Jackson had ended his call with his old coach five minutes ago, but he still held his cell phone, staring blindly down at it.

It was happening. Not immediately, obviously. He needed to give Oxford at least two weeks’ notice. And then he’d have to figure out what to do with this damn penthouse. Figure out where to live once he got back to Texas. He’d need a new truck.

But within a month, he’d be back.

Not as a player. Never as a player. But he’d be back on the field. Be back with the team. Back to where there was decent barbecue. And beer. And actual backyards. He’d be back with his friends. With his favorite local restaurants, which let him sit in a back booth where nobody could bother him.

And hell, once this Oxford magazine article came out, he might even get some of his dignity back. Not that everyone would read it, and those who read it might not believe him, but there wasn’t much he could do about that.

It had occurred to him that now that he had his team back, courtesy of Madison coming clean with Coach, he didn’t even have to do the article. The only reason he’d agreed in the first place was the stipulation that he clean up his image before he’d even be considered for the position.

But Jackson surprised himself by wanting to do it. He was tired of the weight of the lies and the assumptions and the complete bullshit.

He might be going back to his old life, but he wanted a clean slate too. A clean slate with no scandal, no New York, no stupid suits . . .

No Mollie.

Mollie.

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since she’d walked out of his apartment. Out of his life.

They’d been the longest hours of his life. He’d spent all of yesterday a zombie. At one point he’d found himself staring at the front door as though he could will her to come back through it with all that bright energy and goodness.

And love.

He wanted her love back even though he didn’t deserve it even a little bit.

But she hadn’t come.

He’d gone to bed early in hopes of finding some relief from the pain, but that hadn’t worked either. He’d lain in bed for hours before giving up and going to her bed. Her bed, which still smelled like her. In her room, which still had all of her belongings.

He’d gazed at the ceiling, wondering if he should give her the apartment. Wondering if that would make her hate him less, even as he knew it wouldn’t make him hate himself less. At dawn Jackson had given up on sleep.

Now he leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to get back to Texas. Trying to imagine how it would feel when he stepped off that plane. How it would feel when he stepped onto the field.

How it would feel when he could come home after a long day, and . . .

His eyes opened.

And what? Pop open a can of beer, watch a game? Was that enough? Would it matter if he had all of the things he wanted but nobody to share it with?

Jackson cursed and tossed his phone aside before leaning forward and burying his head in his hands. How the fuck had this happened? How had one girl turned his entire life upside down in just a few weeks?

Although that wasn’t entirely accurate, he realized. This thing with Mollie had been building for years. Not romantically, of course, but she’d always been important. And then he’d seen her in that damn little red dress, and she’d gone from important to . . .

Everything.

Mollie was everything.

So what the hell are you doing, man?

Jackson’s phone vibrated with an incoming call, and his heart leaped in hopes that it might be her. He swallowed his disappointment when he realized it was only the doorman of his building.

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Burke, I have Cole Sharpe and Penelope Pope here to see you.”

Jackson frowned. What the hell were Sharpe and Pen doing at his place on a Sunday?

“Sure. Send ’em up,” he said.

A few moments later, he opened his door to a duo of very grim-looking colleagues.

No, not just colleagues. Friends. Cole and Penelope were his friends. Good friends, although they looked good and pissed at him now.

“You’re an idiot,” Cole said as he shoved past Jackson and made his way to Jackson’s fridge. “I’m having one of your beers. Pen?”

“Nah, I’m good,” she said. She touched Jackson’s forearm briefly as he shut the front door. “You okay?”

He glanced down at her big brown eyes, which were almost always smiling. But not now.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you let a girl you’re obviously crazy about walk away?”

He froze. “How the hell—”

Cole shook his head as he popped the cap off the beer. “Don’t even question it, man. You’re one of us now. No more secrets.”

One of us. Jackson felt a surge of happiness, until he remembered that Cole was dead wrong. He wasn’t one of them. He was a Redhawk. He was . . .

Fuck. He didn’t know what he was.

“Mollie called Riley,” Penelope explained. “And Riley called—”

“Everyone,” Cole finished.

Penelope shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Are you shitting me, Burke? You’re leaving us?” Cole said.

Jackson met the other man’s eyes. He was braced to see anger, but instead saw confused disappointment, and that was worse. So much worse.

“I want my life back,” Jackson said.

“Right,” Cole said. “And what is it that you’ve been doing for the past few months? Just a vacation?”

“No, it’s just . . . I don’t belong here,” he said a little desperately. “Surely you guys must see that?”

Penelope pursed her lips and shook her head. “Not really.”

Jackson’s eyes dropped to the enormous duffle bag on her shoulder. “Moving in?”

She gave the bag a pat. “More like helping Mollie move out.”

His heart twisted. “How is she?”

She gave him a look as though to say, How do you think she is? before pointing down the hall. “Her room’s this way?”

He wanted to rip the bag off Penelope’s shoulder and throw it out the window. Instead he forced himself to nod. “Last door on the right.”

Penelope started to head that way.

“Where is she staying?” he asked, unable to stop himself. “Is she okay?”

“Riley and Sam have her in their guest room,” Penelope said without looking back. “I’m just picking up some of her essentials until she can find a time to come by and pack up.”

“But is she okay?” Jackson repeated quietly, mostly to himself, when Penelope didn’t answer that part of his question.

“Burke, of course she’s not okay,” Cole said. “She found out that you were moving to Texas from her sister.”

Jackson winced. “Wow, so when you said you guys know everything, you really know everything.”

Cole made himself at home in Jackson’s living room, sprawling on the couch and gesturing with his beer to a chair. “Sit.”

Jackson ignored him as he went to the fridge for a beer of his own. It was as good a day to day drink as any.

“Sit,” Cole barked, more emphatically this time.

Jackson glared but found himself complying. “Are we going to talk about my report card, Dad?”

“You’d better hope not, because you’re failing across the board, Burke.”

Jackson’s temper spiked. “What the hell, dude? You’re the biggest sports fan there is. Surely you can understand why I need to—”

“Is this about your ex-wife?”

Jackson stared. “What?”

“This move back to Texas. You looking to get back with Madeline?”

Jackson didn’t even correct Cole on Madison’s name. Didn’t care enough.

“Shit, man, you think I’m going back for her? Is that what Mollie thinks?”

Cole leaned forward. “I almost wish you were, Burke. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the woman sounds like a shrew, but at least then you’d be going back for a person.”

Jackson took a sip of beer and stayed silent.

Cole shook his head. “You’re right about me being the biggest sports fan there is, but even I know that football is just a game.”

“It wasn’t for me,” Jackson said. “Football is everything.”

Cole sat back again. “That’s the most messed-up thing I’ve ever heard. Pardon the cliché, but does football keep you warm at night? Does football suck—” He glanced down the hall in the direction Penelope had gone and wisely decided not to finish that sentence. He ran a hand over his face. “I know you had a pretty sweet-ass thing going on for a long time, man. Being a pro quarterback with a handful of Super Bowl rings is every little boy’s fantasy. But you can’t get that back.”

Jackson remained stubbornly silent.

“Cassidy’s dropping your story,” Cole said after a few tense moments.

Jackson’s beer froze on its way to his lips. “What?”

“The story Pen and I were going to do on you. He’s pulling it.”

“What the hell?” Jackson said, stunned. “All this because he’s pissed?”

Cole glared. “Give the man some credit. It’s not personal.”

“The hell it’s not! Up until he found out I was moving, he was hot for that story!”

“That was before your story was shit!” Cole said, raising his voice. “Yeah, sure, the story was an exclusive about what really happened with that car accident and the women, but the real story was about what you were doing about all of that.”

“Ah, Jesus, don’t make it weird,” Jackson said, setting his beer on the coffee table and plunging his hands into his hair.

“Cole’s right,” Penelope said as she came back into the living room. “The story wasn’t the scandal or your injury. It was what you were doing to come back.”

He lifted his head and glared at her.

She shrugged, not looking particularly apologetic. “I idolized you once, Jackson. Hell, I defended you to Cole here even before I met you. But the story I wanted to tell was about you becoming a new man. Not a shadow of the man you used to be.”

Penelope’s quietly uttered words rocked through him. A shadow of the man you used to be. Was that what she thought he was doing? Was that what they all thought? That he was settling for being some washed-up has-been?

An even more alarming thought was quick to follow: were they right?

Cole set his beer aside and stood, going to take the packed duffle back from Penelope and slinging it over his shoulder. “How the heck is a bag this full so light?”

Penelope shrugged. “It’s mostly Mollie’s bras and panties.”

Cole winced. “Didn’t need to know.”

Jackson barely heard any of this. He was too busy trying to figure out how he felt about the fact that Oxford was dropping him as its cover story.

He shouldn’t care. Hell, he hadn’t even been sure he wanted to do that story in the first place. And there would be dozens of other media sources that would be salivating over getting an exclusive.

But Penelope’s words were on repeat in his head. The story I wanted to tell was about you becoming a new man. Not a shadow of the man you used to be.

Penelope and Cole headed to the door, and Jackson frowned as he stood. “You’re leaving?”

“No offense, man, but you’re shit for company,” Cole said.

“Maybe because you came storming over uninvited and started lecturing me on how to live my life.”

Cole shrugged. “Yeah, that could be it.” He reached for the doorknob, then turned back and looked at Jackson. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not pissed, but once I get over that—”

“That’ll take about an hour,” Penelope interrupted.

He smiled and kissed her head. “Once I’m over it, call me if you want to talk. Or drink. Or just sit in manly silence and brood.”

Jackson swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. “Thanks, man.”

Cole nodded once in response and stepped out into the hall as Penelope rolled her eyes. “Men. But yes, seriously. Do let us know if you need anything. Just because Mollie’s staying with Riley doesn’t make you any less our friend. It’s like Cole said. You’re one of us now.”

Jackson couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to that, so he just stood there as Penelope gave a friendly wave and followed Cole into the hallway.

Just before the door closed, she stuck her head back in. “Oh, and Jackson?”

“Yeah.”

She grinned. “You’re gonna miss us when you’re gone.”