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He tossed his things into a duffel and headed downstairs.

Coach Nelson had given West permission to spend last night away from the hotel.

His mom had rented a house in New Orleans the day after training camp ended last summer, telling West that she thought the Cowboys would be playing for the title.

More than anything, he wanted to break the news to his family about his retirement, instead of them hearing it on social media’s post-game blitz.

He couldn’t announce it, though, because Flint Ferris was here.

West had never liked his sister’s husband.

Autumn had married Flint during his first year in med school and had worked many a double shift as a nurse, paying to put him through school so he wouldn’t be drowning in debt after he finished his residency.

They’d been married six or seven years now, and West had never warmed to Flint.

He seemed to treat Autumn too cavalierly, and she always was making excuses for him.

Flint was very into appearances. If West told his family now that he was about to play his final game, Flint would splash it all over social media.

He’d already asked for pictures with West and posted those. The guy just rubbed him the wrong way.

Because of it, he’d keep quiet now. And hope Autumn would come to her senses and dump this loser.

They were all gathered in the kitchen. He stood in the doorway a moment, drinking them in.

Dad was flipping pancakes for brunch. Mom stood behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, snuggling close.

Summer was taking bacon out of the oven, while Autumn poured coffee and juice for the group.

Naturally, Flint sat at the breakfast bar, scrolling through his phone, not lifting a finger.

The doctor seemed to think he was too good for menial tasks.

“Hey, everybody,” West greeted, entering the kitchen.

“I love this suit,” Summer declared, coming and wrapping him in a tight hug. “You always dress well, West. Manhattan men have nothing on you.”

Summer worked for a publishing house in New York as a book editor and had taken a couple of days of vacation to come to New Orleans. She’d shared with Autumn and him that she was writing her first romance novel, saying she thought she could do better than the manuscripts that crossed her desk.

Autumn said, “My turn to cozy up to the past and future Super Bowl MVP.”

He hugged her tightly, wanting to tell her she could do so much better than Flint, but knowing Autumn would never listen. She thought she was lucky to have Flint, who was smart and good-looking. His sister always looked out for everyone but herself.

“You just went and jinxed things. Now, Van Foster will definitely be named MVP.”

“Just because he’s a quarterback doesn’t automatically mean he’ll be the MVP,” Flint said. “Although the winning team’s quarterback usually has the best shot. You were lucky to win it two years ago, West.”

He noticed the annoyance flicker in his mom’s eyes. She came to him, and he wrapped his arms about her, lifting her off her feet.

“Save your strength, West,” she said good-naturedly, brushing a kiss across his cheek.

“Pancakes for you, son?” asked Dad.

“No. I can sit with you a few minutes while you eat, and then I need to head back to the hotel for a team meeting and meal.”

“You be sure and thank Coach Nelson for letting you come stay last night,” Dad said.

Laughing, West said, “He’d rather me be playing cards with my family than hitting Bourbon Street.”

“Well, it was nice of him to allow you to come and be with us,” Mom said. “I need to make him some of my peanut brittle.”

His mom’s peanut brittle was famous, especially among his teammates and coaches. She would send a ton of it to training camp each summer, and guys fought over it.

They gathered around the table, Flint continuing to look at his cell.

Mom talked about a new display she would tackle at the public library when she returned to Texas.

Dad said the school district was going to hold their job fair next month.

As superintendent, he would have a good idea of job openings, but West refrained from asking about it now.

Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after.

He glanced at his watch. “I need to call an Uber.”

“I’ll drop you at the hotel,” Autumn offered.

“Ooh, I want to go, too,” Summer said, scrambling to her feet and taking her dishes to the sink.

“I’ll clean up,” Mom said. “You girls take West.”

Finally, Flint looked up. “Guess I can go, too.”

West caught Dad’s frown. “Since you were too busy to pitch in and cook, why don’t you stay and help clean up, Flint?”

His brother-in-law frowned. “I was checking on patients,” he said brusquely.

“Well, if they’re all fine, you have time to help now.” Dad’s glare had Flint sitting straighter. “You kids go ahead. Flint and I will tackle clean-up.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, glad his brother-in-law wouldn’t be accompanying them.

In the car, Summer said, “I miss driving. I can’t remember the last time I was behind the wheel of a car.”

“You don’t need a car in New York,” Autumn pointed out. “You’ve got subways and cabs.”

“I do love that about the city,” her twin said. “There might be traffic jams on the streets, but the subway can get you across town in minutes.”

“I’m glad Flint and I live close to the hospital,” Autumn said. “I usually walk since we’re only a few blocks away.”

West frowned. “You’re not in the safest neighborhood. I don’t like that. Especially when you pull a double.”

She shrugged, changing lanes. “It is what it is, West. Once Flint finishes his residency, we can hopefully buy a house. I’m pretty tired of cramped apartment living.”

“I’ve seen your apartment. And the complex. It’s really rundown. You should move. Especially if you’re thinking about having kids anytime soon.”

Summer perked up. “Are you and Flint talking about kids?”

“No,” Autumn said quickly, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “He needs to finish his residency and then get established first.”

“You’ll be forty by the time he does that,” Summer retorted. “You’ve always wanted kids, Autumn. More than West or me. I think you should?—”

“Mind your business, Summer,” Autumn said quickly.

He didn’t want the twins at war. Usually, they never fought. West decided it was time to speak up.

“Hey, I have something to share with the two of you. And it can’t leave this car. At least until after the game.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to marry Bianca,” groaned Summer. “Yes, she’s gorgeous, but she’s also?—”

“I’m not,” he said, shutting down that discussion.

West had made the mistake of bringing the model he was dating to Thanksgiving a few months ago. Since the Cowboys always played on Thanksgiving Day, his mom prepared their holiday feast the day after. He’d never brought a girl home and told Bianca she’d be charmed by his small town and family.

She wasn’t.

They’d fought about it the entire way back to Dallas.

He’d called her rude. She’d called him and his family boring.

They’d traded insults all the way to her condo.

When she got out of the car, she had told him never to call her again.

He’d shouted that would be the last thing he ever did before she slammed the door.

Her behavior had been something he’d analyzed. Talked over with Dr. Linda. He’d come to the conclusion that he always dated women who didn’t want to make a commitment, much less think about settling down, because they were safe. They didn’t expect anything from him.

Except great sex, of course.

“Nope. Bianca’s not even in my rearview mirror anymore. This is about something else.”

“What?” Autumn prodded, glancing over at him.

“I’m retiring after tonight’s game.”

Silence blanketed the car. Summer was the first to break it.

“Did you say what I think you said?”

“I did,” he confirmed. “I wanted to tell you two before anyone else.”

“Coach Nelson doesn’t know?” Autumn asked.

“No. No one on the team does. But ten years in the NFL is enough. Most wide receivers only make it three or four years. Other than last year’s ACL trouble, I’ve led a pretty charmed life in the league. I want to go out on top. While I can still walk.”

Autumn stopped at a light and looked at him. “What if the Cowboys lose tonight? Would you feel right going out on a losing note?”

He shrugged. “Then they lose. I plan to play my best, but this is the last game I’ll suit up for.”

“Good,” she said, accelerating through the green light. “You’ve had a stellar career, West. I’m glad you’re ready to hang up your cleats.”

“Will you miss it?” Summer asked quietly from the back seat.

“Maybe. But I’ve accomplished all I set out to do. I’m ready to go home.”

Summer touched his shoulder. “Go home ... as in Hawthorne home?”

He nodded. “I’m tired of the glitz. The travel. I’m like Dorothy because I’ve finally discovered that there’s no place like home.”

Autumn pulled up in front of the hotel where the team was staying. She touched his cheek. “I think you’re making the right decision, West.”

Summer squeezed his shoulder. “Me, too.”

“Not a word to anyone,” he cautioned. “That means Mom. Dad. Flint. This is between the three of us.”

“Agreed,” Summer said. “Have a good game, West.”

“Enjoy your last time out on the field,” Autumn added.

Hours later, he stood on the sidelines. The fourth quarter had less than ninety seconds to go.

And the Raiders, leading by three points, had just coughed up the ball.

West ran out onto the field with the rest of the offensive unit, adrenaline firing through him. They huddled, arms locked around one another.

Van looked to him. During their two-minute drills, Coach Nelson had entrusted the play calling to his talented quarterback.

“You’re up, West,” Van said, calling the play, one they had practiced a few hundred times in camp and had executed flawlessly twice during the season.

He lined up, face stoic. The Raiders expected the ball to go to him, so he had double coverage. It didn’t matter. Confidence brimmed through him. West could shake the pair.

The center snapped the ball, and West took off, streaking down the field.

He cut, his knee holding up, and ran toward the sidelines, cutting again and heading toward the end zone.

As he reached it, he glanced over his left shoulder.

As expected, the pigskin floated over it and into his hands, Van’s timing impeccable.

He crossed the goal line without having to break his stride.

Suddenly, teammates were mobbing him. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He kissed the ball and then held onto it, running toward the sidelines, where he handed it to Coach Nelson.

“Just thought you’d like to hang on to the winning ball,” he said casually.

The head coach bumped his head against West’s helmet. They both watched, seeing the kick was good.

“We’re up by four,” Nelson roared. “Go seal the win, defense!”

The defense dashed onto the field. Van came and slung an arm about West’s shoulder.

“Great catch, buddy.”

“Greater throw, Van. You’ve been on tonight. MVP, all the way.”

The Cowboys defense held the Raiders, and the game ended. West stood, savoring this moment, knowing he would never have this experience again.

But he was still happy with the decision he would now announce.

He hugged teammates. Shook hands with losing players and coaches.

Watched the Lombardi Trophy presented to his team, confetti raining down.

Heard the announcement that he and Van were CO-MVPs.

Then the team retreated to the locker room, where the trainers tossed ballcaps and T-shirts proclaiming the Dallas Cowboys as Super Bowl champions as champagne bottles were shaken and uncorked, spraying the players and coaches.

West took it all in, satisfaction filling him.

The press was waiting, and he went first to Coach Nelson.

“Coach, I’m retiring.”

Nelson looked perplexed, as if West were speaking in Greek to him. “What?”

“I’m done. I wanted you to know before I announce it now.”

The grizzled coach wrapped him in a bear hug. “You deserve it, West. Walk away with your health. But damn, we’re gonna miss you.”

“I won’t pull a Tom Brady on you,” he promised, referring to the famous quarterback who retired—and then un-retired. “I’m done.”

Van Foster joined them. “Hey, let’s go get this over with,” he told the pair.

The three men joined other teammates and reporters in the media room. West made certain he went last, not wanting to rain on the parade going on now. He answered every question asked of him, and when no more came his way, said, “I’d like to add one thing.”

The room quietened.

“I’ve loved every minute playing for the Dallas Cowboys, but a time comes in each player’s life when he knows it’s time to walk away.

Tonight’s Super Bowl game was my last. I’ve accomplished everything I ever dreamed of doing, including earning this final Super Bowl ring.

Thank you for all you’ve written about me, the good and the bad. Good night, and God bless.”

The room erupted, dozens of journalists calling out his name, firing questions in his direction.

West merely smiled.

And walked away from them—and playing professional football.