I sit in Vince Harvoni’s sparsely furnished office on the twelfth floor of a downtown Atlanta skyscraper. One glass-top desk. One Hermann Miller office chair. One black leather sofa. One framed photo of two snaggletooth twin boys. Looks like the man doesn’t even own a potted palm—standard greenery for most offices. I get the feeling he doesn’t hang out here much.

I sprawl out on the plush leather couch, perfecting my I can take it or leave it smirk, all the while feeling like my galloping heart will jump through my shirt. The worst part about job interviews is selling yourself. Smiling until your teeth hurt. Bragging on your many accomplishments. Explaining why you’re better than someone else, despite the fact that you may not have as much experience. I hate everything job interviews stand for. And make no mistake, this is a job interview.

How can someone sum up my life within thirty minutes? I believe most folks already know who they want before the interview starts. The whole process is simply so they can pretend they didn’t know.

Vince leans back in his chair, elbows close to his sides, fingers steepled. His turquoise eyes meet mine. “Too bad about that business with the hookers the other night.”

I nod. No need for me to reply. The man has no doubt drawn his own conclusions.

Marquel Lyons, head coach for the Vipers, parks his butt on the edge of Vince’s desk, arms folded over his chest. “Pretty embarrassing for the Rogues, too,” he adds. A few feet taller than me and with a physique to match mine, the coach looks like a wall of solid muscle.

“Charges were dropped,” I inform him.

“That’s good.”

“Word has it you were looking for your daughter,” Vince says.

I can’t contain my surprise. “How’d you know?”

“I do my homework, son.”

He must have talked with BK. I’d heard from her a few minutes before I boarded my plane. In a strange reversal of roles, LAPD found themselves in the hot seat. When Renaldo threatened them with a police brutality report, they backed off. It pays to have friends in high places.

“You’re becoming quite the family man, Colt. You got married. You’re trying to adopt a kid. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were settling down.”

“I have a different focus now.”

“Anything else I should know? You volunteer at Make-a-Wish or anything?”

“Not yet, but my wife says there’s still hope for me.”

His hearty guffaw fills the air. “Your wife sounds like one smart lady.”

My heart swells as I think about Shayla. “Yeah, she’s definitely smart.”

Thank goodness she had the compassion to give me a second chance. Shayla deserves my best effort. No, better than my best. There was a time when her opinion mattered the most to me. Now, a decade later, it looks like things are coming full circle.

Vince stands. “Colt, you’re exactly the kind of player we want on our team. This is a family town, and we’re a team of tight-knit families.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“A single guy like yourself wouldn’t have a need to know. The Vipers probably wouldn’t have been your target market.”

I don’t take insult at his remark. Everyone knows about my party animal lifestyle. Years ago, I picked my friends based on their tolerance for alcohol. If I want to be taken seriously as a father, I have to kick all that rowdy behavior to the curb.

“What position did you have in mind? You already have a wide receiver.”

Coach Lyons shifts on the desk’s corner. “Yep, but he needs to be nurtured and groomed.” He grins. “He’s no Colt Emerson.”

I chuckle.

Some days I feel I’m no Colt Emerson either. Maybe I was, back in my prime. A month ago, I would have never admitted that to myself. The day Coach Parker cut me, no one could have convinced me that he was right. How my life had changed in such a short time.

“You have a championship mindset, and with six rings to back it up, no one questions your passion or talent.” My gaze lands on Lyons’ right hand, where the stunning ruby of his lone gold championship ring glitters under the light. Despite the fact that he has only one ring, there is no envy in his voice. “The Vipers would like to capitalize on the Colt Emerson Effect.”

“We can’t think of anyone better to have as our offensive line coach,” Vince adds.

I sit up straight and lean forward. “Me?” I sputter. “A coach?” This was the last thing I expected to hear.

“We know it’s not your ideal position. You might feel more comfortable in the limelight than on the sidelines. But we have some gaps we need to fill, and we believe you’re our man.”

Coach Lyons joins in. “You’re still young. You’ve got the stamina to handle the all-day practices, and let’s face it, you’re relevant. You understand the pressures these guys deal with. You can have a long, successful career with the team.” With his smooth, shaved head and brawny build, Lyons could be mistaken for one of the players.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Vince opens a desk drawer and pulls out a notecard-sized slip of paper. “We have faith in you, Colt. Enough that we’re willing to sign you to a five-year contract.”

“Oh, yeah? For how much?”

He pushes the paper into my hand. My stomach does a backflip when I look at the amount scribbled on it. Seven figures! Just to coach? No more worrying about possible injuries waylaying my career. No more running sprints at four a.m. to beat the sun up. No more gut-wrenching fumbles or passes slipping through my fingers. I might have never considered this before. Vince was right. I do live for the spotlight. I never thought my ego could handle anything less. But now…things have changed.

Vince must have taken my silence for hesitation. “Take a few days to marinate on it. Get with The Shark. Talk to your wife.”

Normally, I would pull Ruger into this negotiation, but that part of my life is over. I stand. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Don’t thank me.” He thumbs a finger in Coach Lyons’s direction. “Thank Marquel’s brother, DeEdmund.”

“I don’t think I know anyone named DeEdmund. I would remember a name like that.”

“He met you the night you got detained.”

I turn to Coach Lyons, dread tiptoeing down my spine. “Your brother is a cop?”

He snorts. “Hell no, but as much time as I spend bailing him out, I could buy him a diploma from the police academy by now.”

I laugh. “I’ve been trying to forget that night. I didn’t introduce myself to anyone, if you know what I mean.”

“He said you’re one of his favorite players, but that you’d gotten soft and lazy. Can you believe he actually wanted us to put you on Defense and a strict protein diet?”

Snatches of a familiar conversation flood my mind. There could only be one person responsible for those words. “Stankus!”

“Excuse me?” Coach Lyons’s thick brows furrow at the bridge of his nose.

“Aw, damn. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. It’s the nickname I gave the guy. Sorry, but he reeked like a distillery.”

“That’s what landed him in jail. He likes to drink and raise hell. He woulda been one hell of a ball player back in the day—if he’d only stayed focused.”

“Speaking from experience, it’s easy to get off track and lose your way.”

“My big brother is smart enough to recognize a good opportunity. He saw it in you.”

“Be sure to thank him for me.”

“You can do that yourself, if you come on board.” Coach Lyons stands and slides his hands into the pockets of warm up shorts emblazoned with the Viper’s logo. “In the meantime, how’d you like a tour of our facilities?”

An hour later, I’d toured the entire facility. This team was concerned about winning, but they also took care of their players and their community. Impressive. I’d come here not knowing what to expect. Now, I can see myself, and most importantly, my family as being a part of this franchise. Coach Lyons walks me down the hall toward an elevator that will take me downstairs to exit the building.

“You should run for office, man. You’re pretty damn persuasive.”

He barks a laugh. “Nah. I like coaching too much. Plus, I have too much shade in my past. The media would have a field day.”

“Yeah. Been there. Done that. Not interested in reliving it.”

“Well, from the steps you’re taking, sounds like your wild days might be behind you.”

I press the elevator button. “Like I said, I’ve got a different focus now. I’m sold on the Vipers. Contact my attorney when you guys are ready to draw up the final contract.”

He extends a hand to shake mine. “Glad to have you onboard, Colt. Do you have time to stick around for a birthday dinner we’re having tonight? Our punter is turning twenty-five today. Young son-of-a-bitch. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that day on my calendar.”

I swat the air. “Thanks for the invitation, but I gotta get home and do some celebrating of my own.”

There would be time for celebrating with the team later. Right now, I want to get back to my family. After leaving the building, I whip out my cell phone and dial Shayla’s number. There is no one I want to share this with more than her. When she doesn’t answer after four rings, I figure she might be ignoring my calls. After all, it’s been two days since I practically ravished her coming out of the shower. Since then, she’d kept a wide berth, avoiding me like a kid with a cavity running from the dentist.

I hang up. Energy as potent as pre-game adrenaline pumps through my veins. I prowl to my rental car like a wild animal ready to break the leash. I need to see Shayla. Talk to her. Be with her. I was supposed to fly home in the morning, but I’m too amped up to wait. Instead of calling her, I decide to go home a day early. It should be easy enough to change my flight. I’ve wasted nearly ten years being a thick-headed fool. I’m ready to make up for lost time.