I wait for J.R., the Renegades’ owner, to join me in his office. It’s sleek, full of old-world-style furniture, and lots of new money. At one point, J.R. had a gold-plated toilet that practically wiped your ass after you were done.

The Texan walks inside, trademark cowboy hat on his balding head and cigar clamped between his lips. “Ryan, my boy. Glad you could make some time for me.”

“Yes, sir,” I shake the older man’s hand.

“What’s this I hear about the Pats wanting my best player?” J.R. wastes no time getting to the point. Something I’ve always admired.

“They want me to play for them.”

J.R. eyes me. “And what do you want to do?”

A year ago, I would have jumped at their offer. Hell, two months ago, I’d have said the Patriots were my dream team, but that was before I met a fiery redhead in puppy-parenting class who makes me weak in the knees.

“I’m considering all of my options,” I reply noncommittally.

J.R. smiles. “I’m not like most owners, willing to hold a man by the short and curlies until he cries ‘uncle’. However, I’ll need an answer soon. There’s a player I’ve had my eye on for a while now, but I’m not sure of the reception he’ll get being a former Renegade and all. There’s talk of you two not getting along.”

Sucking in a breath, I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. I struggle to keep a neutral face. “Dean Clark?”

“The rumors are true, then.”

I’m not about to badmouth another player, even if I’d sooner punch myself in the throat than play with Dean again. I don’t want that asshole in the same country as Ashley, much less the same city.

“We got along fine,” I say tightly.

J.R.’s eyes gleam. “Fine. Such a versatile word, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It can mean everything from okay to I’d rather have my left nut chewed off by a beaver with dull teeth than play with Dean Clark again.”

I blink. “I didn’t say that, sir.”

“You didn’t have to, son.” J.R. holds out his hand, and I shake it. “Good talking to you, Ryan. Be sure to keep me in the loop, but I can only wait so long. Summer training is coming.”

I walk out of J.R.’s office, feeling conflicted over our conversation and the next step in my career—and it has everything to do with Ashley Mitchell.

Maybe I should go talk to my agent. Once, I’m out of the building and in the parking deck, I pull out my phone and call Kingston Price. He answers on the second ring.

“Turner. What’s going on?” he asks.

I stop beside my truck. “J.R. had me up to his office today.”

“That wasn’t me.”

I lean against my truck. “I know you weren’t the one to spill the beans. It’s not time and you’ve told me to be patient. However, I admitted it was true to J.R.”

“I don’t blame you. He put you in an awkward position.” Kingston sighs. “Most likely it was another player trying to fuck with negotiations.”

“Another Renegade.”

“Try a player who wants your position and has maybe heard some rumors of the Patriots interest.”

“Dean Clark,” I say flatly. “That son of a bitch.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“About that... I’m not sure if moving to the Boston is the best thing for my career.”

There’s a pause. “Why don’t we schedule some one on one time in person? Check your calendar and then give me a call, I’ll make it work.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Kingston.” I end our call and unlock my truck.

How in the hell am I going to tell Ashley about this? The things is, I have to tell her. I can’t let a lie come between us and I can’t not let her make the decision on how far she wants us to go, especially with the chance of me moving out of state.

She means too much to me and she’s been through to much to be treated that way.

Only, what will I do if this is a deal breaker for her?