Most Valuable Playboy

I can’t decipher what that means, and I decide to stop trying.

I stop thinking about everything I can’t control. Violet’s feelings. My job situation. Ford’s state of mind. Trent’s potential reaction. Where I’ll be next year. The one thing I can control is what happens on the gridiron, and when we get the ball back, I am in the zone. Namely, the end zone.

Twice.

As the team trots to the locker room at halftime, I’m one of the last guys to head inside. I’m keenly aware that someone’s right behind me, and that gruff-voiced someone determines my future.

“Cooper.”

It’s Greenhaven. He takes two big strides to catch up, and we walk side by side through the tunnel. “Did I ever tell you the story of how I met my wife?”

“No, sir.”

“I met Emily at a barbecue thirty years ago, when I’d first started with Phoenix. I wore a team jersey. As I flipped a burger on the grill, she asked if I was a Phoenix fan.”

I look at him, waiting for him to continue.

“She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Know what I told her?”

“No, sir.”

“I told her I was an assistant coach on the team.”

I furrow my brow. If memory serves, he wasn’t the assistant coach thirty years ago. Assistant coach is a key position, one he worked his way up to. But that wasn’t how he’d started. “You weren’t, though, right?”

He shakes his head as we walk, our footsteps echoing. “Not in the least. Know what my job really was?”

“What was it, sir?”

“I was the assistant to the coach,” he says with a lopsided grin.

I dare to let a smile spread on my face, since there’s a world of difference between an assistant coach and the assistant to the coach. “Is that so?”

“Have I mentioned how pretty she was?”

“I believe you did.”

“But she was more than pretty. She stole my heart. I think that’s why Emily forgave me when I admitted on our second date that I’d fibbed,” he says as we reach the inside corridor of the stadium. He stops and clasps my upper arm. “I appreciate your candor. And I value it, Cooper.”

Then he strides into the locker room, where he gives his halftime speech to keep it up, and that’s exactly what we do.

We’re on fire the rest of the game, scoring a field goal and two more touchdowns. A calm, focused energy fills me with each drive. When the clock ticks to nothing at the end of the fourth quarter, the Renegades erupt with elation because we fucking made it to the playoffs.

Holy shit.

That’s when the emotions explode. That’s when exhilaration overwhelms me. We punch the air. We hug it out. We shout and hoot and holler. There’s still so much more work to be done, but for now, I let myself enjoy this moment, even though I can’t believe we pulled this off. Three years of warming the bench, a terrible start to the season, and here in late December on enemy territory, we’re celebrating a wild-card spot and a kickass record.

Later, when the cameras stop rolling and the cheers die down, there’s one person I want to call first.





32





I call my mom.

Obviously.

Who else would I call first?

She’s the reason I’m here. She’s the reason I have a chance at the post-season. She’s done everything for me.

“Hey, Mom, if I win the Super Bowl, want me to get you another house?”

She screams in excitement, so loudly I pull the phone from my ear. Then, she laughs. “Just a new Coach handbag and my favorite Chinese food, please. And I knew you’d make it to the post-season, sweetie. I just knew it.”

“Funny how a lot of people say that, but you actually said that when I was seven,” I say as I make my way toward the stadium exit, pressing the phone closer again.

“And eight, and nine, and ten, and so on. When will I see you again?”

“I’m heading back tonight. I can try to stop by tomorrow, but it’s a tight week since we’re the Thursday night game of the week.”

“You know where to find me, and you also know how to get me tickets on the fifty-yard line for Thursday night, so why don’t I plan on seeing you then?”

“It’s a date.”

“Besides, there’s someone you should see first.”

“Yeah, who’s that?”

She laughs. “Might it be a pretty little lady who you’ve had your eye on since you were a teenager?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say as I near the exit.

“Right. Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Incidentally, I always knew there was something real between the two of you.”

My chest twists when she says that. “You did?”

“I did,” she says, with a smile in her voice. “I could tell you two liked each other. I could tell at the game last week, and I could tell back in high school.”

I want to believe every word she’s saying, but I also don’t know if I can.

“Mom, I’m not sure it’s real for her.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’m serious. I don’t know if she’d get seriously involved with a guy like me.”

She scoffs. “You mean handsome, talented, rich, kind, and good?”

I laugh. “More specifically, I meant someone who’s married to football. That’s what Trent said about me last time I saw him. Do you think it’s true?”

“In many ways, you are, and that’s not a bad thing. What would be bad is not letting her know how much she means to you.”

I heave a sigh. “Why are you always right?”

“It’s a gift. It comes with being a mom,” she says with a light laugh.

I tell her I love her, then I hang up, and open Violet’s contact info.

Telling Violet how I feel isn’t as simple as it sounds, though. How do I convince her there’s room for both her and this other great love in my life? But more so, how do I even know if she wants to make room for me in her life? Not to mention, what the hell do I say to her brother?

I’m not sure I have the answers, but maybe the cross-country flight will give me time to sort them out. For now, I want to hear her voice.

I call her as the security guard opens the door that leads to the lot with our bus. She answers on the second ring. Her voice is a little hoarse. “The time you threw the touchdown pass in the fourth quarter against Baltimore in the game that sealed the wild card. That’s my new favorite play of the season.”

I laugh, remembering when we first played boyfriend–girlfriend Jeopardy! “Funny, that’s mine, too,” I say, mouthing a thank you to the security guard. I stop in my tracks when something wet lands on my forehead. Then my cheek. Then my hair. “It’s snowing.”

“It is?” she asks, with wonder in her voice. We don’t get snow in San Francisco.

I hold up my palm. “Holy shit. These are some fat flakes. I had no idea it was snowing. Guess that’s what happens when you play under the dome.”

“By the way, your play under the dome was amazing. My voice is shot from screaming in excitement at the TV,” she says.

“You sound like a frog. A sexy frog. Speaking of, can I see your sexy frog-ness when I return?”

“Ribbit,” she says by way of answer.

“I take it that’s a yes.”

She croaks out a yes.