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“You can’t elope with the president’s daughter,” Josh informs me, putting both hands on his hips. “I’m sure there’s a law against that. You’re going to have a big old wedding where other presidents make toasts.”

Two things can be true at once—I can elope with the president’s daughter while Josh—and the country—waits for us to have what Nick just told me is being referred to as America’s royal wedding.

“Since when do you have so many opinions on weddings?” I break my stance, tossing the ball between my hands before I toss it to the side. “This one’s dead.”

I clap my hands, and Josh snaps another one. I fire at the target, but I’m off half an inch.

“I’m just saying, Fitzy. Probably not the best tone to set with your in-laws to have Elvis officiate your wedding. I’m sure they’re already planning for it to be someone special. You know, like the King of England.”

Grabbing another ball, I set myself up and then bring my arm down. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s on Lo’s list.” Josh shrugs. “Of the important people that will probably be there.”

“Is this what I’m in for when I’m married?” I joke. “What, do the two of you just sit around at night and talk about this kind of stuff?”

Josh lifts a thick arm and scratches his thick, brown beard. “Sometimes we watch documentaries. Did you know Herbert Hoover managed Stanford’s football team as a student? One time he forgot a game ball. Man”—he chuckles—"Foller would’ve had him by the nuts. I love the History Channel though. Where else would you learn that? You should ask your father-in-law to be if he knew that about one of his predecessors.”

I stare blankly but maybe I can’t really talk. Over the past few weeks, Parker and I have averaged a 2000-piece puzzle every two nights. Lame? Totally, yes.

Is it also my favorite time of day? Also, totally yes. Now, I’m no shrink. I really know nothing about OCD or whatever Coach was talking about. But what I do know is Parker seems more rested, a little more at ease, and I’ve been hearing the door checked only once a night, sometimes twice. Even though that comes after I make sure to lock up in front of Parker, I’ll take it. Forward progress gets the win. And, of course, the puzzles give us a little quiet, quality time which I treasure.

But we’re a step up from Josh and Lo. Because Parker and me, we puzzle and plot .

“This stays between you and me,” I tell him. “We’ll go to Vegas a few days after the engagement party.”

Josh’s jaw drops. “You can’t be serious.”

I take another ball from him he’s about to drop. “Dead serious.”

“I won’t be complicit in something that will get me on a government watch list, Fitzy. I take enough hits for you during the season.”

“You’d be my best man,” I offer.

There’s a twitch in Josh’s eye. “Not good enough.”

“Best man isn’t good enough?” My eyes widen. “Do you want to be the groom?”

Josh raises his chin. “I want to officiate.”

“Officiate?”

“Yeah.” Josh folds his arms over his chest. “I’ll get one of those certificates online.”

“Josh, we’re going to Vegas,” I say. “That’s what Elvis is for.”

He narrows his eyes. “You don’t think I can take on the King, Fitzy?”

I really have no good response to that so I’m thankful when my phone dings from the bench by my water bottle.

PARKER

I’m the youngest person here by at least three decades.

After Parker learned I skipped out on a day of camp with the rookie receivers to join her at the charter school, she insisted I don’t miss anything else—mandatory or not. Unfortunately, she made me swear to that just before Madeline informed her she’d be traveling with Candice for a series of campaign events in Florida over a three-day period.

Given the location, this made Parker’s policy of driving herself a bit difficult. The best plan we could draw up involved only riding in a vehicle where Agent Samuels was present, and calling me—whether I could talk or not—every time she was on the go. I don’t even know the guy—neither does Parker—but the familiarity certainly puts her at ease, and thankfully, given that the schedule Madeline shared was down to the minute , we could plan accordingly.

PARKER

You’re lucky you missed out.

The only thing I’m missing is you .

You doing okay?

I push send quickly before I get another message notification from my housekeeper.

By the way, your stuff from Atlanta got here. I put it all in your closet.

I drag my eyes away from the screen when my name is called.

“Fitzy!” my offensive coordinator calls. “They’re looking for you upstairs.”

Josh lets out a low whistle. “Hope you crossed your t ’s and dotted your i ’s on that contract, so at least you’ll get some payout,” he jokes.

I slam the ball against his chest. “Shut up. And remember what I said—keep quiet about Vegas. Don’t even tell Lo until she needs to pack.”

“I know I was kidding about being put on a watch list, but I’m more afraid of my wife.”

That’s about to make two of us.

“And,” Josh continues, “she usually needs three to four business days to pack for a weekend trip.”

Five minutes later, I’m making my way through the Rebels training facility and up the large, open staircase to the second floor, where the real work is done. After all, football is more than a game. It’s a business.

I wave to Heath’s secretary, who tells me to go right in, even though I hear him on the phone. When I walk into his office, he motions at a chair across from his desk, and I only have to wait a few seconds before he hangs up his call.

“That was the commissioner,” Heath informs me.

As a quarterback, the biggest challenge I often have is remaining calm, cool, and collected. But that’s on the field. Not in the general manager’s office.

Heath chuckles. “Relax. You’re fine.”

I sink back into the chair. “I didn’t think I wasn’t.”

“It’s about Foller.”

I guess I’m not .

I shake my head. “I thought this stuff ended months ago.”

“It did and it didn’t,” Heath interjects. “That was a team investigation. The League decided they’ll be looking into it on their own.”

Leaning forward, I balance my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands together. “I thought this was done and over with.”

“Look, Fitzy. I’ve got the owners down my neck on this. I might not see eye to eye with Foller, but I know that, like players have their own playing styles, so do coaches. We make an effort to hold all players to the same standard. We have to with coaches too. I love this team,” Heath says with pride. “I love this organization and its fans. But you have to understand, I’ve been through the wringer to rebuild its reputation well before you got here.”

Heath is referring to a few seasons ago, when some of the Rebels lived up to their name, becoming a PR nightmare. Their franchise quarterback was involved in organizing and hosting a dogfighting ring. One lineman was charged with domestic abuse. A receiver had a DUI two days before a playoff game.

He continues, “It isn’t always easy to remind people that football is a wholesome sport. That it’s about toughness and grit, sure. But it’s about heart in taking care of your teammates—your brothers—on and off the field. Hard to do that when there’s noise about the coach being, well, not a very wholesome guy.”

“That coach won you a Super Bowl a few months ago.”

“He benched last year’s league MVP too. And for what? Because he wouldn’t hit his teammate hard enough during practice ahead of the game?” Heath sighs.

Lifting a hand, I cut Heath off, “With all respect, Heath, let’s call a spade a spade. Football is a tough sport. Physically, mentally, all of it. If you aren’t prepped for that, you’ll never win. You can get in shape all you want. You can lift weights until the cows come home. But you’ll never be tough here”—I tap my temple—“if no one teaches you.”

“Teaching toughness and beating it into you are two different things, Fitzy.”

“We’re not talking physical abuse for god’s sake.”

Heath lifts a thick, white eyebrow. “If we were, would you feel differently?”

I look off to the side. I don’t consider things like yelling and name-calling on par with clocking someone across the face. And I’d like Heath to show me one professional coach who doesn’t do those things at one point or another in his career. Because it seems what he doesn’t get—or he’s too worried to accept because of how it looks—is that tough coaches make tough players.

And tough players win him championships.

“Fitz, let me tell you something. You? Your guys? They work for Foller. But they play for you.”

I swallow.

“And, what I’m wondering is if you think you can carry this team without Foller. At least until we figure out a new head coach.”

My eyes bulge and Heath lifts his hand. “Nothing is happening today. No one is getting fired. But I wouldn’t prepare you unless I thought it might be a possibility.”

I’ve played under other coaches, sure. I’ve never been more successful under them either. This past season was record-breaking for me in so many ways.

Heath leans forward on his desk. “I know we’ve got camp coming up, and you’re used to talking to media.”

I nod. Being the face of the team is part of my job.

“But,” Heath continues, “this year, do me a favor? Stay clear from any pressers. I’ll have PR handle it, but when you’re done with practice, go clean up without saying a word to anyone. Because when it gets out that the League is looking into Foller, well, it’s going to become not about football, and you, being his prized possession, you’re the window into it.”

“I could just say no comment,” I offer.

Heath shakes his head. “No. No, it’s part of my job, Fitzy, to protect you. You might be our QB1, but you’re not a scapegoat, no matter which way this goes.”

I chew on the inside of my lip. “Does Coach know about this?”

“I’ll be speaking with him this evening and let him know the League’s ethics committee has reached out.”

A seconds-long stare down happens between the two of us, and I can see the way Heath’s mouth shifts, as if he’s chewing on his words. I have a feeling I know where this is going.

“Can I be honest? I don’t like the guy.”

I guess now I can add another to Nick and Parker’s team.

“But you do,” he adds. “And I like you. I trust you. Way back in the draft, I wanted you on this team. We just didn’t have a high enough pick to get you before the Bulls did. You’ve got good instincts, Fitz. And I get that you’re loyal to Foller”—he holds a hand up to stop me when I try to interject—“but I’d be doing you a disservice if I didn’t remind you that you should be loyal to the team first. Because here’s the thing. When this investigation was in-house, I could protect you. But now it’s out of my hands, and if the League’s commissioner finds something he doesn’t like and you’re tied to him the way you are and the media runs with it, they’re going to lead with every positive thing you’ve ever said about this guy. And that will be damaging.”

“I’m a loyal Rebel.” Even with the tension, the words make me smile. “But you’ve got to understand Foller coached me up since I was a kid, this guy took me under his wing. I mean, Heath, he was at our table for dinner once a week in high school.”

Heath’s face drops. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“What’s that?”

“When we realize the ones we idolize aren’t deserving of it?”

I won’t let this go. “I’d run through a wall for the guy even if I didn’t play for him.”

Heath claps his hands together, signaling we’re done here. “Let’s leave it at that then. The League will do its thing and everything proceeds as normal. But this conversation stays between us.”

The read here isn’t that I shouldn’t just not blab to my teammates. He doesn’t want me talking to Foller about any of it.

When Heath stands, so do I. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Good man,” he says, walking around his desk and giving me a firm pat to my shoulder. “I figured you’ve got other things on your mind these days anyway.” Heath reaches for a folded-up paper, handing it to me.

ALL RHODES LEAD TO A WHITE HOUSE WEDDING.

“Just don’t forget that we need them to lead to another Rebels Super Bowl too.”