He smiles slowly, sitting back. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
There’s a prayer after breakfast. Something blessing the food to our bodies and asking for a good day on the field free of injuries. I’m not a religious guy but I bow my head and close my eyes out of respect. Any kind of luck we can get to stay injury free I’m down with participating in. After breakfast we have some time to grab our gear and get on the bus heading to the stadium. Avery told me on my first day with the team that the last thing I want to do is miss the bus. You have to get to the stadium on your own after that and everyone knows you weren’t there. Everyone knows you’re not synced with the team.
I get there early, picking a seat near the back. I’m not surprised to find Matthews already there. His hood is up on his sweatshirt, bulged at the ears by his headphones. He nods in time with the beat. He stops only for a second to jut his chin to acknowledge me before he’s back at it, his eyes distant as always.
I can’t get a read on whether or not he’s happy to be back with the Kodiaks. Sloane and Hollis made it seem like he would be, but you’d never know it to look at him. You’d never know anything by looking at him, other than he’s breathing. He’s awake. His face gives nothing away even on the field and I wonder if I’m the real Iceman on the team or if he isn’t bound and determined to take my title.
The bus fills up slowly. It grows louder with every member; fifty-three guys total spread out over two buses. That’s not including the coaching or support staff. Over a hundred and fifty people travel with the team from managers to owners to video staff, and medical. The only ones left behind are the cheerleaders, much to Colt’s dismay.
Some of the trainers get on our bus to walk the aisles, handing out waters and asking if we need anything. They’ll look us over at the stadium, taping ankles and hands, bracing joints, but for now they’re making sure we’re comfortable. Calm. Ready.
I smile at Luxe when she wanders my way. Short and petite with long brown hair, big green eyes, and caramel skin, she can’t be any older than Sloane, probably twenty-three or twenty-four. She’s here on an internship program straight out of college. She’s certified as an athletic trainer but she has plans to be a head trainer for an NFL team. Landing this internship with the Kodiaks is a dream come true for her.
“Water?” she asks, offering me a bottle from the bag sitting heavy on her shoulder. “It’s lukewarm, just like you like it.”
I take it with a nod. “Thanks.”
“How’s the hand?”
“Solid as always.”
“Amazing how quickly you recovered from your ‘surgery’.”
I grin. “What can I say? I’m a medical mystery.”
“It looks that way. I asked to see the x-rays from before and after the surgery, and do you know what I saw? The same x-ray, double dated. Isn’t that weird?” she asks knowingly.
“Clerical error. Happens all the time.”
She chuckles in disbelief. “Well, let me look at it before you suit up, alright? Maybe we’ll tape it just for fun. Keep ‘em guessing.”
“You got it, Luxe.”
She wanders away, handing out waters to the rest of the bus. I watch for her for a second too long, feeling strangely guilty about it after the fact. And I’m not the only one who noticed.
“I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”
I gape at Matthews, shocked to hear him speak up about anything. “Why’s that?”
“She’s from a big Hispanic family. Three brothers. All into football. All defensive lineman. They’d tear your head off if you touched her.”
“Luxe has brothers? I didn’t know that.” I frown at him. “How the hell did you know that?”
He snorts a laugh, turning away from me. “I’m quiet, not deaf, dumbass.”
October 1st
Ashford Agency
Los Angeles, CA
Trey has a stalker. Low level, unimpressive. Someone who shows up at the agency once a week asking to see him. We send her away every time with a handful of hard candies from the front desk and a polite invitation to never come back. Her name is Sandy and she’s forty-seven years old. She’s convinced she’s going to marry Trey. All the luck in the world to her on that one.
“She’s sweet,” I muse, picking a red Jolly Rancher out of the bowl on the reception desk. Sandy hates the red ones. She says they make her tongue feel heavy.
“As far as stalkers go, yeah,” Rhonda agrees vaguely. “She’s alright.”
“At least she’s not like that one guy’s, the NBA player with the hair. You know who I’m talking about?”
“Carlton.”
“That’s him. His stalker is freaky.”
“No shit. She sends dead flowers every month on the same day. Something about the moon-cycle. I don’t know.”
“Could be worse. Could be toenail clippings.”
“Shut your mouth! You’ll jinx me.” She shudders theatrically. “I’m the idiot who has to open all of these things. There was a dead bird once.”