Page 3 of Striking the Match (Redwood Bay Fire #3)

Cassius

“Are you sure you want to do this right now,” my PA asks, half incredulous, half irritable. But I’m already sliding into the driver’s seat of my Ram Longhorn, so he sighs in resignation and yanks open the passenger side door.

“Yes, Bryan,” I tell him firmly. He’s only been with me six months, and I think he’s great. Honestly, I’d have been totally lost without him since my retirement. But we are wildly different people, and sometimes I have to put my foot down before the sass overwhelms us both.

Secretly, the fact he takes zero shit from me is the reason I hired him in the first place and pay him a ridiculous salary. But I’d never tell him that. His ego is already outrageous enough.

The garage door is automatically rising, and I back out into the California sunshine. Usually, the weather would be a guarantee. But after a bone-dry summer, there have been some torrential downpours over the past week that have wreaked havoc across my little hometown of Redwood Bay.

Luckily, the land where I had my new place constructed is a very low-risk flood zone. But I still picked a hell of a week to move in.

I can see why Bryan is confused why I had to jump in the car and get out of here so fast. The movers barely put down the last box. I bet if we hurry, we might even catch up with their trucks.

The truth is that although I’m happy to be back after a couple of decades away and closer to my family once more, the second my front door closed, the silence was deafening and the overwhelming thought of ‘What the hell do I do now?’ threatened to take my knees out like a linebacker.

After spending most of my waking (and often not waking) hours of my adult life with my teammates, I’m more than a little afraid of the solitary life I’m now facing.

Not just that. Once I get used to it, I could probably do with a little peace and quiet after my high-flying career with the Seattle Seahawks.

The problem is I have zero clue what to do with all my newfound free time.

I went straight from school to football.

My days have been carefully structured since I was a little kid.

Now I’m at a loss, just bobbing along like driftwood in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight.

The thought of rattling around that enormous house all by myself is too horrifying to entertain for even a moment.

I’d already looked up the local animal shelter weeks ago, figuring I’d probably want to adopt a pet at some point. My schedule never allowed for it before, but we always had cats and dogs at home when I was growing up. I’ve missed having a four-legged friend around.

It became immediately clear to me, however, once I was actually standing in my new, empty home, that finding some company was more of a priority than I realized it would be.

Sure, Bryan’s going to be hanging around a lot while I get settled in.

But he has his own place in town to get sorted, his own life to live.

He hates when I change plans on a whim, though, and I can feel his haughtiness beside me even with my eyes on the unfamiliar road. “Perhaps you should call ahead and let them know we’re coming?” I suggest by way of an olive branch. He’s always more content when he’s busy.

Sure enough, when I glance over at him, his phone is already pressed to his ear.

It probably was before I even asked him.

“What do you think you pay me for?” he quips with an arched eyebrow, making me snort.

He has a point. “Hi! Yes,” he says suddenly to whoever has obviously just answered on the other end of the line.

“Could I please speak with the manager? No, nothing’s wrong.

My boss is just interested in coming in today.

In fact, we’re driving down now, and well…

I just wanted to make sure that was convenient for you guys and go over a couple of things. ”

I tune out as he begins the delicate matter of explaining who I am.

I don’t need to worry about security for things like this, thank fuck.

After being the team’s star player for so long, it’ll take a few years for the cloud of fame to stop hovering over me quite so persistently.

I used to hate that I couldn’t even go grocery shopping back in Seattle without someone wanting a selfie.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore my fans and understand the responsibility I have to them, not to mention what a privileged position I’ve been in.

But some people can be real jerks with no concept of boundaries.

They act like they know you, that because ‘they made you famous’ they somehow now own you.

People like that don’t understand someone like me can have a bad day and not want to perform on demand like a monkey in a circus.

But without the fame and the fans…who am I anymore?

Without the game consuming my life, what direction do I point myself in?

Sure, Bryan has built on the sponsorship deals I already had, and it’s been fun shooting a couple of different campaigns over the summer.

But I can hardly say that selling cologne or vodka is my passion.

The boundary-challenged fans were an annoying but unavoidable side effect of getting to live my dream. Is it reasonable to hope that I find a new dream? Or have I already had my fair share?

I puff out my cheeks and shake my head. Bryan’s still talking on the phone, so hopefully he hasn’t picked up on my little existential crisis.

I have to cut myself some slack or else I’m going to lose it.

Moving house and potentially adopting a new pet is enough for one day.

Maybe tomorrow I can ponder on who the hell I am and what the hell I’m doing in this new chapter of my life.

I remind myself that a little anonymity is going to be very refreshing. Outside of the football bubble, I’m genuinely not that famous. To be fair, a lot of people like football. But I’m hoping plenty of small-town folks will just treat me like an ordinary guy.

However, Bryan and I both know that as a celebrity, showing up somewhere unannounced where I’m going to need some customer assistance could be a real dick move.

Luckily, it sounds like from his side of the conversation that the shelter currently doesn’t have anyone else visiting the animals and they’re going to do their best to keep it that way for me to have some privacy.

It also seems like the woman Bryan is talking with knows who I am from the couple of high-pitched squeaks I caught down the line.

I’m glad we didn’t just walk in. She might have had a heart attack.

“All good?” I ask once Bryan ends the call.

He narrows his perfectly lined glittery eyes at me from behind his frameless glasses.

“I’d much rather be back at the house coordinating with the interior decorator, but yes, the puppy people are expecting you.

” He sniffs and taps his phone on his thigh.

“If I get anything unsavory on these shoes or anything else, I’m going to sue you. ”

I grin. He threatens to sue me at least twice a week. “It’s a shelter, not a farm. But in the unlikely scenario that you get a spec of dirt on your designer-clad ass, I promise I will pay for the dry cleaning, okay?”

He harrumphs, pretending to still be mad as he stares out the window, but I catch the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. I’m fully aware that he lives for all the shit that I put him through, figuratively and literally.

My new pad is out of town, but Redwood Bay isn’t all that big. It only takes us around fifteen minutes to get where we’re going, and the lot is half empty as I park up my car.

I’ve barely killed the ignition when the front door flies open and a young white woman spills out, almost tripping over her own feet and clutching her hands to her chest, her eyes as big as saucers.

“I’m guessing that’s my new friend, Paisley,” Bryan says dryly, but I chuckle.

As much as fame can be exhausting, I do still get a kick out of seeing unbridled joy on strangers’ faces like that.

Knowing that me throwing a ball around a field was the highlight of some people’s week or the thing that got them out of bed or kept them going when they felt like giving up… it was everything to me.

And now it’s gone.

Nope. Stop that. Game face on.

“Come on, grumpy cat,” I tell my PA with a wink. “If you behave, I’ll give you a nice fishy as a treat after.”

He wrinkles his nose as we close the car doors, and he comes around to my side of the car. “If you mean you’ll get me takeout sushi from that Japanese place that just re-opened, then I promise to keep my claws away.”

“Deal,” I say enthusiastically, already planning dinner from there for myself as well. That way, I won’t even have to bother digging out and washing any plates.

We looked it up earlier, knowing we’d probably need to order in after the move.

If the reviews are anything to go by, the food there has only improved since an earthquake tore through the restaurant.

The fact that the owners got back up on their feet so quickly after a disaster like that only makes me want to support them even more.

Who knows? Maybe it’ll become my new go-to place.

The young woman has been joined by an older Black man.

He’s placed his hand on her shoulder and seems to be gently anchoring her in place as she vibrates.

He has a warm smile as we approach. The way his thumb is looped into the belt around his ample waist and how he rocks slightly on the balls of his feet make him seem relaxed and friendly.

“Mr. Garda,” he says once we’re close enough so he can unhook his thumb and reach out to grip my hand. “It’s a real pleasure to have you here.”

“A real pleasure,” the woman, echoes.

“Please, call me Cassius,” I insist as we shake.

The man chuckles. “Gus, and this little firecracker here is Paisley.”