Page 86 of Forever Offsides

Russel: Sit beside me on the plane on the way home? I miss you. I want to spend time with you.

I hold her gaze steady, letting her know the choice is hers. Noting this, she smirks and begins to type, and of course, because I’m a man with no willpower when it comes to her, I read above her.

Quinn: I don’t think that’s a good idea. In fact, I realized this morning I haven’t been clear enough with you. I have to do what’s best for me, and getting back together with you is not it. That will never change. No matter what. That’s how it has to be. It’s how I want it to be. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you were hoping for, but I’m also positive you’ll be able to move on without this hurting you in the slightest. If you’re serious about being friends, I will consider that, but never as a means to anything more.

I release a tremulous breath, unsure how I feel about that. “You told him over text.”

“Simply keeping up with past precedent. I think he also needed to see it in writing so he can’t misinterpret my words.”

I suppose that’s fair, and I suppose he deserves it. “You didn’t mention the girl you saw him with.”

She peers up at me. “That’s not why I told him it’ll never happen again.”

I lick my dry lips, my heart starting to pound. “It’s not?”

“Coach, we’re ready to start heading out to the buses,” one of the handlers says. “Oh, sorry,” he continues when he notes Quinn standing there. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not a problem,” I tell him. “We should get going the moment Mason is done. I know everyone is anxious to get home.”

Mason steps out not even two seconds later and tosses his arm around Quinn. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“Sure.”

“Hey, Coach?”

“Yeah?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says in no uncertain terms. “It was a team loss. That’s how we do it, right?”

I can’t help but smile at my quarterback and give him a fist pound. “You did throw that pick early in the third quarter.”

He laughs. “Oh, believe me, I know.”

The three of us follow the handler and climb onto the buses, followed by the plane. Once we’re in the air, I walk through the aisle searching until I find him. Russel is at the back, sitting beside a few other offensive players, shooting the shit and laughing. If he’s upset about Quinn’s text, he isn’t letting on.

Still, despite what I said to her, if he’s serious and making a real play for her, I’m not sure what to do about that other than the right thing and bow out.

“Hey,” I say to him. I haven’t talked to him off the field in a week. He hasn’t returned my calls, and his texts have been evasive.

“Hey,” he replies.

“Hey, Coach.” The two other players smile but clearly sense I want a moment alone with my son and excuse themselves.

I sit beside him, and I can tell he’s not thrilled with this when he asks, “What’s up?”

“I heard you had a woman in your room last night after curfew.”

He tenses and glances around, making sure no one heard. “Who told you that?”

“Were they lying?”

He glowers. “None of your business.”

“Except you’re a player and we have rules. You were slow out there today. Tired. I get you strained your calf, but I’m not sure that would have happened if you’d been a hundred percent on your game.”

It’s true, and shockingly, he doesn’t try to deny it. “Did they say who they saw me with? Was it Crew or Mason who saw?”

My brow furrows. “No and no. Who was it?”