Page 14 of One Wild Chance

I loved being on the ice: the burn in my legs, the thwack of a snapshot, teammates who’d become like brothers to me.

“I’d rather owe six months of work like you guys than run the thing.” I tip my head back against the sun-warmed brick and close my eyes. “I don’t even know the first thing about managing a farm.”

“You could talk to Earl.”

I open one eye. “Our farm manager who’s about to keel over?”

“We have Earl and Summer to thank for keeping the farm running. I’d stay on their good sides.”

“That’s pretty much impossible,” I mutter.

He tosses the core in a trash can. “How much money do we need to come up with?”

“A lot.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’ll take a look at the books in the farm office tomorrow. I need to know exactly what kind of money we’re bringing in and what we can do to pay off this debt.” I shake my head. “I’m just wondering what else I don’t know.”

“Summer would be a good place to start,” Wyatt suggests. “She was Mom’s right hand.”

“You know I can’t ask her. That woman can’t stand me.”

“Well, you need her as an ally if you’re going to make this work long-term.”

“Who said I want this place long-term? I just want to sell the farm when the two years are up.”

Wyatt’s brow knits. “Sell it? No one said anything about that.”

“We discussed this over a decade ago. No one wanted the farm then.”

Wyatt leans against the front of James’s office building. “Jaxon, I was only twenty and playing college football. I didn’t know what I wanted. Rhett and Grady were eighteen. None of us were thinking about life after sports.”

“You’ve changed your mind?” I ask.

“I don’t know what to think. But Lucky Chance Ranch should stay in the family,” Wyatt says. “Dad would want that.”

Easy for him to say. He’s got two more years of football contracts lined up. I’ve got nothing—no backup plan, no savings that’ll last until I’m Earl’s age. Nothing but a few coaching jobs I reached out about and never heard back on.

Wyatt studies me for a second. “You got something lined up? After this, I mean.”

“Working on it.” Which is a nicer way of saying no.

Mom mentioned the youth team was looking for a coach right after I got injured. Like the peewee league is supposed to make me feel better about where my career ended up.

“This farm will bring a lot of money if we sell it,” I say. “And I don’t want the bank to take it.”

“Doesn’t change the timeline for you. Two years is two years,” Wyatt reminds me.

“I know that,” I grumble. “I wish Mom was here. I could tell her that I’m the wrong person for the job.”

“Maybe you could learn to like it,” Wyatt offers.

“Can’t imagine that happening.” I push off from the brick. “I gotta go.”

“You need company?”

“Nope. Just heading out for an errand.”

I climb into my truck, where the flowers have been wilting on the passenger seat since I picked them, and drive toward the cemetery. My parents’ stone is in the third row from the back, and I crouch down and run my fingers over the Chance name. Then I take a deep breath, trying to loosen the lasso around my chest.

“Hey, Mom and Dad, it’s Jaxon.” I smile at my foolishness. “Not like I need to introduce myself to you.”