Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(86)

He closed the door and took a seat beside Clayton Barnes, the quarterback coach who’d joined the team last year. Clayton reached over to shake his hand, but said nothing. No smiles, no friendly winks, nothing.

The worst they can do is cut you.

Coach Jordan glanced at his wall a moment, as if still gathering his thoughts. His naturally tanned skin—thanks to his Hawaiian ancestry—seemed even darker. Likely he’d been on vacation with his two teenage daughters, one of whom Josh was pretty sure should be heading to college this summer. He followed his coach’s gaze to the wall of photos. There were ones of his two teenagers, when they were younger. A few of him and the girls with his now-ex-wife. Awkward. And a few newer additions with Cassie Wainwright—now Cassie Owens—his daughter from a past relationship with whom he’d only recently connected.

In the center of the grouping was a large photo of Cassie, her father, and two sisters on Cassie and Trey’s wedding day. The bride wore white, and a smile that could light up the Bobcats stadium for Monday Night Football.

“Nice picture,” he said, because the silence was killing him. When Coach glanced at him, he pointed to the wedding photo. “She looks happy.”

That brought out a small smile on his stern face. “She was gorgeous. Prettiest bride you could ask for. Perfect day.”

Josh nodded, because it was polite. He hadn’t been there—hadn’t been invited, not that he minded. No way could the couple invite the whole team, and while he and Trey—the Bobcats’ star quarterback—were friendly given their positions, they weren’t really friends.

“That brings me to what we need to discuss.” Settling back in his chair, Coach Jordan steepled his hands together and tapped his chin a few times.

The worst they can do is cut you.

“Cassie and Trey are currently on their honeymoon,” he went on. “They delayed the trip because Cassie had some conferences and such. Nerd Herd stuff.” Josh nodded again. “There was an . . . incident.”

Josh blinked, then looked over at Coach Barnes. But the quarterback coach simply sat, stone-faced.

“Incident?” He wiped his hands on his jeans again. “Is everyone okay?”

“Nothing life threatening. Cassie is fine. I’d have had to kill him if he brought my daughter back hurt,” the coach muttered. “But no, the injury was Trey’s.”

Those hands that had continued to sweat started to feel clammy. “Nothing major, I hope.”

“A sprain,” Coach Barnes said, sounding annoyed more than upset. “Left ankle. Who tells a multimillion-dollar quarterback hang gliding is a good idea?”

“Easy,” Coach Jordan said. Coach Barnes glared, but settled back in his chair. “It’s a pretty bad sprain. We can hope he’ll be back for Game One.”

Josh nodded again.

“You get where he’s going with this?” Coach Barnes asked.

“Uh . . . Trey’s hurt.” Barnes gave him a disbelieving look. “But he’s going to be okay. Right?”

“It’s a sprain. His foot didn’t fall off.” Coach Barnes looked at Coach Jordan with a What’s with this guy? look.

“We can’t guarantee he will be back by the first game. He definitely won’t be playing in the preseason matchups. So that means we’re looking at you to carry us forward.”

Josh froze, looking between the two coaches. “I’m sorry, what?”

Coach Barnes just rolled his eyes.

Coach Jordan seemed to have found some Zen in the whole thing. “Leeman, we’re saying you’re our go-to guy right now.”

“But you’re looking for a replacement. Right?” His hands started to shake, so he shoved them in the pockets of his jeans. “To step in.”

“You are the replacement. It’s what you’re paid for,” Barnes snapped.

“With Trey only missing preseason, and maybe a game or two, we don’t feel it’s prudent to grab another quarterback at this time,” Coach Jordan said more diplomatically. Then he paused. “That’s code for ‘It’s not in the budget.’”

He could respect a budget. He was raised with the words “it’s not in the budget” being a weekly mantra from his single mother.

“So you’re it.” Coach Barnes stood and slapped him on the shoulder. “I hope you’re ready for the spotlight. Because when it becomes news Owens isn’t starting Game One, you’re going to be the person everyone starts watching. Closely.” He stood and left without another word.

Coach Jordan just gave him a wan smile. “We told you this now, in May, so you’re ready to put your nose to the grindstone in July for training camp. Don’t put on twenty pounds of fat we have to work off of you before you’re any good to us.”

“Yeah. Sure. Right.” He was nodding again like a damned bobblehead. “Don’t get fat. Got it.”

“Stay healthy. Stay in shape. And for the love of God, don’t go hang gliding.” His coach motioned to the door with his head, and Josh was dismissed.

As he walked back down the hallway, he paused in front of the 1989 Super Bowl championship Bobcats team photo. He took in the mullets, the pornstaches, the out-of-control curls . . . and wanted to vomit.

Apparently, cutting him wasn’t the worst thing they could do.