Love In the Red Zone (Connecticut Kings Book 1) (19 page)

I exhaled. “I understand.”

“You do?” His head leaped from the pillow. “For real.”

My brow-line tightened. “Yeah!”

“Like when?”

“Lik
e…
” I paid a moment to think of a time when I was afraid to share something or do something. I wouldn’t spill my guts to a kid, but respected Ky enough to be real. That’s when it hit me. “Lik
e…
I like this girl and it scares me. But I didn’t keep it inside. I told my boy, who’s good at helping me figure things out, you know?”

Ky shook his head, staring into the distance. Hell no, he didn’t know what I was talking about, totally, but he still rocked with me. Proof of that was his next question.

“Why does it scare you?”

“Because you never want to like somebody and they not like you back.”
Or in my case, like you for the wrong reasons.

“Dude,” Kyree yawned then stretched his little arms underneath the pillow. “You can’t be no punk. You just gotta tell her.”

His eyes fluttered closed, informing me of the benediction. Kyree was out. I thumbed my bottom lip as I chuckled quietly to myself then stood from the bed to leave.

It had taken a few weeks of back and forth countering between the
Kings
and my legal team, but we finally came to an agreement both parties could live with the last week of October. Not only did they acquiesce to the unheard of sign-on for $1.2 million, the million-dollar, eight-month term of the futures contract had been adjusted, too. It was morsels compared to what I used to earn, but was enough to keep me out of the red in terms of my dwindling finances. One of the small details was the team providing housing in the event I didn’t want to travel back to Jersey at the end of practice, though I lived less than two hours away. Chesney snuck that one in as a jab, and they sent the keys to one of the
Kings
luxury condos. I used to rent a townhouse in Connecticut that I gave up after my conviction, but I didn’t want to take on a lease with the weak commitment my employers were offering.

Stated in the contract was the one adamant clause I’d had. I would not travel with the
Kings
for games, neither would I attend the ones at home. I wouldn’t participate in the
Kings’
off-the-field activities either. There was no way I’d humiliate myself by warming the bench for the cameras while my team played the field. So, we arranged for a personal trainer and scheduled practices with some of the quarterback coaches to keep me in the loop with them. For the most part, I would be in solitary confinement from the team. It was a balm and a curse to the ego-bruiser of not playing with them. I would, however, have to meet a specified number of training hours a week to fulfill my contractual obligations. The idea was the
Kings
were investing in me for the “possibility” of a future seat on their roster, one that was notably unnamed.

Nate Richardson, Eli’s son, was assigned to me as Assistant Director of Player Success, a unique role management developed to keep players connected to the
Kings
brand. As much as I wanted to gripe about him being my baby-sitter, I knew it was
Kings
’ practice and policy to assign each player an A.D.P.S. and I’d have to suck it up and keep in touch with Nate. It wouldn’t be a big deal anyways. Nate was also assigned to Wayne Mayfair, the
Kings
’ current first string quarterback. He was the star player and the priority now. His presence was a reminder of my fuck up.

Mayfair, an Irish QB from Tennessee and ten-year vet, and I shared a moment in NFL history. The second time our teams went up against each other on the field, I’d won
again
. Mayfair couldn’t take a second
L
and on his turf, no less. So, in the post-game press conference when he was asked about the game, he expressed his grievances, using terms some considered racist and ”unsportsman-like”, per the media who ran sound bites for weeks. Within twenty-four hours, Mayfair released an apology for his “perceived ethnical insensitivity and poor manner of handling defeat against one of the greatest quarterbacks of our time.” It honestly didn’t faze me one bit because of two reasons. One, Mayfair wasn’t a known racist and two, I was the better QB and that was proven. So, when I learned about the
Kings
absorbing him from the
Dolphins
while I was locked up, it stung badly.

Now, I was back at work and it was on Mayfair’s turf. While he wasn’t a franchise player like I’d been for the
Kings
before getting fired, he was definitely the man they pandered to, and I had to eat that painful fact. Divine was right when he told me to take responsibility for my actions. The world kept spinning while I was a resident of barbwire and metal gates. The first Monday in November, I woke up with gratitude for being one step closer to regaining my life, or something of what it used to be. This meant I started working at the
Kings’
facilities, wearing a humble hat. The first week was brutal. I now had a trainer who specialized in quarterback fitness, and he reminded me of why Eli believed I wasn’t NFL field ready. By Friday night, driving from Connecticut at the end of a long week, I started to believe it.

I trekked into the house from the garage and realized how quiet the kitchen was before I reached it. Usually, Kyree was down there waiting on me to get in. Since returning to Connecticut on Monday, his parting words to me included asking what time I’d be home so we could battle in PlayStation. When I entered the kitchen, I saw it was occupied, but by his mother.

Jade sat lonesome at the island, fingering through a deck of cards.

“You play?” I asked en route to the fridge for a bottle of the punch she made and I couldn’t get enough of.

Jade threw down in the kitchen, and more than her culinary skills, were her provisionary measures. She kept healthy snacks and fresh juices on deck. As much as my good senses told me it was primarily for her son, she made very clear it was for my benefit, too. I didn’t share with Jade my arrangement with the
Kings
, didn’t even tell her about the impending contract. I didn’t trust her, and didn’t see the need in sharing something that didn’t affect her anyway. Plus, I still had a feeling there was some ignorance on Jade’s behalf when it came to my profession, celebrity, accomplishments, and conviction. Something about hiding in the comfort of that omission felt desirable.

“Solitaire,” she answered less spirited than I was used to hearing of her.

I stared at her while swallowing the mouthful of juice. “You good?”

Her eyes shot up to me, seemingly in surprise. “Oh, yeah.” She shrugged with one shoulder. “Bummed about my gig being canceled. I was really counting on that money, but such is life.”

I put the pitcher back in the fridge and stepped toward the island. “Ky sleep?”

“No,” she answered with lifted lids, but her gaze remained on the cards in front of her as she fanned them in her hands. “My mother asked for him on the night I needed a sitter. So he’s there until tomorrow night.”

That’s what it is
…

Jade still had hang ups about her moms. She shared over the past month how the consequences of her rebellious teen years had begun to enclose on her. First it was just the revelation alone of being a premature parent and not securing a future by going to college. Then came relying on Kyree’s father to help so much with the bills considering they were no longer together and he was a drug dealer with no means of sustaining her household. Her decisions had been a sore spot for her, and I could relate to that with returning to the
Kings
this week. I was faced with the reminder of my error.  

“Childless for the night and now with no plans.” I pulled up a stool to the island. “Let’s be reckless!” I slapped my hands together, rubbing them with excitement. “Let’s play
2500
and I’ll give you a real reason to pout.”

Jade shook her head like a child without even looking at me. “I told you I only know how to play one game. I’m not in the mood to learn another.”

“Okay.” My mind ran. “Let’s play a different game. No cards.”

Her neck snapped back. “What kind of a game.”

“I ‘on’t know. A competitive one where we can keep score because you know I’m going to slaughter you.” I tried for the most smug look I could make up. “Ooh!” I leaped off my seat, crazy excited now. “What about the Memory game? You have to ask the other person a question about a life event to see if they remember.”

Jade seemed to have winced at that idea.

“Like what?”

“Like who was your first grade teacher? My question would be the principal. That’s more challenging.”

“That sounds cumbersome…to have to really think back that far to events like that.”

“There you go with your bourgeois.” I exhaled waving her hesitation off.

“Cumbersome is bourgeois, Trent? Really?” But I saw the challenge tweak in her eyes. Jade didn’t like to be outsmarted or backed down. “If you want me to play something silly like this at least make it fun.”

“How?” My brows narrowed.

“What are the consequences of losing? How many times can you lose before being considered the loser? Does this thing keep going?”

“I ‘on’t know. You’re always asking me questions; I figured you would like it.”

She hit me with a suspicious glare. Those hazels firing off all types of dangerous red flags. Jade stood and strutted over to the cabinet, giving me a generous view of her jiggling booty in pink sweats with a matching hooded jacket. Jade’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a long one that reached the middle of her back. I swear…she had a body made for exploitin
g…
in a manner she’d like
. The arch of her back was fucking teasing. I watched, transfixed as she pulled out a bottle of
Patron Silver
. I had no idea where it came from. I only kept
Mauve
stored here, maybe Shiraz.

She went to another cabinet and pulled out two shot glasses. As Jade poured the drinks, placing one in front of me, I knew these were treacherous waters.

“This what you drink?”

“On occasion. Yup.” She positioned hers in front of me.

“Pretty bourgeois girl like you don’t do wine?”

“Nope. Not my speed.”