reed orders the guys to all take a knee.

That’s when I spot the familiar silver truck parked next to Reed’s and mine through the scaffolding of the bleachers.

Bryce steps out of the driver’s side a second later.

“Hey, I’m gonna go catch up,” I say, nodding toward my one-time agent and semi-friend. Our relationship is weird, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a relationship. Somehow, I feel close to the guy.

“Go ahead. We’re gonna be here talking for a while,” Reed says, his sunglasses blocking the expression in his eyes.

He’s pissed. He hates the way pot smells.

Always has. When Buck smokes for his pain management, he makes his father go outside, way outside.

That’s why the man usually sticks with the gummies.

I jog over to Bryce as he folds his arms along the fence between the bleachers and the track.

“Hey, man. It’s been a minute,” I say, holding out my hand. He grips it and we hug over the fence, slapping each other’s backs.

“I know. Things have gotten busy at the firm. I wanted to stop by a month ago to see the baby. I bet he’s getting big.”

My grin is automatic.

“Little guy is doubling every few weeks, I swear. He makes the cutest noises all damn day, and he’s a sleeper, thank God!”

Bryce laughs softly.

“That’s good. I bet Peyton’s happy about that, too. I can’t wait to see him. Maybe next weekend. I’ll be in town longer, I hope.”

I fight the urge to break out my phone and inundate him with photos of everything my son has done over the last ten days.

I get the grandparent move now, the way they constantly want to brag and show off their grandkids.

I would put Warner on a billboard and change it out every day just to show him off to the world.

“What’s got you in town today? You driving to Tucson for a Wildcat?” There’s a running back down there who set a ton of records last year. He’s only a junior, but I’ve heard he’s thinking of declaring for the draft.

“Maybe, if I’ve got time. I came here to see you.”

It takes my brain a second or two to catch up to my ears. Eventually, I shake myself out of the instant stupor and scrunch my brow. My stomach is tight suddenly, and I wish like hell Bryce would take his sunglasses off so I can read his eyes.

“I told you, I don’t want to be Chance Hickory’s babysitter.” I figure if Portland were to come back with any type of offer, that would be it.

Bryce shakes his head.

“Nah, that ain’t it.” He pulls his glasses off finally, tucking them in the collar of his polo shirt. His mouth rests in this faint smirk, like he’s got a secret, and his eyes lock onto mine with an intimidating level of focus.

And it hits me.

Fucker did it.

“Arizona,” I blurt out.

He nods.

“How long?”

“Three years, with the option for five.”

Fuck.

I squint one eye and brace myself, my pulse racing so fast I can feel it in my fingertips.

“Money?”

He chuckles and leans in, like there might be ears listening nearby.

“One-sixty guaranteed. We negotiate if they pick up for five. And they’ll pick up for five.”

My mouth drops open, and I blink slowly.

“Perfect fucking storm, man. You said that would change everything. Well?”

I turn around and look out at Reed, his finger waggling as he heats up with his lecture. Unable to help myself, I let out a howl and hold up my fists when my father-in-law’s head pops up to look at me.

“He fucking did it! I’m playing for Arizona! At home!”

It takes Reed a few seconds to react vocally, but when he does, it’s with a very loud, “Fuck yeah!”

I turn back to Bryce and launch myself over the fence to hug him like a brother.

“Dude, you did it!” I pat his back hard, and he lifts me off my feet.

“ You did it. I’m just the negotiator,” he says. I’d rather throw the ball than do his work any day. He has earned his cut.

“There’s more,” he says, when we pull apart.

My heart is beating so fast, I can hear it. The thumps are deafening, and I feel like I could either fly or pass out. I fold my hands over my head and rock in place.

“Give it to me. What’s more?”

“Well, you probably saw the news about Jerry,” he begins.

I nod intensely.

“You can’t own a percentage of another team if you’re going to coach. It’s a bad look,” he says.

“So that’s fucking why—” I don’t even finish before I leap at him again, throwing my arms around him and shaking him before hurdling my way back over the fence and rushing out to Reed.

I nearly tackle my father-in-law, but he snags my arm and keeps us both upright while I get my mouth to form words.

“Arizona! Jerry’s the new head coach. Three years with an option for five. A hundred and sixty mil. Dad! I did it!”

Reed wraps his arms around me and grips the back of my shirt, and the tears hit both of us in an instant.

I called him Dad—because he is. And Jeff is like my dad, too.

And my real dad would want them to step into that role.

Especially now, when I’ve hit the pinnacle of so much hard work.

When playing by the rules paid off. When I waited for the right thing to come along, Bryce delivered.

“I’m so proud of you, son. So unbelievably proud.” Reed relaxes his arms and steps back from our embrace, pinching the bridge of his nose to mask his tears. He turns to face the guys, most of them still kneeling.

“Practice is cancelled today. My son-in-law is going back to the NFL. Here! For us!”

The spring squad roars, and I’m not sure whether they’re cheering for me or because they somehow got out of a major ass-chewing and get to go home. I don’t care why they cheer. I wouldn’t care if they booed, I’m running on such a high right now.

“I gotta tell Peyt,” I say, spinning in circles while I flail around my body for my phone.

I pull it from my pocket as Bryce walks up and gives Reed a hug. I let the two of them talk as I wander down the field toward the other end zone. She was looking forward to this nap, but this news might fall under the category of “really good reasons to wake Peyton up.”

She answers on the third ring.

“Is something wrong?” Her voice is sleepy, and I want to contain myself and not blast her with energy through the phone. But I’m about to burst.

“Peyt, Bryce did it. He’s here. We just talked. He did it. I’m playing for Arizona.”

She gasps, and a sniffle follows a few seconds later.

“Baby . . . you did it,” she says, her voice soft so she doesn’t wake our son.

“We did it. You. Me. Warner. And football . . . forever.”