IT’S COLD AS BALLS... and it’s Wednesday, which means our trainer, Kelly, will make us run outside. He’s a masochist like that.

With my breathing coming out in white puffs, I push my body as hard as I can, but my shoulder is burning like I’ve gotten knifed.

During the first game of the season, I injured my knee and did something to my rotator cuff. The knee healed, but the rotator cuff... I’ve been putting off getting an MRI to check for a possible tear for as long as possible.

A tear means surgery.

Surgery means I can’t play.

Instead, every two weeks, I get a steroid injection that gets me through the next two weeks.

Yeah, I’m most likely making an injury worse, but I plan to end the season on my terms. That means playing in every game. It also means leading the Renegades to the Super Bowl where we’ll spank our opponent.

My teammate, Dallas Drake, finally catches up with me. While he’s an amazing tight end, he’s a cocky son of a bitch who loves his reflection almost as much as his fiancée.

“What up, old man?” he says with a grin.

I’m literally one year older than him. Hardly an old man, but at thirty-five, there are times when I feel ancient in this sport.

Sam, the second-string quarterback, blows past us both. Dallas and I speed up a little and puff out our chests, like that’s somehow going to transform us into twenty-four-year-olds again.

“Shit,” Dallas breathes. “That kid is insane.”

“He wants my job.”

“And?”

“He can’t have it.” Yet.

Kelly blows the whistle, and we slow to a walk for a five-minute cooldown.

“How are things with Paige?” I ask, earning a look of surprise from Dallas.

He looks around, then points at his chest. “You talking to me?”

“You see any other dumb fuckers walking beside me?”

He laughs. Nothing ever bothers Dallas. I like that about him, but no way in hell will I ever tell him that.

“Fan-fucking-tastic. Why?”

“Just wondering.” I want to ask if Layton had mentioned me to her, but I’m not a girl.

“Isn’t that sweet of you?” He thumps his chest. “It’s like you’re actually human or something.”

“Fuck off.” Being human isn’t my problem. It’s the type of leadership I employ. The only way I know how to lead is with my ball-handling skills and being a dick. The guys respect me on the field, and they are a cohesive group because they all hate me.

“You fahk awf,” he says, mimicking my accent. “Anyway, I plan on having a party at my place. You’re invited.”

“When?”

“Saturday night.”

Will Layton be there, I wonder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Bring a date. Paige wants to make this a couples’ thing.”

“I don’t do dates.” I slow up, my breathing easier now. “I mean, I do dates, but—”

“Nah, you meant what you said the first time.” Dallas’s eyes gleam. “Heard a rumor about you the other day.”

“As much as you wish you could get with this, you’re not my type.”

“Not that rumor. The one about your seasonal celibacy.”

That stops me cold. “My what?”

Dallas holds up his hands in surrender. “Don’t kill the messenger. I’m only sharing what everyone is saying.”

“Define everyone.”

“Me.”

I roll my eyes. “You need a new hobby.”

“It’s shark week, dude, so I get to listen to all the gossip instead of seeing to Paige’s other needs.”

“Fuck, man.” I make a face, and Kelly blows the whistle again, then yells at us to hit the showers. “I did not need to know that.”

“Whatever, brother. Anyway, the ladies are saying that you’re not actually delivering the TDs like everyone says you are.”

“My game is straight.”

“Your bedroom game is nonexistent.”

His voice is so loud that I grab his arm, yanking him to the side. “If you shut up, I’ll tell you what’s up.”

“I’m all ears.”

“You and Dumbo,” I mutter.

Dallas touches his lobes. “They don’t stick out that far,” he mutters.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, will you stop being a fucking diva for five seconds?” It’s not a request.

He drops his hands. “Hit me.”

I want to hit him all right. “It’s... true.” His eyes widen, but for once he keeps his stupid mouth shut. “During the season, I’m celibate, but I don’t put it out there for everyone to know. Most women don’t care because I always have a backup ready.”

“Sharing is caring, dude. Why in the hell would you forgo—?”

“We’re done.”

“You can’t leave me hanging.”

“Watch me.” I walk inside.

“What about Saturday night, baby?” he calls out, not even close to getting the message that he gets on my motherfucking nerves.

“Hard pass, sweetheart.”

Sam pats me on the back as he cuts in front of me. “Good to see you two getting along so well. Sets a good example for the team.”

I grab my sack. “I got your good example right here.”

“Cheating on me, McHugh?” Dallas says as he swaggers inside. “I’m hurt.”

Sam steps in front of me before I can take a swing. “Hey. You up to going over last week’s game with me tonight? Already uploaded film to my iPad.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” I say, hoping he’ll leave me the hell alone already.

Dallas blows me a kiss.

I flip him the bird.

The fucker pretends to catch it, then presses it to his cheek. “Best present ever.”

“There’s something very wrong with you.”

“Leave him be. He’s a man in love,” Sam says, as if that’s an excuse for everything Dallas has ever done or said.

“What was his excuse before that?”

Sam shrugs. “What’s your excuse?”

I have two choices right now. Punch Sam in the kisser and tell him to forget about going over the game, or punch Sam in the kisser and say nothing.

The entire team files in, expectant gazes on Dallas, Sam, and me. A few of them whisper to each other. The not-so-subtle ones groan, and let their feelings be known.

“Here we go again.”

“The man can’t stop stepping on his own dick.”

Dallas looks away.

Sam keeps staring at me like I’m Obi Wan or Yoda. Unfortunately for him, I’m neither. He’s too damn old to need me as a mentor. And I’m too damn old to let things go on like they have.

Fucking pride wouldn’t let me stop being a dick, but that doesn’t mean I can’t turn over a new leaf.

“I don’t have one.” I push past him to go to my locker. “Be at my place at six.”

***

ON MY WAY HOME, I SWING by Gideon’s house. His mom texted last night to let me know that he’d been having bad days at school and needed someone to talk to.

When I pull up to their small house, Gideon is outside, sitting on the front porch with Beats covering his ears. He’s got his head down and his attitude dialed up to ten.

“Yo. What’s up?”

He barely gives me a second glance, but I notice he moves over so I can sit beside him.

“Your mom said you’ve been having a rough time at school.”

He moves the Beats I got him for Christmas so that they hang around his neck. “So what? That’s every day I’m not playing ball.”

The kid’s a good one—smart, driven, and can handle a ball with ease. He’s just been dealt a shitty hand. A mom who works her ass off to support him, and a dad he’s never met. His prime examples of role models are confined to the few male teachers at his school and the guys who end up like the ones I know back home. Gang-banging and having kids they don’t take care of.

“I hear ya.” I look around the yard. “Where’s your ball?”

“Stolen.”

I jog to my truck and grab one from my bag in the bed.

Normally, I drive a Porsche 911, but if there’s a chance I can stop by to see Gideon or have a day planned with him, I opt for this. There’s nothing wrong with being successful, but only an arrogant asshole shows up in a working-class neighborhood driving something so slick.

“Go long, kid.” I throw the ball to him, ignoring the twinge of pain in my shoulder.

He catches it with ease and we toss it back and forth for a while, not really talking about anything serious.

“They’re having a dad’s breakfast at school, and I don’t know how to tie a fucking tie,” he blurts, his cheeks red from the cold and exercise. He pushes his blond hair away from his face, then stares at his feet. His kicks look like they still fit him. I got him a pair of the latest and greatest, despite the fact I thought he’d get jumped for them, for Christmas.

“Come again?”

He goes back to the front porch and plops down. “At school, for the seniors. We’re having a stupid Breakfast with Dad, and we have to wear a shirt and tie. My old one’s too short now.”

His old one clipped onto the collar of his shirt.

“When is it?” I don’t commit to anything before checking my schedule. Although I’ve been his big brother through the YMCA since he was in sixth grade and I think he’d understand, I don’t fuck with his head by cancelling on him unless I’m dead or dying.

Gideon texts me the date. “Check your calendar.” He grins a little. “But that doesn’t solve my problem about the tie. My mom got me a legit one, but neither of us know how to tie it, and YouTube is no help.”

“No problem. I’ll take care of that, too.”

He looks up at me, something he doesn’t have to lift his head very far to do. Damn, he’s gotten tall in the last month. Maybe I should check with his ma to see if he needs new clothes for school.

It helps that he wears a uniform, but it doesn’t help that he goes to a school where most of the kids have two parents who can go to stuff like Breakfast with Dad. That’s not anyone’s fault, really, but I don’t think a kid should be penalized for shit out of their control.

“For reals?”

I nod. “Yup.”

“Can you pick me up in the Porsche?”

“I’ll do you one better and let you drive us.”

His eyes get so big they almost make the rest of his face diminish in size. “You’re shitting me.”

“What’s the good in a driver’s license you never get to use?” I punch him in the shoulder. Taking a stab at why he’s moodier than usual, I follow up with, “Who’s the girl?”

“Kristin.” He blushes. “She’s out of my league, man. We have the same Calculus II class and she’s a sophomore.”

“Smart girl, huh?”

“Extremely. She doesn’t like football players, either.”

In my experience, all women like football players, even the ones who say they don’t. “You sure about that?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t seem to impress her much.”

I stroke my jaw. “Might be a good thing.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“What I mean is that when she gets to know you, it will be because she wants to know you, Gideon, not you, the badass quarterback of the Warriors,” I clarify.

“I guess.”

“Any other troubles we need to solve today?”

Gideon’s ma burst through the front door. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m late. Supper’s in the freezer—I think.” She leans down, kissing him on the head and squeezing my shoulder affectionately. “Sorry, honey. I know I promised, but uh—” She digs through her purse, her forehead furrowed, reminding me of my own mother when she’d pray that somehow there would be extra money in her wallet. “You take this. I’ll eat later.”

He shakes his head. “I’m good, Momma. Got my first paycheck this week, remember?”

“I remember that you need to thank Aiden for helping you get that job,” she says pointedly, keeping one eye on the bus stop that’s on the corner.

“Would you mind if I take Gideon to dinner with me? We need to go over some football plays that could help him next year at State,” I say so I don’t damage her pride or his.

“Yeah. Sure.” She looks over his head, mouthing, “Thank you,” before she jogs down to the bus stop just as it pulls up.

I smile, then turn my attention to Gideon. “Ready to go?”

“Starving.”

“Good, because you’re buying.”