Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I refrain, of course. But only because I’m determined to get better at impulse control.
Coach waggles his finger up at me. “Now don’t make me look like a fool for giving you this last chance, Luca, or I swear to God, I’ll personally wring your neck with my bare hands.”
“You won’t regret this, Coach. I promise.”
“There’s a certain person in operations who lobbied hard for me to cut your ass last night,” he says. “Please, Luca, prove him wrong for both of us, son, because I don’t want to be the one eating crow between the two of us.”
Walker Bellamy.
That’s the identity of my would-be assassin, no doubt about it. And it only makes me hate the blowhard asshole even more. I already hated him for dangling an operations job in Chelsea’s face that was wholly dependent on something she couldn’t control. But now, I have reason to hate him even more.
“I won’t let you down,” I grit out. “You can count on me, Coach.”
Coach looks deeply skeptical. “Sit back down, Luca.”
I do as I’m told.
“You need to get your demons under control, son. To do that, you’re going to make a month’s worth of appointments with the team psychologist. That’s not a suggestion. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re also going to study film and the playbook like your life depends on it, every fucking day, and you’re going to bust your ass in every practice and scrimmage like never before, without getting sidetracked by Moriarty or anyone or anything else.”
“Yes, sir. I promise, Coach.”
“Focus, focus, focus, Luca! Prove yourself a changed man for as long as it takes. And maybe, just maybe, if something happens and we need someone with your skill set during the season, your name will be the one that gets called.”
My chest expands sharply. “Thank you for the chance.”
“It’s your very last one, Luca.”
“Yes, sir.”
Coach stands and extends his hand to me across the large desk, so I rise and shake it, feeling a mixture of relief and resolve. Gratitude and embarrassment. But mostly, determination.
As I turn toward the door, my thoughts immediately turn to Chelsea. Obviously, the plan I’d concocted weeks ago to confess my love to her on Roster Day is dead in the water now. If she couldn’t openly date a guy on the bubble during training camp and preseason, she sure as shit can’t date a practice squad player.
If you love someone, set them free.
The thought pops into my head, unbidden.
It’s something my mother says now and again. And right now, her words are hitting me like a ton of bricks.
Shit.
As much as it’s going to destroy me to set Chelsea Parker free, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. The poor girl bet on the wrong horse, unfortunately, and she’s paid dearly for it. So now, I’m going to make sure she ditches my ass and flies free, like she should have done a very long time ago if only, through no fault of her own, her wagon hadn’t gotten hitched to a loser like me.
CHAPTER 30
Luca
“WE LOVE YOU so much, honey,” Mom says, her voice cracking, and everyone on the call echoes her sentiment.
“I’ve got to go now,” I croak out.
When I bolted from Coach Parker’s office a few minutes ago, I headed straight for the not-yet-remodeled section of the facility—the old, shabby part that’s straight out of the eighties—since it’s hardly in use. In short order, I found this old equipment storage room, the place busted tackling dummies and broken training sleds come to die, and locked myself inside it, grateful I’d found a hiding spot where I could call my family and surrender to my emotions in private. Of course, I scoured the room for security cameras, just in case, and when it was obvious the coast was clear, I leaned against a large rack of banged-up helmets and sobbed my eyes out like a toddler.
After a while, once I was finally able to control my emotions, I forced myself to be a good son and brother and call my family, even though talking to anybody about my soul-crushing news, even my family, was the last thing I wanted to do. But now that I’ve delivered the news of my life’s latest failure, I can’t get off this call fast enough.
With a curt goodbye, I disconnect the call, eager to banish all those anguished faces on my screen, and after stuffing my phone into my pocket, I wipe at my wet cheeks and eyes with my T-shirt and breathe deeply to get ahold of myself.
Once I’m not in danger of crying again, I wipe my face one more time and head to the door, eager to make my clean getaway from the facility. God help me, please don’t let anybody see me between here and my rental car in the parking lot.