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Ricky and I are the same height and build, but he has bright red hair, brown eyes, and pale skin covered in freckles. I’m a little faster than he is, and my secret weapon is Garrett covering my ass and helping me make the plays that keep the commentators talking.

“Like you know anything, Grizz.” He looks past Garrett. “Where’s Natalia?”

This guy is always swimming in my wake.

“I left her at Galileo’s. She might still be there if you’re interested.”

“I heard she spent last month on a yacht in the Mediterranean with some Greek mogul.” Ricky smirks. “And now ESPN has you trailing me in the MVP race. It really is a drag getting old.”

“It’s better than the alternative.” I slap his shoulder, not interested in engaging any further.

“And by alternative he means you .” Garrett points at him, a laugh in his voice, and he’s vibrating, hoping Ricky is dumb enough to take a swing at one of us.

He’s always up for a good bar brawl—because he always wins.

I put my hand on my friend’s shoulder. “Meet at your place at ten, right?” Turning to Ricky, I tip my head. “Natalia’s all yours.”

I don’t bother adding if it’s not too late , since she does have Aristotle on standby. Hell, he’s probably fine. She’s looking for a second dick anyway, and this guy is made to order.

Garrett can’t let it go that easy. The little waitress walks up, and he wraps an arm across her back.

“Wendy, I’m sorry we have to leave you with this guy. He’s a real piece of work, and a bad tipper.” He grips Ricky’s shoulder. “Try to resist the urge to spit in his drink.”

“Hey!” Ricky’s brown eyes widen in horror, but Wendy only laughs, waving him away.

“He’s full of shit. Just look at that grin.” She points up at my friend.

Garrett puts a hand over his chest like he’s shot through the heart, but it’s all an act.

I slip an extra twenty under our check just in case Wendy actually does get stiffed on her tips tonight. Then I drag him out of the bar ready to pack and see what the place he’s always raving about looks like up close and personal.

An hour later, I’m in the plush leather front seat of his maxed-out, gunmetal F-150 racing south on Interstate 95 with the radio quietly playing country music.

We’re facing a day-long drive, and I’m booking a room for us to crash in North Carolina. It’s the first time I’ve made a road trip like this since I moved to the city, if ever.

“I saw you slip Wendy that extra tip.” He glances at me, returning his eyes to the road.

I stretch in my chair, doing my best to get comfortable. We’re going to be here a while. “You made me worry about her.”

That makes him chuckle. “You’re a good man, LL. I knew it the day I met you, even if you do approach the world with your guard up.”

“Likewise.”

“This is just what you need.” Garrett glances at the lights of New York City in the rearview mirror. “Newhope will clear your head, get you back to square one, the basics.”

“Does the chamber of commerce have you on the payroll?” I tease because I love.

Garrett is the poster boy for his hometown. It’s all he talks about, but the truth is, at this point, I’m up for anything to kick me out of this funk.

I think about what he’s told me in the few times we’ve spent together, shooting the shit. He lost his mom young, like I did. He’s one of four brothers—all football stars—and a little sister. Although besides Garrett, only his brother Hendrix is still in the game.

I don’t know Hendrix well, but we’ve met. He plays for a team in Los Angeles, and he’s a bit of a rockstar tight end.

His second oldest brother Zane was a career kicker forced to retire last year after getting nailed pretty bad during a fake field goal. It was a dramatic injury, his foot dangling at the end of his leg like a freak show while he roared in pain.

It’s the kind of injury you like to pretend could never happen when you’re headed onto the field each week, and they played it on reruns every five minutes. Fuck, I still get chills remembering it.

“Jack said he’ll be picking his fall lineup while we’re in town.” Garrett’s large hand is propped on the top of his steering wheel, and he has a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. “I told him we could help him out, maybe give the boys a pep talk.”

His oldest brother is a retired star quarterback from Texas. I remember watching Jack Bradford on the field and wondering how anyone with that much talent could ever retire. He did, though, at the top of his game. A legend.

Now he coaches high school ball. Friday night lights.

“Sure. Whatever he needs.” I glance out the dark window wondering what my nineteen-year-old self would think of meeting Jack Bradford in the flesh.

Then I travel back a bit more, wondering what I would say to my fifteen-year-old self today. What would he even be able to hear? Certainly not that life at the top isn’t as great as it looks from the bottom. Or that no matter where you go, there you are.

Hell, maybe I’m just depressed. I haven’t slept with a woman in a long time, and the last time I did, it was with someone who was more interested in her social media following. I’m not being a hater. There was a time it was all I cared about, too.

“Dylan said Zane is laying low, but he’s healing fine.” My friend’s jaw tightens, and he shakes his head. “It’s going to be the first time I’ll have seen him since that accident, and it was a fucking nightmare.”

“Tell me about it.” My lips tighten, and my stomach cramps.

It’s a big switch to go from the nonstop schedule of a big game every week, seven months out of the year, traveling all over the country, being a celebrity to a certain segment of the population, to nothing.

Full stop.

From the roar of a stadium, to dead silence. Forgotten.

I’ve heard guys talk about the shock of retirement, and I’m not going to lie, I’m not looking forward to it. Even if I have been floating the possibility of this being my last year. It all depends on that trophy, even if that trophy means more to my dad than it does to me.

“That just leaves Dylan, but she’ll be working at the restaurant most days.” Nodding, I picture a kid living on the coast in south Alabama.

My mind travels a thousand miles down the dark road ahead of us, far from the lights of Manhattan. I think about the life I left behind when I graduated from UT.

Taking out my phone, I pull up my contacts and select my father’s name. In the glow of the dashboard light, I text him what I’ve been thinking for weeks.

I’m not going back there.