The Crush (39)

But I didn’t. Because it wasn’t fair.

After four months, I learned to live with the cracks, walk carefully over them so that I didn’t cause further damage.

But it was that month, at the tip of the heat of the summer, when everything shifted again.





Emmett



“I don’t want to have this conversation again, Ward.”

I set my jaw, staring down my head coach and the GM. They both looked exhausted, and given I’d tracked them down every single week for the last four months, they would look exhausted at the sight of me.

“Neither do I,” I told him.

“Then how about you stop interrupting our weekly meeting and drop it?”

“We’re gonna have this conversation until I make headway,” I told them. “He is making bad long-term decisions, and he refuses to talk to me about my future here.”

Coach Lopez eyed me from the chair where he sat with his arms folded. “You mean the future you don’t want to have here,” he said.

I took a deep breath, clasping my hands tightly where they hung between my legs. “You have solutions for this position outside of me. You have two backups who would fit incredibly well into the system we’ve built.” I held his gaze. “If anything, Darius is a better runner than I am. Given our trades have weakened our O-line, he’d probably do even better than I can when the pocket collapses.”

“You trying to give someone else your job?”

I let out a deep breath. “No. As long as I am here and wearing this jersey, I will do everything in my power to win games.”

“We’ve won a lot together.”

At Coach’s statement, I nodded. There was no disputing it.

Don, our long-term GM, stayed silent, twirling his fancy pen and generally looking bored with the entire conversation. He probably was bored. The first time I asked if they would go to Ned for me and ask if he’d entertain offers from another team, I got an earful of choice four-letter words that just about blistered the paint off the wall.

Don, just like Adaline, did not like being surprised.

Coach Lopez pinched the bridge of his nose, and I recognized his expression. It was the look he got on his face when we did something stupid in practice or when a rookie ran the wrong route, and I threw an interception. It was the look of someone who couldn’t control any facet of what was laid out in front of him.

“What do you want us to do, Ward?” Don asked. He steepled his hands over his stomach and gave me a droll look. “We’ve acknowledged your request. Just like we’ve done every single week. There’s no motivation on our side to let you go, and we know you well enough that you’d never sabotage the team in order to get a bigger offer somewhere else.”

My chin rose a notch. “It’s not about the money.”

He raised a hand. “So you keep saying. But we’re not stupid. If Washington had the chance to get you wearing their home colors, they’d sacrifice half their roster.”

“No, they wouldn’t.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise, probably because my tone hardened beyond what I normally allowed when I talked to the people who ran our team. I had the utmost respect for the jobs they did. Balancing hundreds of personalities, billions of dollars of revenue, trying to piece together a winning team out of tangible data and intangible realities.

Coach sighed, sensing the tension shift. “We get why you’d feel defensive, but you’re hardly unbiased when it comes to Washington.”

“I’m not saying that because I’m biased. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Don narrowed his eyes. “The owner, she’s your … aunt or whatever, right? Dad’s the defensive coach, and everyone knows he’s going to step into the head coach role as soon as this one retires. No need to feed us your brainwashed bullshit. They’re hardly perfect over there.”

“Allie Sutton-Pierson is my godmother,” I corrected. “And I never said they were perfect.”

“Yet you want to run back there.”

It wouldn’t help my case to explain anything. They wouldn’t care.

Coach might. He genuinely cared about his players. But like everyone else—except Ned—he had a boss to answer to.

My hands clenched, muscles tight with restless, angry energy that I’d need to work out in the weight room after this. “All I’m asking is a chance to talk it through with Ned. He’s never here when I am. I always check with his office, and they always tell me that he doesn’t have time to meet with me.”

“Why do you think that is?” Coach asked. His face was weary. “He doesn’t want you going anywhere. You’re the reason he took over a winning team when his dad passed him the reins. He’s pinning all his Super Bowl hopes on you.”

“So he avoids meeting with his quarterback? Springs the media on me when I do so we can’t have a private conversation? Solid leadership strategy.” I raised a challenging eyebrow. “What kind of brainwashed bullshit is that exactly?”

Don was unamused. “Listen, we sit and talk to you every fucking week, Ward. But the attitude doesn’t help.”

“Help what?” I spread my arms out. “I’m not bringing attitude anywhere else. Am I undermining the locker room? Am I sabotaging the team? I’ve been in that weight room more than any other person this off-season. My conditioning has never been better. I’ve taken more reps with the receivers than any off-season before this.”