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One game. Make it count.
I release a shaky breath. It’s something. A tiny victory. Now I just need to turn Jeff into a breakout star before Sunday’s game, all while watching Emma’s dad recover from open-heart surgery.
Yeah. No problem at all.
The waiting room door swings open, and Emma steps through. Her eyes instantly find mine, like magnets snapping together. I open my mouth, then close it again. Now isn’t the time to dump my problems on her.
Her gaze turns serious. “How are you holding up? I know this whole thing has been stressful.”
Has she ever met a man who didn’t adore her? I shake my head, smiling softly. Even on the brink of collapse from a marathon of family crises, her first thought is still how I’m coping.
“I’ll be fine.” I lift a shoulder, aiming for casual. “Just glad your dad’s surgery went smoothly. You must be exhausted, though. Can I give you a ride home so you can get some rest?”
The words are barely out when Emma’s phone jangles, blasting some pop song. She fishes it from her bag, brow furrowing at the screen.
“Oh wow, it’s Jeff’s agent. I should take this.” She bites her lip. “Actually, I told Jeff I’d swing by the practice facility to go over some scheduling stuff. Can I just meet you there?”
I nod automatically, thoughts already jumping ahead. She’s heading to see Jeff, and has no idea they have already decided. Jeff’s being traded unless he does extraordinary on Sunday. Which means I need to warn him that the clock is ticking. His career hangs by a thread, and he doesn’t even know it.
“Yeah, that works,” I say absently. “I’ll meet you there in a bit.”
Emma smiles, the gesture not quite reaching her eyes as her focus is already elsewhere, before stepping away to answer the call. As the waiting room door swings shut behind her, the smile slides off my face and my stomach twists at the idea that I might disappoint her.
Time to have a tough conversation with her brother. And the clock is ticking.
Twenty minutes later, I stride through the double doors of the training complex, my footsteps echoing sharply against the empty corridors. Most players won’t arrive for hours, but I know Jeff’s habit of showing up early to squeeze in extra practice. Sure enough, the cavernous weight room is already clanging with the sound of iron plates and the occasional grunt as Jeff pushes his lanky body to its limits.
He doesn’t hear me approach, too lost in his own world of reps and sets. I rap my knuckles against a weight rack to get his attention.
“Jeff. We need to talk.”
He glances up, surprise flashing across his youthful face. “Oh hey, Xavier. What’s up?”
I cross my arms, unsure how to delicately tell him that his career is hanging by a thread. Screw it. Subtlety is overrated.
“The team got a trade offer for you.”
Jeff freezes, nearly dropping the 60-pound dumbbell clutched in his right hand.
“Wait, what? Seriously?”
I give a grim nod. Jeff’s eyes widen in alarm, and he sets down the weight with a muffled thud.
“So that’s it?” he asks hoarsely. “They’re just gonna ship me off before I even get a real chance to play?”
I raise both hands calmingly. “Not if I can help it. I bought us some time. Until after Sunday’s game.”
Jeff blinks, looking more lost than ever. God, he’s just a kid. An earnest, talented kid who deserves a shot to prove himself. Failure’s not an option here.
“Look, with the improvements these last two weeks and some intense work over the next two days, we can get you ready.”
“Seriously?” Jeff breathes, tentative hope dawning on his face. “You really think we can turn things around?”
“We have to.” I clap him on the shoulder firmly. “I told Coach I believe in you. Make me look like a genius. It’s all in your head. All we need to do now is get into that head of yours and make you believe.”
Jeff chuckles at that, breaking the tension. I allow myself a tight smile. “Let’s start now. Show me what you’ve been working on, and we’ll go from there.”
For the next two hours, we drill relentlessly. I push Jeff harder than he’s ever been pushed until sweat mats his hair and darkens his shirt. We run every route and scenario I can envision, with me critiquing his every move.
